Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Well, you have fun with that,” I remark. “I’ll just be back at the dorms, painting my nails every weekend.”
“Not likely.” She snorts. “You’ll make friends in no time.”
“I have plenty of friends.” I count them off on my fingers. “Chaos. Neurosis. Psychosis. Anxiety. The list is never-ending.”
“Don’t we all.” She laughs. “How were your first three classes?”
“They were interesting,” I admit. “There was a lot more talking than I thought there would be. Like the teachers actually want to hear what you have to say.”
“Most of the classes here are discussion based.” She takes a sip of her water and tosses a gummy bear into her mouth. Something I’ve noticed about Sybil is that between every healthy bite, she rewards herself with a gummy bear.
“I like it.” I shrug. “But when I do speak up, there is inevitably someone waiting to challenge me.”
“Just try to ignore them,” she says. “It will get better. They’re testing you out, trying to break you. Eventually, they’ll get bored and move on to someone else.”
I nod. Everything is a game here, and like a Shakespeare play, I’m merely one of the many players. “We have AP Research together next.”
A funny look passes over Sybil’s face. “Right. I forgot about that.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just be careful about speaking up in those classes. Mr. Carter is a grade A asshole. We call him Lucifer. Or the hot teacher of doom. Depends on who you ask.”
“That bad, huh?” I swallow a mouthful of macaroni and cheese and wish I’d chosen a salad instead.
“He’s harsh,” Sybil answers. “His classes are challenging, but that’s why everyone takes them. They look good on applications, but if you want to do communications at Cornell, they are a must. Just make sure you’re always prepared and never late. In his class, I’d say it’s better to blend in than stand out.”
“Duly noted.” I glance at the papers I stuffed into my binder to see what I need for the class and then check the time on my watch. “Crap. I still have to grab my book. We only have ten minutes left.”
“Meet you there?” Sybil asks, shoveling as much salad as she can into her mouth.
“Yep, save a seat for me.”
She nods, and I fly out of the cafeteria and onto the quad. It’s going to take me some time to get used to planning for the whole day. Without one central location, that means I’ll need to carry my books with me or manage my time better. Which, admittedly, I’m not great at. I’m disorganized on my best day, and I tend to lose track of the hour. I take notes on whatever’s handy at the moment and then often have to dig around for ages before I find them again. I’ve always had my own way of doing things. My mother says I’m flighty, and she doesn’t mean it in a good way. But I know if I’m going to survive this year, I have to do better.
Entering Lawrence Hall, a few girls are touching up their makeup in the common room, and it doesn’t escape my attention that Louisa and her drones are here. Ignoring their jabs as I walk by, I dart into my room and start searching around the scattered mess of my things for my research textbook. I’ve only got five minutes to grab it and get all the way to the other side of campus, and right now, things aren’t looking good. But they start to look even worse when I hear the unmistakable snickering outside my door, followed by the sound of a loud thunk.
“What the hell?” I grumble as I jiggle the handle and discover that they’ve managed to lock me in somehow. “You’ve got to be kidding me! This isn’t funny. Let me out now.”
There is no answer from the other side. It’s clear they’ve already left, reveling in my misery as panic rises in my chest. Sybil said I can’t be late to this class, and I still haven’t found my textbook. There isn’t time now, and no matter how hard I try at the doorknob, it won’t budge.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
I glance at the window, realizing it’s my only option, and then stupidly berate myself for not thinking of that right away. I’m on the ground level, so the only thing I have to lose is my pride as I fling myself out the wooden frame onto solid ground. With no time to adjust my rumpled clothing, I dart toward the Franklin building, only to realize I mixed up my directions and have to backtrack, adding another two minutes to my journey. Today is not my day.
I bluster inside the building and into the classroom without giving it any real thought, silently crashing right into the teacher as he’s heading to shut the door. Mr. Lucifer Hot Teacher of Doom Carter.