Unfortunately, me needing coffee made me stand in the kitchen at home and wait for it to brew. Then I got caught in some road construction, and then I couldn’t find a damned parking spot in the lot. I had to find a spot on the street and try to dig out a few quarters to pay the meter.
Yeah. Mondays were so not my favorite day of the week.
By the time everything was good, I realized I was going to be late to class.
Great. Just great. Professors really loved it when you strolled in five minutes late.
That was sarcasm, because they most definitely hated it. They stopped talking to glare at you as you tried to stroll in quietly and not make a fuss, thereby making a bigger fuss than they would’ve if they would’ve just kept on lecturing.
I got it, their time was valuable, but sometimes life happened. Sometimes you couldn’t be on time to save your life.
The only saving grace about me being late to this particular class was that the room wasn’t full. When I snuck in, I was able to get my ass in a seat in the back before the teacher heard the door close.
Not where I normally sat; on every other good day, I sat more towards the middle front—they say you’re better able to pay attention the closer to the front you are, but I’d heard that sometimes in the very front, you’re subjected to some saliva if the professors are spitters. Yeah, nasty.
I ended up sitting beside a girl in a beanie with raging pink hair that made my eyes hurt to look at. So pink. So fucking pink I had to take a huge sip of coffee and blink a few times to try to wake my ass up. I’d seen her before in passing, but I’d never spoken to her. She was always quiet, withdrawn. When the professor called on her to answer any questions, she always mumbled the responses.
As I got out my laptop to take notes on, I leaned over to her chair and whispered, “Did I miss anything?”
She did not have a laptop out, unlike most of the class. She preferred to handwrite her notes, though it looked like she traced the lines on the notebook paper more than anything else.
When I brought my gaze up off her notebook, I met eyes that were a startlingly bright green. Beneath the neon pink hair, I realized, she was pretty. Pale face, smooth skin, not a blemish or scar in sight. Her lips were pursed in a frown as she looked at me, as if she couldn’t decide whether I’d asked her that seriously or not.
The pink hair must throw me off at a distance. I never realized she was so cute before.
For a few moments, we simply stared at each other, neither one of us saying anything. I wished I knew what was going on in that head of hers; her green gaze held something I couldn’t name.
Finally, she spoke in a bare whisper, so as to not draw the professor’s attention, “Maybe don’t be late, and you won’t miss anything.”
I blinked. Was that attitude she was giving me, or was she just stating the obvious? I honestly could not tell, but I also didn’t care which one. Maybe today wouldn’t be such a bad day after all. “It isn’t like I’m always late. Needed my coffee.”
Her emerald stare fell to the mug on my lap, and I had never seen a more unimpressed look.
A smile grew on my face, and I grabbed the mug, offering it to her. “Want some?”
She shook her head softly. “I hate coffee.”
I swore I felt my heart break right there. Who in their right mind hated coffee? A savage, some uncultured swine, definitely. I yanked it back, acting insulted, and I made sure to take a long swig.
As class continued, I tried to pay attention to the professor. It was weird, because I’d never had a problem before. Paying attention was easy for me. What was even weirder was that I knew my problems with trying to focus was not because I sat in the back.
It was because I sat in the back beside a girl with bright pink hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen.
As the minutes wore on, I could not stop thinking about her eyes. The color. I legit never thought I’d ever seen eyes such a clear, crisp green. To say they were gorgeous would be a huge understatement.
“And don’t forget,” the professor spoke before letting us go for the day, “those group projects are coming up. Since they are worth thirty percent of your final grade, I do hope at least some of you take them seriously. I would start choosing partners if I were you. You don’t want me picking partners for you.”
Ah, yes. If there was one thing all college students collectively hated with their entire being, it was group projects. It went without saying that, somehow, one person ended up doing it all while the others sat back and reaped the rewards. Professors said group projects were helping to get you ready for your workplace—in which case I could see it. Someone taking credit for all your hard work.
The room was full of students trying to escape as quickly as possible once the professor quieted, but I noticed the pink-haired girl with the beautiful green eyes was taking her time, seemingly lost in her own world as she packed up, those eyes not really focusing on anything.
She looked, for lack of a better word, sad.
I packed up my laptop, though I didn’t really take many notes, my mind too unfocused,
