“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Bye, Petal.”
“Goodbye, Hamilton.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before shaking my head free of the spell Hamilton had put on me. What was it about Hamilton that managed to ease my worries while causing them at the same time?
The lecture hall was large and intimidating. The moment I strolled through the imposing double doors, my heart felt like it had crawled up my throat.
Greenwich University was very overwhelming. Every person on campus was designer. Designer bag, designer clothes, shoes. Hell, even designer breeding. There wasn’t a single flaw. It was like an entire race of supermodel humans roamed the grounds, clutching their expensive cell phones and chatting about taking the private jet to their daddy’s private island. Symmetrical faces. Slim bodies. Smooth skin. Many of them looked like they got plastic surgery as a gift for their high school graduation.
I felt so incredibly out of place that it made me sick. Even though Jack’s team of personal stylists made sure I looked the part of a Greenwich University freshman with more money than God, I still felt like an outsider. This wasn’t me.
I eyed an open seat at the front of the room and made my way over to it. This was the class Joseph warned me about. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that was informed of Dr. Bhavsar’s preference for students who sit in the front, because the last rows in the auditorium were completely empty, and there was barely any room in the first two. It looked like a few students were debating whether or not to sit on the floor at her podium. I was surprised I managed to find a spot at all.
I sat down, then pulled out my journal and a pen before shoving my new designer tote on the floor at my feet. There were still ten minutes before class was set to start, so I took the time to look around. Some groups of students were gossiping. Most were playing on their phone or their laptop. I realized that I was the only person in the room who didn’t have a MacBook on their desk. Was it a requirement? I didn’t even own a fucking MacBook.
“A traditionalist, yeah?” a smooth masculine voice asked beside me. I twisted in my seat to look at him and licked my lips. He was handsome. Polished. Tall. He barely fit in the auditorium seat, the fold out desk pressing against his muscular thighs. He had to be over six feet tall, though I couldn’t really tell since he was sitting down. His torso was long and built. His eyes were a deep blue, and his clean-shaven face was chiseled and strong.
“Huh?” I asked, feeling lame.
“You handwrite your notes? Too cool for modern technology?” he asked.
I chuckled. “No. Just unprepared. I have a desktop at my apartment, but I didn’t think to bring a laptop to class. I already get distracted easily, so it hadn’t even occurred to me to bring one. I’d probably end up surfing the internet during lecture.”
The guy looked around. “What do you think all these people are doing?” he asked before nodding at a guy toward the back. “He’s probably looking at porn.” He then stared at a girl chewing on the edge of her pencil and scrolling through web pages. “She’s shopping with her daddy’s credit card for some new shoes—and I don’t mean her real daddy. I mean the guy she’s fucking.”
“Kinky,” I replied with a laugh. “And what about you?”
He pulled out his MacBook and opened it up, revealing a Word document. “I’m transcribing the lecture with my dictation tool. This program records the professor’s voice and writes the notes for me. I’m in a frat, and a lot of my brothers like to skip class. We sometimes take turns transcribing so we all have the notes. Sometimes this program sucks though because it picks up everything that’s said. You have to weed through the useless bullshit, but it works well enough.”
“Do you sell your notes to your fellow frat brothers?” I asked with a smirk.
“I cannot confirm nor deny that I charge for my services. I’m not necessarily hurting for money, but I do like to make them squirm. Especially around midterm season. I will never understand why they think cramming for a test is going to work.”
I grinned before holding out my hand. “I’m Vera,” I said with a smile.
He took my hand, and I felt small in his warm grip. “Jared,” he replied. “Are you a freshman?”
“Yep. First day of school. It’s a little intimidating. I’m not even sure where my next class is.”
“Well, lucky for you, I have a weakness for pretty girls that like to handwrite their notes. What’s your next class?”
I blushed before tucking a hair behind my ear. Was he flirting with me or just being nice? “Feminism and Social Justice with Dr. Eva Yanukovich.” I pulled out my planner to double-check that was actually where I was supposed to go. “I’m going to school for social work,” I then quickly explained. My schedule was full of unique classes that I couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into. One of my favorite things about college was getting to learn more about the subjects that genuinely interested me, and I loved studying people and society.
“Yanukovich also teaches my Paradoxes of War class,” Jared replied excitedly. “She’s seriously a genius.”
My mouth dropped open. “Lucky! I was waitlisted for that class! I swear her thesis on Classical Sociological Theory changed my life.”
Jared grinned. “Sociology minor?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nah. I’m fascinated by sociology, though. I’ve pretty
