I mean, at least Nick was confident. Ian, not so much.
Well, I'm one to talk.
Still, I don’t think that popular group issupposedto mix well with the weird new guy, but here we are. Maybe being popular isn’t a thing once you’re out of high school.
Shoot. I’m making a lot of assumptions—it isn't like I have a frame of reference for any of that, given that I stopped going to public school when I was fourteen.
And the comment from Ian about my arms? What was that? Totally random, although he had great arms himself underneath that long-sleeve shirt. He could have been trying to be relatable, even though his arms are so much nicer than mine.
I shouldn’t focus on that. Or his smile, or the way his blond hair fell in front of those bright eyes that lie somewhere between brown and green?—
Nope. Absolutely not.
I cut my wandering, inappropriate thoughts off and make my way to my next class, which is my Introductory French elective.The hour passes, and no student athletes approach me afterward. Or anyone else, for that matter.
I guess that makes sense. After all, I'm still the guy who showed up on campus halfway through sophomore year. That's not doing me any favors for blending in, and then there’s the fact that my sparse, ragged wardrobe makes me stick out, too.
It is what it is.
I’m done for the day, so I trudge through the falling snow to my dorm for a long stretch of doing nothing. It’s peaceful, knowing I can exist here without anyone springing a random check on me.
Locking my door still seems subversive, though. The click makes my heart twinge, and I power through it, taking a breath and stepping out of my work boots.
I roll onto the hard bed pressed against the wall, which is only long enough for my unwieldy legs by a couple of inches, and shuffle under the thick down comforter that had absolutely no business being given away for free. Bless rich graduating students who are too cheap to pay twenty-five dollars at the dump, seriously. Not that I particularlywantto be a charity case at the college with the highest average household income in the country, but hey, free stuff is free stuff.
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone beeping, and I stretch over to pull it out of my jeans.
It's an email. From Ian.
From: Scott, Ian
To: Russell, Nicholas; Cross, Callum
Subject: [KIN207] Group Project 1 - Task Breakdown
Sup Dudes,
Okay, even I know you aren’t supposed to open an email like that, and I've sent a grand total of ten in my entire life so far.
I’ve taken all the deliverables for the first group project and divided them amongst ourselves in what I think is a fair split, but you can bring up suggestions or improvements during our meeting before class tomorrow.
Ian (me): Research and written report preparation.
Nick: Compilation of presentation slides and video script
Callum: Video narration and model for limb movement demonstration
Huh.
So he's assigned me…reading a script and moving my arm. For a project that's worth twenty-five percent of our final grade.
That isn’t fair, but not in the way I expected. My parts are going to take all of half an hour to finish.
Does he think I’m stupid or something?
But if he did, then he would have given Nick more to do.
Maybe he thinks meandNick are stupid.
