One of the worst inventions in the history of mankind was waterproof makeup. In theory, it was a great idea. In practice, not so much. It was a pain in the ass to get off.
Sure, there were makeup removal chemicals, a secondary industry created from the first, but Ivy didn’t have the fortitude nor the time to start rooting through her drawers.
She rubbed until her skin turned red.
Her hair was a mess. Abby had straightened it yesterday, but it had battled to return to its native curly state overnight.
Gave up somewhere halfway. It was a wavy, kinky disaster.
Ivy brushed her teeth, scooped water in her palms and drank.
Cold—so cold.
Feeling marginally better now, she quickly slipped out of her dress and into her ‘uniform.’ Tied her hair back.
Got the fuck to work.
“Sorry I’m late.” During the short drive from her house to campus, most of the events from last night came back to her. Blake. Tony.
Flipping quarters for drinks—Penney’s game.
Zeke...
She’d hoped that he’d slept in, too—he’d been lit at the bar. But Zeke was already in class when she arrived.
What annoyed Ivy more than the entitled kid’s presence was his appearance. Sporting a sharp, crisp polo, his blond hair perfectly coiffed.
Fuck him.
“Tristan, can you pull up the graphs on Bayesian statistics again?”
Her TA, who hadn’t mentioned her appearance and had a cup of hot coffee waiting for her, obliged.
Ivy turned around, glanced at the digital display. The two bell curves, one pink, one blue.
She sighed. Touched her forehead. It was burning up.
She needed a different approach.
What did Einstein famously say?
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
Something like that.
Ivy lowered her head, closed her eyes. Opened them again and glanced over at Tristan sitting behind his desk. He stared back, a confused expression on his face. Silently urged her to get started.
“Okay, okay.”
There was a podium at the front of the class, but Ivy rarely used it. It was too formal. She intended on using it now, however. With the stylus, she pressed the clear button on the embedded digital pad.
“I’m going to try something a little different today. We’re going to do a deep dive into Bayes’s Theorem, which is the basis of Bayesian statistics.”
I hope you’re right, Tristan.
A couple of groans.
Sex, alcohol, and drugs.
