Sure, some things are different. But not by much.
I slept with Ellie, but I’m still pining.
I keep finding myself drawn to his social media pages—all of them private. I stare at his tiny profile photos, my finger hovering over the Add Friend and Follow buttons only to narrowly stop in time when I consider the possibility that he just… ignores my request.
The only thing worse than having zero access to Ellie would be to have zero access to him while knowing he has a request from me sitting there, reminding him of how pathetic I am.
Until I find a way to fix that, I’ve got the distraction of a date with Alex on Friday, and we have a text chain of constant flirty banter. But honestly, that only adds to the watching-life-pass-by-while-I-scroll-on-my-phone analogy.
Something’s gotta give.
As I listen to my professor drone on about developing marketing strategies, I realize I can’t do this again. It’s time to flip the channel.
I jolt out of my seat, ignoring the other students’ stares. Ten minutes later, I storm into the office of my adviser, Dr. Tom Barr. After he welcomes me in, I start explaining why I’m there, and the high I feel from finally taking control of my life sustains me right up until the moment he cuts me off mid-sentence.
“I can’t allow you to switch all your classes.”
“What the hell do you mean, you can’tallowme?” I snap, outraged that this man thinks he has to “allow” me to do anything, and then remember that I am basically a child, and Tom, though still in his twenties, is my elder and an authority figure. Knowing that doesn’t make me less annoyed. In a calmer voice, I plead my case. “School policy is clear that students are allowed to drop and add classes until this Friday without a fee or need to petition.”
Tom lets out a long, put-upon sigh. “Josephina—”
“It’s Joey,” I remind him, going for a gentle tone. I already told him to call me that when I came in. You’d think a man who insists his studentscall him Tom despite the fact that he has a PhD and should therefore be Dr. Barr would understand the concept of a nickname.
“Okay,Joey—” he says, stretching it out. “I can’t let you switch all your classes because I don’t believe it’s best for you.”
“I know what’s best for me,” I counter flatly. The nerve.
“I know youthinkyou do. I get it, you’re a headstrong young girl, but I’m your academic adviser, and it is my job to advise you on your academics—”
Young girl? Headstrong?
“I hear what you’re saying. I’ll take it under advisement,” I say calmly. “But the fact of the matter is that the drop and add deadlines aren’t until Friday. In the meantime, I am anadult, and I’m free to do what I want when it comes to the classes I pay for.” My scholarship pays for the classes, actually, but that’s irrelevant. I’m confident as I speak these words. “And I’mtelling you, not asking, I’m going to switch my classes.”
I level him with a hard stare and don’t back down until he sees things my way.
I walk back to my room after my meeting with Tom, fully prepared to take a nap—my new first class isn’t for an hour and a half—and find Madison at the mirror, doing her makeup.
“Don’t you have class right now?” she asks.
In the reflection of the mirror, I watch as she frowns, confused, and turns to me, her makeup forgotten. It’s an amusing picture, her makeup half done, only one brow filled in.
“I decided to switch a couple classes. I dropped the one I had now.”
Her eyes widen. “What did you drop?”
I hold up the printout of my new courses. She crosses the room and grabs it.
“Intro to Film. Intro to Creative Writing. Acting for Non-Majors.Intro to Archaeology.Two-Dimensional Design?”she says, finally raising her eyes to meet mine, her eyebrows stretched upward.
“It’s a prerequisite for Three-Dimensional Design, which is a prerequisite for pottery-making,” I explain, and take a seat on my bed.
“You want tomake pottery?”
“I’ve always thought I might be good at it if I tried, but I never had time, so…”
“What about your business and poli-sci classes? Are you dropping your minor?”
“I think I’m dropping all of it.”
