My Sweetest Escape. Chelsea Cameron M.

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СКАЧАТЬ thought about changing majors, but I knew I could pretty much sleep through most of my poli-sci classes, so I stuck with what I knew.

      The class was full of clones of the students I’d left behind. I even saw a few girls with the exact same bag I had shoved in a box back at my mom’s house. Since it was a sophomore-level class, most of the nonserious people had been weeded out, but there were still a few people who looked like they wouldn’t make it through four years of this. And, of course, since this was New England, there were the token Birkenstock-wearing, patchouli-smelling weirdos who were going to spend their time protesting whatever the trendy cause of the day was.

      They were almost worse than the buttoned-up, straitlaced kids. They just had to be so self-righteous about every. Damn. Thing. They also loved to hear the sound of their own voices. Fortunately, I’d brought my headphones, and since they liked to talk so much, they’d take up plenty of class time, leaving that time for the rest of us to do whatever. I booted up my laptop and listened as the professor, a guy in a nice button-up and tie—big surprise—droned on about Marbury vs. Madison. Been there, done that.

      I kept one ear open and the other covered as I listened to some new music I’d found the other day on low volume. I’d also bought some new albums that I needed to review, so I switched to those. The first was a ska group that was way more punk than ska and didn’t have a whole lot going for them. It wasn’t even bad in a craptastic way that made you want to listen to it anyway. They definitely weren’t Streetlight Manifesto, or Reel Big Fish.

      I made a few notes about some of the songs and moved on to the second album that had more of a folky/bluegrass feel. That one was much better, and I found myself transfixed by the complex melodies and haunting lyrics. I didn’t think there was anything else like music for having the ability to transport you to another place, even when you were sitting in a class full of strangers.

      Finally, the class was over and homework was assigned. I’d managed to get a seat in the back and had avoided making eye contact or speaking with anyone, so I called the first class a total win.

      I wasn’t so lucky for my second, American State and Local Government. It sounded like a total yawner of a class, but when I got into the room everyone was talking and laughing like it was a social gathering instead of a class. I sat in the back, closest to the door and with at least two seats in between me and anyone else, and I thought I was set until a girl rushed in and sat with one seat between us.

      “Am I late?” she said, not even looking at me and frantically searching through her bag. All I saw was a huge quantity of very blond, very curly hair that she had tried to shove into an elastic band without much success.

      I looked around, but there was no one else to respond to her, so it was up to me.

      “Um, there’s still a few minutes.” She was up to her elbows in her bag, and she finally emerged, holding a bag of Skittles. I opened and closed my mouth a few times as she ripped the bag open with her teeth and then held the bag in my direction.

      “Want some?” I finally looked at her face and then wished I hadn’t. One half was perfect white skin, and the other was mangled with what looked like a severe burn. “Do I have something on my face?” she said, her eyes getting wide as her hand flew to her face. “Oh, yeah, I do. Duh.”

      She dropped her hand and grinned at me. Somehow her eyes had remained unharmed, but the side of her mouth and the rest of her face going all the way to her ear were shiny and had a weird pattern on them. It extended down her neck, and though her arm was covered, I could see it on the back of her hand, as well.

      “So I’m going to tell you my name and also tell you that you can stare if you want. I’m Hannah, and it’s okay to stare.” She flicked some of her hair back, and I tried my best to look into her eyes, which were a deep brown, in contrast with her pale hair and skin.

      “Jos. I’m Jos,” I said, because what else was I going to do?

      “Nice to meet you. And if you choose to sit on the other side of the room next class, I won’t, like, hate you or anything. I’m a people repeller. It’s kind of my thing. For obvious reasons.” She giggled a little, and I turned to the front of the class, where an extremely tall woman in a charcoal skirt and jacket was writing things down on the numerous whiteboards. She looked like she just stepped out of a Senate meeting. When she was done writing what looked like half of a novel, she turned around and clapped her hands. Everyone shut up.

      “Okay, I see you all made it here for another week of mind-broadening. Congratulations on being sober enough to drag yourselves here.” Everyone else laughed, and I sort of joined in. She picked up a clipboard and read our names off. Of course, since my last name began with the first letter of the alphabet, I was the second person called.

      “Joscelyn Archer?”

      “Here,” I said, listening to my voice echo in the large room.

      She looked up from the clipboard and searched me out. “You’re new to us, yes? Transfer?”

      “Uh, yeah.” I could feel the blood rushing to my face and ears.

      “Do you go by Joscelyn, or is there a nickname you’d prefer?”

      “Um, Jos is fine.”

      She smiled, showing the most perfect set of probably real teeth I’d ever seen.

      “Jos. Lovely. Nice to have you with us.”

      She moved on to the next name, and I slumped down in my seat.

      “I hope you’re not going to do that all the time. She’ll call on you more if she knows how much you hate it,” Hannah whispered as someone else said, “here!”

      “Great. Just fantastic.”

      Hannah was right. Since I was new, the teacher, who went by Pam, didn’t call on me, but everyone else was fair game. She fired questions out like bullets, and if you answered too slowly, she’d move on to someone else. There was a lot of stuttering, a lot of red faces and a lot of people shooting their hands in the air to be called on so they could show everyone just how freaking smart they were.

      And then there were some, including Hannah, who gave the answers when called and didn’t elaborate unless Pam asked them to. Everyone sort of turned to look at Hannah when she talked, and I could see that more than a few people’s gazes skittered away from the burned side of her face, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

      I didn’t get out my headphones the entire class. It was just too interesting. How she could make something as potentially boring as Colonial government riveting was beyond me.

      When the class was over, we all sort of walked out like we were in a trance.

      “Is it always like that?” I couldn’t help myself from asking Hannah as she crumpled up the empty Skittles bag.

      “Pretty much. Awesome, huh?”

      “It probably will be less awesome when she starts calling on me.”

      “Just do the reading. You seem like the kind of person who doesn’t have her head up her ass, so you should be fine. So, where did you transfer from?”

      “UNH.”

      “Boo, hiss. Don’t say that too close to anyone connected with hockey, or else you might get your ass handed СКАЧАТЬ