by Jami Wagner
Chapter Five
Kelsey
It takes me so long to find a parking space on campus that I’m now going to be late for my writing class. Big surprise. I seriously consider parking at the BA since the campus is only a few blocks away, but even then, it would add three blocks of running.
I sprint up the steps and through the double doors of the Littman Building. It’s the one and only building I have never been in. I stop just inside the doors, looking at the directory on the wall. Great. My destination is at the other end of the building. I walk briskly down the hallway, not making eye contact with anyone to avoid any distractions. I would speed up, but the “no running in the halls” rule has stuck with me my whole life. Probably the one and only rule, too.
When I finally reach the classroom, the door is closed. I open it slowly, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but the door creaks and everyone turns in their seats. My body goes stiff as I pause in the doorway, taking in all the unfamiliar faces. Someone raises their hand —Logan, one of the other bartenders at the BA and a close friend of mine, is waving at me.
I quietly make my way over to the right side of the room where he is sitting and slide into the seat next to him. Just as I set my backpack on the on the floor, a short, bald man wearing a navy-blue suit and carrying a worn-out, brown briefcase walks into the classroom, letting the door slam closed behind him.
I jump in my seat and the class falls silent.
“The scariest moment is always just before you start,” the man I assume is the professor says, projecting his raspy voice. “Author Stephen King said this: how many of you would agree?” He scans the room. One by one, students raise their hand, me included. He remains quiet until everyone in the class has a hand in the air.
“I agree as well, although I feel this fits for any moment in life, not just writing. Now, we have started class and you can all relax—the scary part is over.” Everyone lets out a laugh as he steps around the square table that was behind him and unzips his bag.
“My name is Professor Frank. You may call me Frank during the class hour. Here is the class syllabus for the semester.” He hands a stack to a redheaded boy in the front row, who takes one and passes the rest. “Please read it over and let me know if you have any questions. I will say this once and that’s it. I am not your mother or your father. I will not scold you for not doing your work, nor will I scold you for not showing up to my class. I will not deduct points for missing class, but I do suggest you make a friend to collect any handouts because I do not store the extra copies for you to get at a later date. But like most teachers, I do hope you show up to every class I teach.”
The next hour flies by, but I’m still disappointed when class ends. I lift my bag over my shoulder.
“Before I forget,” the professor says as students begin their exit, “during this semester, our local newspaper will be searching for a new columnist to be chosen in contest form from the students participating in this class. You do not have to be an English major to enter. The entry forms are here on the corner of my desk.”
I don’t think twice before I take one of papers he offers, quickly skimming the rules. Two-hundred-fifty-word column of your choice. Top five chosen to attend a formal dinner. Winner signs two-year contract with full salary.
Satisfied, I tuck the form into my notebook and follow Logan out of building. This is the class I was looking forward to the most, so I was hoping for our first assignment. I’m probably his only student who wants homework on the first day, and my other professors should not get this idea confused with their classes. I just want to write. Learning about this contest will fill that void for now.
“Thank god he didn’t give us homework on the first day. I suck at writing,” Logan shares with me as we walk to my car.
“Then why did you take this class?” I ask, trying not to laugh. What kind of person doesn’t like to write?
“I needed one more elective and Sara told me you’d be enrolled in this one. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a least one class where I know someone.”
“Aww, Logan…you think we’re friends?” I joke as we reach my car.
“Ha, funny, Kels,” he says walking backward with a smile “See you at the meeting.”
“Wait…do you need a ride?” Logan lives in the building next to Sara and I. It’s close to the college, so he usually walks, but I am hoping today is different. I need an extra pair of hands when I pick up coffee for Sara, Ethan, and I.
“Nope, got plans,” he shouts before turning around and heading downtown toward his apartment.
I’ll be fine without him. I’m a bartender for crying out loud—I know how to successfully carry three drinks at once. Piece of cake.
Ethan
I needed to do a few things before meeting up with Logan, and my last stop is close enough to the diner I can walk. We’ll probably visit only for an hour or less before the BA meeting starts and I need to think about what I’m going to say if he asks why I’m back in town. The simple “helping out the family” might work, but I haven’t been back in a while and Sara and Logan aren’t strangers. He more than likely knows our families have been feuding for years. It never came up with us, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know.
I stop at the corner and wait for the little walk man to show up on the light. I’m going to be early to the diner, but I don’t mind. A few minutes of silence alone never hurt anyone. It’ll give me just enough time to get Kelsey and that tiny outfit she was wearing this morning off my mind before Logan shows up.
I’d hoped by the time I’d signed up for a gym membership and went grocery shopping, she would be off my mind. It was going good until I passed an aisle with a pair of ear plugs hanging on the end. Then all I thought about was last night.
Maybe if I stopped trying to avoid her, I won’t be so interested when I do run into her. Who cares if after one day I find myself smiling when she’s around? Good situation or not, she’s just a girl and one I should start thinking of as my employee.
Laughter from behind catches my attention and I look over my shoulder. A group of girls are coming out of another coffee shop, and it’s obvious something is really funny to them. They continue to laugh as they round the corner. Their laughter grows quiet and just before the door to the coffee shop closes completely, I hear the sound of a very familiar voice.
I feel like I’m spying, but I want to make sure I’m not going crazy. It’s bad enough I can’t stop thinking of her, but now I’m hearing her, too. This isn’t good. I take a step toward the coffee shop then freeze when the door flies open and Kelsey steps out holding three coffees in a triangle shape between her hands. She is looking down with a smile and shaking her head.
It’s clear she hasn’t noticed me. I try to move out of her way, but I’m not fast enough. I swear it is like I watch the whole thing in slow motion: My foot is still in the way, and as I pull it back, Kelsey’s leg catches it. She spins around fast, trying to regain balance. It’s not going well and as she starts to fall back. I reach out to grab her and pull on her arm too hard; she practically flies at me.
Normally, I would be accepting of situations that bring her body close to mine, but right now all I can think about is the coffees still in her hands, their tops now missing from her gripping them so tight. Like a spring, I jump back. Unfortunately, I don’t let go of her arms. All cups of coffee are in the air, headed right toward me.
Shit.
“Hot! Ahhh that was hot!” I shout as I do some stupid hot-coffee dance. I’m leaning forward, tugging on the front of my shirt repeatedly, like that will cool me down. After what feels like hours but is most likely seconds, my shirt is cool enough that I let go of it and look up at Kelsey. Only she isn’t there. She’s gone.