Page 11 of Rugger: The Huntress

The black backpack dangled from my hand as I exited through the garage. The midnight blue Honda Civic had been in the same stall of the four-car garage since the previous Thursday. I climbed inside with the length of my body and thecar’s capacity in mind. Though it felt like I was stuffing myself in a box every Tuesday and Thursday, the size of the sedan was comforting. Everything was within reach.

In under a minute, I was out of the garage and at the first stop sign in my neighborhood. Silence accompanied me during the drive. Just as the six o’clock hour approached, I changed gears and pushed open the door.

The setting of the sun was near. There was a tint cast over the sky, warning us all that darkness would soon comb the city’s streets for bright yellow hues.

“Five-fifty-four.”

I strutted through the parking lot with both thumbs underneath the backpack straps that were now on my shoulders. Young, ambitious adults roamed the campus, desperate for knowledge that the ones before them claimed would land them a career. Their determination was written all over their youthful faces.

Every time I pushed open the door of the classroom, it reminded me of a time when my belly rumbled with hunger for the same knowledge. I had barely reached puberty. My breasts hadn’t budded and I was still trying to figure out how to properly use a flat iron.

By the time my classmates were graduating high school, I was seeking my second college degree. Still, I sat beside them and tossed my cap in the air when the year ended and our lives were set to begin. Mine was already off to a decent start.

I pushed the spectacles up the bridge of my nose as I rested my body in the cold, plastic chair at the back of the classroom. Right in the center, I was able to see everything that moved –as well the things that were stationary.

“Settle in. Settle in. Let’s get started.”

Project 184.

“Professor Jack!”

A hand flew in the air. The collar shirt Jamie wore wrinkled as he waved, beckoning for the professor’s attention.

“Yes, Jamie, is it?”

How could one forget Jamie’s name?

He wouldn’t allow it. His need for constant attention was painful to witness.

“Yes. Yes, sir. I haven’t heard back about our last assignment. I checked the dashboard and didn’t see the grades listed, either. I’m just curious.”

“No worries, Jamie. The grades will be posted before the end of the week.”

“Thank you, professor.”

“You’re welcome. Does anyone else have a question before we get started this evening?”

Have you kissed your wife lately? Your mother? Your grandchildren? Because you should. It’ll make parting much easier for them all.

Silence.

“Alright then,” he continued, “Let’s get on with the lesson. Open your books to chapter six where we left off last week.”

I opened the massive publication to the page I’d bookmarked Thursday before the end of class. Though I had gone through the book twice, and studied each chapter weeks prior to the start of the semester, my third review was based on the progression of the course in real time.

Two hours later, the class was nearly empty. I stuffed my laptop and book inside my backpack as a lingering presence captured my attention. Without looking up from my bag, I squeezed the butt of the compact .40. My nostrils widened. Death was in the air.

Enticing.

Momentarily, I closed my eyes to savor the aroma.

Beautiful.

“Ms–White?”

“Proje– Professor.”

I zipped my bag and pulled it over my shoulders.

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