Page 3 of Forbidden Lessons

I lick my lips and desperately wish I’d put my chapstick in my pocket. “Yeah, see, my phone died, so I only got it today. Like…now.”

“Ah.” That single word carries so much hidden meaning.

I try not to dwell on the thought that it’s my first week of college and I’ve already fucked up so badly that the lady at the help desk is judging me for every poor life choice I’ve made up to this point.

But wallowing is right up there with overcompensation on the short list of Things Haven Lee is Good at.

Don’t forget fucking up. I’m excellent at that, too.

Clack, clack, clack goes the receptionist’s keyboard.

“Is there a problem?” When she doesn’t answer straight away, my stomach feels like it’s filling with cement. Thank God I didn’t take off my cardigan. Not just because of the no-bra situation, but now I can hide the pit stains forming as I try not to freak the fuck out.

“Not at all, Miss Lee. All the Ts were crossed, just had to dot some Is.”

She makes one last decisive stab at a button and then smiles at me. “Welcome to Agony Hollow College. I’ll put together anew orientation packet for you. You can pop by after lunch to collect it.”

We stare silently at each other for a few seconds, then the janitor starts vacuuming again.

“So that’s it?” I yell. “I’m in?”

The receptionist’s smile deepens as she waves me toward the stairs.

I grimace. “Is there like a map or something?”

She frowns, leaning in. “What?”

“A map?” I form a square with my fingers. “So I know where I’m going?”

She waves away my apparently unfounded concerns at getting lost on my first day at a new college. “Room 102. Up the stairs, second door on your right!”

“Awesome, thanks!” I hurry past the janitor, peeking through the massive arches on either side of the foyer to the rooms beyond. One leads to an enormous library, the other to what looks like a cafeteria.

Plenty of time to explore those later. I don’t want to be late to class, and it starts in like a minute.

I swipe my hands over my thighs, blotting away the sweat. This isn’t just first-day-of-college nerves. Or terra incognita nerves. Or, here’s hoping I don’t run into anyone I know, nerves.

This is ‘you’re a lying scumbag’ nerves.

My phone didn’t die. I pawned it, and then had to save up enough money to buy a new one.

That’s how long it took me to save enough money to buy a new crappy phone.

I guess I should be grateful for the forced social media detox I got. Man, did I have a lot of time on my hands. I’ve mastered the art of wallowing. I could start a wallowing cult and be the guru, and bestow upon others my divine gift of?—

The door to room 102 is closed. There’s a sign on it that says “class in session”.

It didnottake me more than a minute to rush up these stairs. I mean, I didn’t even pause to admire the paintings, or peek out the landing window at the sprawling campus grounds beyond.

Except, I did, and now I’m late, and I’m sick to my stomach with nerves, and deflated, and defeated, and just…hollow.

It’s like I was just about to cross the finish line, and someone nicked my fender and sent me into a tailspin.

I muster up courage from somewhere and attempt a tentative knock that goes unanswered after several thundering heartbeats.

There’s no more courage left for another knock, let alone trying to open the door.

I should leave.

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