Page 33 of Petite Fleur

Thank goodness for Shelby!

Speaking of, she spins around and smiles as soon as she sees me. “Hey, darling, it'll be like 20 minutes before they're ready to serve.” She says sweetly.

I happily accept the hug she pulls me into, feeling myself melt into her embrace. “I wasn't hungry anyway.” I admit.

Shelby pulls me back by my shoulders, sighing heavily as she holds me at arm's length. “What did that asshole, Turner do today?” She asks.

It's taking every ounce of willpower I have not to cry, and I feel stupid for being that on edge.

I want to respond, but I can't. I can't say anything without cracking like a cheap plastic cup, so instead, I just shrug.

Shelby finally releases my shoulders, wrapping one of her arms around me as she practically pulls me out of the dining hall. “Come on, darling, let's talk about it at your place, okay?” She asks.

All I can manage is a nod as Shelby walks with me back to my apartment.

I have to admit, the walk isn't that bad when Shelby is with me. She holds my hand the entire time and casually talks in what I assume is her attempt to make me forget about my class.

It's not working, but it does make the walk more tolerable.

That, and when I look behind me, I see that fancy car Leon drives at a stop sign right behind us, but it turns once I notice it.

I'm sure it's just a coincidence. I've seen him around campus a few dozen times, but he is always walking away, or it's from a distance.

It's not surprising if he works there, I'm just paranoid and somehow convinced that everything in the world revolves around me.

Why else would I see Leon and automatically assume that he's there for me?

I've tried to figure out what he teaches, but the directory only lists the first initial and their last name. That doesn't help me much since I only know his first name.

They should add pictures to the website.

I should suggest that.

Why am I thinking about this? Why do I even care?

I don't know why I even want to find him so badly other than to thank him for the apple cider and insist he take his very nice canvas bags back.

I was able to sip on that apple cider for months! It was the perfect way to start my mornings. I'd warm up a little cup of it and sip on it every morning on the patio and pretend that my life was normal and that I wasn't fighting to survive.

It would've lasted even longer, but Carlie finished the last little bit of it one random weekend.

That's okay; I know she and I both live for the yearly apple cider, and I'm sure it made her day as much as it made mine the entire time I had it.

Shelby keeps my hand in hers as she pulls me through my apartment and tosses my bag on the couch before going upstairs. “Sit, tell me what Turner did.” She insists.

I don't know what that finally breaks me, but it does. I'm yet again a fragile plastic cup, now with all of the week's stress pouring out of the cracks within me.

I rant about how rude the rich kids in my class are and how they laugh at me for not being able to live the same lifestyle they do; I tell her about Professor Turner siding with the rich kids despite my lifestyle inadvertently being better for the planet than Brad or whatever his name is and his monstrous SUV that gets roughly a mile a gallon.

I rant about how even when I answer everything correctly and know exactly what Turner asks, I'm still the laughing stock.

Even when I'm correct, he's mad that I didn't elaborate on my answer more, and when I'm wrong, he's mad that I'm taking up valuable class time with my “pointless ramblings.”

I hate it.

I hate that this entire school year has been a disaster, but at least I'm almost done.

I only need one more year and I can put all of this behind me.

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