Page 15 of Scrimmage

“Right. Chance. This was less than satisfying.” I wave over him. Before he can actually get angry, I dart out of the room.

I sprint down the hallway, running my fingers through my hair. I pass a bathroom and backtrack. Studying myself in the mirror, I grab a hairbrush that was probably left behind by some other poor unfortunate girl and try to brush through the mess. When the knots don’t relent, I toss it up into a bun and call it a day. Some guy walks in on me, and the utter confusion on his face is worth it.

I almost fall down the stairs and run out of the front door. The sun burns my eyes. I reach into my pocket, praying there is somehow a pair of sunglasses. There is, but they aren’t mine. I shrug and put them on, full out running toward my house. I body slam into a massive form that knocks me to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going on your walk of shame, slut.” The guys says, yanking me up and running off. Fucking asshole.

“Fuck you!” I shout after him. “Only jackasses are up running this early in the morning!”

“It’s eleven!” he shouts without looking back, holding up his middle finger.

For a second, I consider chasing him down and tackling him, but the time he said registers. I have fifteen minutes to get my shit and make it across campus. I huff, giving his back a series of vulgar gestures and run in the opposite direction. The house is dark when I get inside, sweating from the exertion. I throw open the door, gasping for air, and run into the bathroom. I brush my teeth in record time, scrubbing away whatever asshole’s tongue was in my mouth. I find my backpack on the kitchen barstool and shove my laptop in. On the counter is a note and a fresh muffin with a portable charger. God, I love Penny.

Soak up the alcohol. See you at The Roost after class if you’re alive. If you’re murdered please haunt me so I can find whatever asshole did it.

There’s a big heart and Penny’s name after it. I snatch the muffin and contemplate my life choices before grabbing my long board next to the door and rushing out. I feel like death. Maybe I should stop partying on weekdays. I didn't think I drank that much, but that seems to be the consensus lately.

My legs are already burning from the involuntary run I did. When I get into the building, the clock on the wall tells me I'm two minutes late. People are starting to file in, and I thank the Universe for having mercy on me. I may not believe in time but I believe in the Universe, and today I accept that it’s on my side. The professor isn’t even here when I get into the classroom. I’m able to pick a seat directly in the middle of the room. It’s not a big class since it’s geared more toward my major.

We all spread out following the unspoken rule to leave space between each other. The know-it-alls that want to suck the professor’s dick sit up front. Then it’s the people who want the professor to know they’re paying attention. I’m behind them, still paying attention but able to get away with multi-tasking. Behind me are the people who scroll through social media and panic at midterms, buying notes off of the kids right in front of me.

I pull out my laptop and a piece of paper from my sketchbook, hiding it behind my keyboard with my charcoal pencil. Charcoal isn't really my medium of choice anymore. Recently, I’ve found myself itching to use it. When I’m stressed, I can’t help it. It keeps my hands busy while I disassociate. I’m already outlining my latest bullshit sketch when the professor walks in. He’s setting up when I feel a presence next to me.

“Well, well, well, look who it is. Ashland Bradshaw in the flesh and blood." The voice is followed by the light scent of fancy cologne.

I shove the sketch under my laptop, trying to figure out who the voice belongs to. I’ve been pretty careful not to hook up with guys in the liberal arts college, but I’m not fucking perfect. I’ve been blackout plenty. Who knows what I’ve gotten into in those time frames. Instead of turning and saying hi, I choose to pretend I didn’t hear a word. Whoever it is sits next to me. Directly next to me. The fucking gall. In my peripheral vision I catch them unloading their shit onto the table, as if we've been in every class together since grade school. I finally turn to them, ready to tell them to fuck off. I’m surprised at the familiar conceited aura encroaching on me.

“A…” I focus, trying to name the face. “Allen?”

He bursts out laughing. “Damn. I’ve never been forgotten in my life. Alexi. From Sunny’s?”

I stare at him blankly. Why the fuck is he sitting next to me?

“Looks like luck is on my side.” He gives me that sly grin. I want to slap it off of his pretty fucking face.

“Terrible to see you. Now sit somewhere else,” I growl.

“Woah, why the animosity? I didn’t think I madethatbad of an impression.” He opens his laptop. I have half a mind to shove it to the floor, but that would be too impulsive. Guess my brain isn’t too late on this one. Instead, I shut it and slide it two seats down. He gives me an amused look and pulls it back in front of him.

“Are you serious?”

“Someone had a bad morning,” he grins.

“Move. Away.” I shove his laptop again, getting angrier by the second.

“Oh, I’m much too invested in this to back down now.”

I glare. “Do you have a problem taking social cues?”

The professor chooses that moment to interrupt. “Ashland Bradshaw?”

“Here,” I grumble.

“Alexi Daemon?” the professor calls out.

Alexi raises his hand like a kindergartener. “Here.”

“Looking forward to seeing what you do this season, Mr. Daemon.”

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