Conner's Game (Sample Only)

3 - Flu Favors

A/N - I see you all, discussing the RedDawn vs RedMoon debacle. Sigh. They are definitely linked and no I don't have a plan beyond that. But now I need to sort it out. I should have a map...

and a family tree, but I'm as eager to do that as I am to fix the tar on my driveway.

Bailey

"Dad, I'm fine. I'm going to class, OK?" I hold in the cough threatening to explode from my chest with sheer force of will.

"You should be asleep," Dad says through the phone. "Resting, at least. You have the flu, Bails. You can't miss one class?"

"This is my Chem Lab today, Dad. We're starting a new experiment. Lab is a third of my grade." I cover the mouthpiece of my cell to cough.

"Alright. Come straight home after and rest," he says.

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too, Peanut-butter."

I pop some cold 'n' flu pills before I walk to my car. It's cold and my teeth are chattering before I even reach my door. I huddle deeper into the layers of t-shirts and sweatshirts I have on. I think it's four layers, five if you count the comfy sports bra I have on.

By the time I get to campus, I feel like I've been mowed down by a tractor. My chest is heavy and my head is filled with an unpleasant fog. I should have listened to Dad. I won't be able to concentrate in class today anyway.

I take ibuprofen. Just one, to help clear my head enough to be able to concentrate in the lab. I've had a few... accidents... in this class and my grade has suffered as a result. Luckily, Professor Stansen has been understanding and given me chances to make up work that mysteriously vanishes and allowed me to re-do experiments when my samples have been mislabeled.

I work alone at the table. No one wants to be close to me on a good day and certainly not when my eyes are glassy and my nose is bright red. I breathe through my mouth under my mask and safety goggles and concentrate on adding the salt mixture to my beaker.

I check the heat for the umpteenth time. I can't afford to make any mistakes. Not at C State.

"Bailey? The Dean would like to speak with you outside in the hall," Professor Stansen gives me a small smile.

I swallow my discomfort. Dean Sancieo does not like me. She did, at first, for about a week. She is the one who selected me for the program, after all. Everything at State was going well for the first week of the semester. Then it all crumbled.

"Can you watch my station for me?" I feel like an idiot, asking my professor to watch my beaker, but I think Professor Stansen knows that I've got saboteurs in this class.

"Of course, Bailey. It looks like you're about finished anyway."

"Thank you!" I rush out into the hallway to get this over with. Dean Sancieo is standing just outside of the door, uncomfortably close to all the ears in the classroom. Her maroon-painted mouth is fixed in a grimace and her cornflower-blue eyes are narrowed on me. One foot, encased in a classic black pump, is tap-tapping away on the tile floor.

"Miss Washington," she says with a prim sneer my way.

"Dean Sancieo," I greet her warily. I keep my distance. There's something about this woman that makes me think she could lash out physically in an unprovoked attack. It's a ridiculous thought, but she reminds me of a sleek predator, waiting to pounce on the unaware little mouse; the mouse being me.

"I hear that you have an 86 average in Statistics," she says. There is a gleam of smug avarice in her eyes as she makes this announcement.

"I did," I tell her carefully. "I did the extra credit and already took my midterm. I scored perfectly on it and it's worth twenty percent of my grade." Statistics is another class that I struggle with because of the curse that is C State. I have a zero in participation. I couldn't score an A average without my participation, but because of the extra credit, I'll pull it out.