FORGET YOU LAUREN

CHAPTER 9

Track 7: Getaway Car (4:16)

Lauren POV
A week later...
"Ladies and gentlemen!" My Economics IV teacher was in front of the classroom. "I want to welcome you in person to a special class called Hell on Earth."
Everyone in the room laughed when he turned on the lights.
"I'm not kidding," he said, with a concise voice. The laughter dissolved in silence, and everyone opened their notebooks while he wrote a few words on the whiteboard.
"Hey". The girl on my left cleared, making me look at her.
"Yes?", I whispered.
She smiled and just looked at me. So she took a picture and left the room.
I held a laugh.
Definitely a freshman.
"My name is Professor Hughes," my teacher continued. "For the next semester, you need to be prepared to be pressured like never before. My job is to eliminate people who cannot enter business school from people who can survive a week or two in business school."
He started distributing his resume when the screen behind him lit up. The words on the screen say: You have until next week to leave my class without penalty. When he came to my desk, he raised his eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.
"If you want to pass this class, you will need to eat, breathe and sleep economically. You will take a test every Thursday, an analysis paper every Tuesday and will be responsible for presenting a fifteen-page thesis paper on a topic that I must approve by the fifth of next month. Is there any question?"
Some people raised their hands.
"None at all?"
More hands flew in the air.
"Very good then." He smiled and turned off the lights. "Class dismissed".
Some students tried to approach him with questions, but he just said, "Class dismissed" repeatedly until they walked away.
I closed my notebook and stood.
"Miss Jauregui?" He said looking at me. "Can you join me on the podium for a few minutes?"
"Okay". I went down and he waited until no one else was in the classroom.
"Miss Jauregui, why are you taking my class this semester?"
"Because I need it to graduate."
"You took the most advanced Economy V last year, and it hurt me to give my first A in six years," he said, smiling. "You'll probably go through Economy IV, and I'll be forced to give you another one." He hit the chin. "It can affect my reputation around here as a 'C+ and B- teacher,' and I'm not sure how I feel about it."
I blinked. I could never tell if he was joking or serious.
"Aren't you graduating twice in Creative Writing? Can't you attend these classes instead of this one in the semester?"
"I've completed all the courses required for this course," I said, somewhat upset that the rest of my classes in the last year hadn't written.
"I'll tell you something, Miss. Jauregui," he said, clapping his hands. "I'll give you an S grade for this course, which means you don't have to show up, but you have two conditions."
"I really prefer an A".
"Let me finish. Condition number one: I am always in charge of overseeing the final logistics of the annual veterans trip accommodation, and I have never worried about the students who were voted to be responsible for it. This year is the first year I'm worried about."
"What do you mean?"
"The mayor's son, Greg Charleston III, is the chairman of the committee. Yesterday, he walked into my office and asked if there was any extra money in the budget for a TF fund. He said he wanted to make sure everyone had fun."
"What is a TF fund?"
"I had to ask the same question." He rolled his eyes. "It means The Fucking Fund. He wants to buy three packages of premium condoms for each person on the trip."
I held a smile.
"He's already spent ten percent of his budget on alcohol and S'more's ingredients, and yesterday I saw a charge for some kind of special lighter." He shook his head. "I'm too old for this shit, so you're officially responsible for taking care of the supervision on this trip starting today."
"Annotated. What is the second condition?"
"Which can really help you use your business skills," he said. "My wife owns a flower shop on Main Street that only profits during the summer," he said. "I intended some students to complete a research project that lasted a semester, so I could get some answers about how we can make it profitable all year round, but...", he paused. "I don't trust any of them. Ready. I said. So in exchange for a letter of recommendation and an S note..."
"A recommendation and an A grade".
"I'll still have to take a look at the work you deliver if you want a real note, Ms. Jauregui," he said briefly, as if giving me another A killed him. "Either way, I'd like you to do a full review of my wife's store during the semester, instead of showing up in class and wasting my time. What do you say?"
I hesitated to respond, not wanting to reveal the fact that their offer was perfect.
"I accept your offer, Professor Hughes". I reached out my hand and he shook it. "What's the name of the store?"
"Oh, right". He opened a briefcase and handed me a business card. "It's called The Silk Stem, and it's in front of The Ripped Bodice. It's that bookstore that only sells romance books," he laughed. "I'm sure you have no idea where this is."
I know exactly where this is...
***
An hour later, I was across the street from a pink and white building, looking at the shiny silver letters of the Ripped Bodice.
I came here a few weeks ago out of habit, armed with a list of Camila's favorite authors. Since she made a point of begging for a shipment of new books whenever we were in good condition, I always looked for new releases.
For sure, Camila was already inside the store, looking at the New Releases shelf. She was dressed in bleached white shorts with a bright yellow blouse and her hair thrown aside in loose curls.
Last night, while in a bar, I heard all my friends talk about "the new girl of the semester at sea".
"Sexiest girl on campus. Hands down." "Where the hell has she been and who is she dating?" "What do you mean, is she your roommate?"
Before I could make my way back, my phone rang in my pocket. A call from my father.
Moaning, I debated whether to answer.
"Hello?" I gave in before going to voicemail.
"Hello, Lauren". My father's voice seemed less condescending than usual. "How are you today?"
"Well, how are you?"
"I'm wondering why you canceled all your on-site work hours for the next few months. I got into the system and I can't figure out why the hell you'd think that's okay."
I talked too soon about you not being condescending today...
"I have a new task that will take up a lot of my time this semester. I need to get an A."
"Laur, in case you forgot, you are on track to take over this business the moment you get your MBA. If you think for a second that someone here cares about whether you take a C or an A in your college class, you are sadly wrong."
"The grades are for me."
"Yes, well, you can work at least fifteen hours a week, can't you?"
I didn't answer. I didn't feel like discussing this today.
"You've been telling me the truth about completing the business course, right?" He asked. "You're not going to give me a quick lesson in this perfect idiot shit you were talking about last year, right? What was it called again? Creative handwriting?"
"Creative writing".
"Yes, that." He laughed. "He who doesn't make money. I will try to find someone to fill your head in the coming weeks, but next time, a warning will be greatly appreciated. Anyway, let me see this week's numbers."
I didn't hear a single word he said. I muttered "Um hmm" and "Yes" every few seconds, so he thought I was paying attention.
My father still hasn't admitted it, but lived indirectly through me. He wanted us to have the relationship he never had with his own father. He wanted to deliver his company to me, in a way that his father didn't do for him.
The idea of this seemed cool when I was younger - when I was marking her workplaces all week, dragging Camila with me to some of the most exciting meetings in baseball games. But as I grew older, I realized that while all the subjects in the school were easy for me, the only one I really liked was writing.
I told him this on my thirteenth birthday, showing him an essay called "I hate my neighbor", but he never read it. Instead, he laughed and said, "If you plan on knowing what it's like to have a girl, I suggest you don't tell anyone what you just told me about wanting to be a writer."
So I buried the thought and never brought it up again. But when I got to college, I couldn't help but pursue it as my second degree. And while I never admitted it, I enjoyed writing letters over the years; it kept my skill sharp.
"Can I expect to see you at the opening of Perlman offices next week?" My father asked, finally stopping talking about the numbers.
I doubt... "I'll let you know later," I said, seeing a guy approach Camila in the store. She smiled at him, quickly took his phone number and blushed when he left.
"Father". I watched Camila get another book. "I have to go. I'll call you later."
"You better, Lauren."
I closed the call and crossed the street, stopping when I entered the store. The walls were freshly lined in pink, and with the exception of the cashier and Camila, no one else was here.
"Can I interest you in something erotic today?" The cashier smiled. "Each purchase comes with a set of soft pink cuffs."
"I'll think about it." I smiled and her cheeks turned red.
I went to Camila and she immediately turned around.
"Why are you in this store?" she asked, going to the cashier. "The sign on the front says: People who hate romance are not allowed."
"This place is on the other side of my senior research assignment." I noticed light pink makeup on her eyelids. "And I've said before that I don't hate romance. Since you know flowers, I may need your help from time to time. If I don't find someone I can tolerate better, that's it."
"Well, in that case, I'm going to need your help to give me a ride to campus every day and not leave me like you did this morning."
"I'll think about it." I took my wallet and paid for her books. "How are you adapting to the first week of classes on the ground so far?" I held the door open when we left the store.
"Classes are good. Social life is not what I thought it would be."
"Why not?"
"Because I think I've ruined my chances of making college friends for a lifetime since I've been away so long," she said. "Everyone already has a group of friends and we will all go their separate ways in less than nine months."
"Well, if you can't make lifelong friends, try to make lifelong enemies," I said, smiling. "You're great at making these."
"Thank you for this excellent advice." She rolled her eyes. "It's always good to remember why the two of us will never be friends."
"I'm always happy to remind you of that," I said. "Just go to a few more clubs and parties this week. It's not that hard. Hell, you should probably go to one of the street bars now and meet someone new. That would also save us from this conversation."
"Does that mean you're not willing to give me a ride home?"
"That means I'll do it, but only if you agree not to talk all the way there."
"Ugh. All right."
As we walked, I couldn't help but notice how all the men who spotted Camila looked twice, and for some strange reason, I felt some kind of strange thing about it.
When we got to my car, I took a long look at her while she threw her stuff in my back seat.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asked, looking up.
"I'm not looking at you." I rolled my eyes. "I'm waiting for you to remember how to ride in the front seat of a car and put on your damn seat belt."
"Would you like me to sit in the back seat, then?"
"If Greg's things aren't back there, I suggest." I started the engine.
"Well, if you're going to be like that..."
"You agreed not to talk," I said. "If you don't want a ride, feel free to leave. If you want one, I'd rather drive quietly."
She looked at me as she clicked on the seat belt.
She really is beautiful as hell now...