DAISY
As promised, Riley invited a young man who helped give me a satisfying tour around SU last week.
I spend the rest of the weekend cautiously. I stay mostly in the bedroom or take Cuppy for a walk. Yes, I make sure to avoid any encounter with Kay.
I received my package last Friday. It includes my complete textbooks and everything needed to start school.
Today, Monday, after I finish my breakfast, I begin getting ready for school. It's finally the first day. I'm dressed in blue skinny jeans and a cream blouse. I wear light makeup and straighten my hair.
It's almost eight when I head for the elevator. On the entryway table, I find a small note lying on the console:
"I've skipped; I have some stuff calling me, but Vance will explain everything to you. I'll be willing to see you at school if time allows.
Xo, Riley."
Confused, I step into the elevator and nervously stand still as the machine ascends.
I hope getting a cab won't be a problem. The school is ten minutes away; I just need a ride to get there quickly.
As soon as the elevator opens, I step out and make my way through the busy lobby, toward the spinning doors where I find Vance, simply waiting.
As he notices me approaching, his lips pull into a smile. "Good morning, Miss Esteban."
"Good morning, Vance," I reply with a smile at the man wearing the usual Center Yorker uniform.
"I'll show you to your ride," he offers kindly, gesturing for me to go first.
"Thanks," I nod gratefully and allow him to guide me.
A valet holds open the back door of a Kopi bronze Aston Martin SUV. "What's this?" I ask, baffled.
"I'll be driving you to school today," Vance explains.
I draw in a deep breath. "You shouldn't mind. Tell Riley I took a cab," I say, stepping back from the car.
"But Miss, it was Mr. Chandler's order," he informs me with concern.
Well, screw Kay! Screw his possessions.
"Well, tell him I'm fine. I don't need his Aston Martin," I mock and hail a cab.
Kay must be insane if he thinks he can wrap me around his finger.
I arrive at school quickly and march to my destination.
My first class is PSYCH101. Fortunately, Patrick, the guy who gave me the tour and printed my schedules, showed me the classrooms for all my required courses.
I find an empty seat in the middle row of the auditorium a minute before the professor arrives.
He is young for a professor—tall and burly with a full beard around his jawline. One might mistake him for a military officer, except he's dressed in a formal suit.
"Why is my class so scanty?" he asks sternly, causing murmurs around the lecture hall.
"I guess it's better if I tell you how I work with students, but first, you can address me as Professor Ian," he introduces himself and continues.
"After every class, there will be assignments, and I will constantly give you topics to work on, either in groups or individually. I expect hard work from all of you because this is the root of psychology. If you fail to keep up, consider your major a great failure." He exposes some contents from his briefcase onto the desk. "And I don't tolerate noisy classes, nor do I tolerate slackers." Just as he finishes, the entrance door flies open.
I instinctively turn my gaze toward the door, where a tall, handsome guy captures everyone's attention as he walks in.
He doesn't seem to care about the attention or the whispers and blushes he's attracting from almost every girl in class, it is like he was used to it. He swaggers in as if he owns the class—hell, the entire school.
Self-assured boys make me sick.
"I repeat, I don't tolerate slackers," the professor directs the words pointedly at the prideful guy, who finds a seat in the front row.
During the rest of the class, Professor Ian lectures on the history and methods of psychology, after dismissing two students for breaking his rules, including the arrogant one who swaggers out with a careless wink.
By the time I finish my three classes for the day, the sun is covered by nimbostratus clouds. I'm exhausted and doubtful if taking a cab back to Center Yorker is a good idea. So instead, I decided to treat my hungry stomach.
I walk from my department to a nearby diner, where I order waffles, fries, and saucy wings at the counter.
"Daisy?" a voice beside me says hesitantly.
I glance over and see a tall, dashing young African American boy in casual clothes. "Have we met?" I ask, confused.
"Not exactly. I've seen you at KC's. Riley's friend, right?" He furrows his brow at the last sentence.
"Anyone can say that," I speculate nervously.
"Believe me, not everyone goes to Center Yorker."
"Okay?" He has a point. Center Yorker is one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, and it's well-secured.
If he's been to the penthouse, he must be friends with Riley or Kay. I bet Riley would have mentioned him if they were friends, so that drives the point to Kay.
"Mind if I sit with you?" he asks, holding a tray of lunch.
"From what I've gathered, you must be KC's friend?"
"Yes, I am," he confirms, just as my order arrives.
YOU ARE READING
Deuce-ace roommate
Teen FictionBOOK 2 in the Drowning/Bully Standalone Series. After a misfortune that led to difficult circumstances, Daisy Esteban and her mother move to Asia to start a new life. It was after eight years when Daisy had returned back to the states to study in SU...
