The Will To

F O U R (the rager)

I pulled at my knit sweater again, annoyed with myself for wearing it when I was well-versed in the hellish heat that scorched the Criminal Psychology lecture hall. Beads of sweat were collecting at the base of my cleavage and I was on the verge of sighing aggressively for the tenth time when Professor Higgins said, "And this project you'll be working on this semester will be used to determine eligibility for the FBI Internship this summer."

    My sweat evaporated. I sat up straight. All barbaric thoughts of what I'd do to the person responsible for the hall's heat went to the wayside.

    This was what I'd been waiting for.

    "As most of you know, this internship with the FBI is incredibly competitive. Thousands apply across the country and only a handful are picked, and most of those chosen have been working towards the goal for years," Higgins explained. "Yeah, your GPA should be incredible, but you also need a bunch of extracurriculars and references that make you seem like the chosen one."

    Yes, yes. I knew all that, I thought, as the lecture hall was filled with soft laughter. I glanced around the room, wondering how many of my peers were actively working towards applying for the FBI internship. It was no laughing matter. I'd been interested for years and it was the reason I'd specially requested Higgins as my Criminal Psychology professor as I had extensive knowledge of his connections. He, himself, had interned once upon a time, and, legend had it, when he wrote a reference for a student, they were the chosen one.

    I was going to get in, and I'd commit nothing short of murder if the project he was about to assign provided me with a chance.

    "The project is simple: conduct a case study." Higgins leaned against his desk. "Any case study. That's it. But, word to the wise, if you have any interest in being selected for the internship, pick one that's complex—on a person, on a system, or something else in the field. I don't care, but I need to be wowed if you have any chance of getting me to write a reference."

    A hand shot in the air, and Higgins nodded to a guy with hair pulled back into a low ponytail. "So, if we just want to pass this class, we can take the easy way out and just pick a simple case study?"

    Higgins scratched his immaculate beard to hide his amusement and said, "Well, I guess that's one less person for those of you who want the internship to have to worry about."

    More laughter echoed through the hall and a sly grin slowly rose to my mouth. With my elbows propped on my desk, I bridged my fingers together below my chin.

    Excellent.

    Something caught my attention. I angled to my left to find the same guy from last week—the one who'd asked me if I was actively planning a murder—staring at me through a pair of wide, worried eyes. He made no sudden movements as he said, "Whose death you plotting now?"

    I shot him my middle finger and resumed a forward position.

    "So, you all ready for the kicker?" Higgins asked. "You'll be working in groups." Whether he paused for dramatic effect, to catch his breath, or for his own sick pleasure as the occupants of the hall swapped glances and murmured, I had no idea. What I did know was that I was seconds away from launching out of my seat in protest.

    Groups? Groups? I'd heard jokes before but none so devastatingly vulgar. The very project that was going to seal the deal on my perfect application for the FBI internship was going to be determined by a case study completed by me and my assigned group? The unbearable heat of the room returned, and I started to realize that I may have to resort to murder.