Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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The remainder of my days over the next week soar mindlessly, the only way pushing carts and checking ID's can make happen. So mindless in fact, that a majority of my time is spent creating little stories about every student I check in.
It's something my mom and I used to do together when I was younger.
Watching people was a hobby of hers, and I couldn't wait to do it with her. In a store, at the library, sitting in the stands at one of Callan's games. We would find any chance to create character arcs for every single person we'd see.
It was never serious, and the sillier the story the better. A guy wearing sunglasses who kept itching his nose was really working for the CIA and sending secret messages to a colleague watching from a different location. A woman asleep in a chair was exhausted from her double life of being a maid by day, but an award winning vocal artist by night.
I haven't created a story like that since middle school and I didn't even realize I was doing it until I found myself guessing what items a fellow classmate was about to pull out of their car. I had to make myself stop when I accidently made eye contact with a guy who then asked me if "I like what I see."
But it made the days pass quickly, and then the evenings have been spent collecting supplies and textbooks for my classes. I've even taken the time to walk the campus and find where all my lectures are housed because I refuse to be clueless the first week of the semester.
I've also skirted by on no real interactions with my dad, sans for an unannounced visit a week ago when he strolled up the sidewalk in front of the dorm hall I was assigned to for the day. I hadn't told him where I would be or when I would be there, so I can only assume one of his spies tipped him off.
He attempted to use a half assed excuse about checking in on his players, but the double take reaction as they came out of their building told me they weren't expecting him either. I watched as one of them barely shuffled his feet across the concrete to make a greeting, the plastic of his slide sandals scraping against the ground with each step. I laughed to myself then, at the fact that he was literally dragging his feet towards my dad to delay the conversation. Apparently I'm not the only one who doesn't look forward to seeing him.
The unannounced encounter accompanied with the unprompted knock at the door to my room right now tells me it's him. Even if it was a one off thing, the barometric shift in the air would be another warning sign. I can practically hear him judging the state of my hair as I move to open the door.
Physical appearance is a sign of pride, too, Camryn.
As if I haven't grown up a female, very aware of societal views of appearance. That's him, though. Always on, no matter if he's in front of a crowd of a hundred thousand fans or in his own home with his family.
