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 leas...
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I accept defeat and begin the trek back to my dorm. But my stomach mimics a black hole and threatens to suck the rest of my organs into oblivion with it. The only food waiting for me in my room is an abundance of Pop Tarts and Easy Mac. Neither one contains the satisfaction that I need at this moment, but the white flag is nearly in my hand when I see it. My safe haven advertised on a giant sign across the street. I would take it as a sign from God himself if it were illuminated just a little brighter.
On the billboard is a larger than life version on an electric scooter. YES! An answer to my problem, a scooter! I can drive a scooter. You don't need a license for a scooter, at least I don't think you do. I'm not above breaking a few laws to satisfy my hunger. A scooter is much safer than a car. There is no way it goes above ten miles per hour, but it will still get me to food faster than my battered legs will. I've sold myself on the idea before I even cross the street.
The Zoom program must have been a sponsor of freshman orientation, because their advertisement was housed on nearly every piece of free swag we got. It's just one of the many portable scooter companies that now exist, except this one is directly linked to my student ID. I can scan my ID and rent the scooter for whatever amount of time I need it and then just leave it wherever. Judging by the scooter I saw in the fountain in the courtyard earlier, people are taking the hook a little too literally.
I quickly download the app and pull up the map to see where the closest scooter is. I take a left down University Avenue and wander for another two minutes until the green person on the map lines up directly with the red scooter symbol. The scooter itself has seen better days, considering the way it's splayed like a chalk outline on the sidewalk. When I stand it upright, the handlebars are not complete pointing straight ahead even though the rest of the body is. I shake it a few times, making sure it doesn't fall apart when in motion. I listen and watch carefully for pieces flying off. I try to remember the last time I even rode a scooter, and came up with nothing past the summer before my seventh grade year. Even then it was a pristine Razr, the upright T shape of the handle bars completely aligned.
Against my better judgment and fueled by the growl of my stomach I scan the code on top of the handle bar and climb on anyway. I began to balance my body on the thin deck of the scooter. The process proves to be more difficult with a backpack on my back, but I am pleasantly surprised with how flawlessly I pull it off. Within seconds I'm ready to set off and give a little gas with the button under my right thumb. I decide to stay on the sidewalk to avoid any and all traffic on the road.
The wind picks up my hair sending it flying like a cape behind me. I make it roughly ten feet before I realize this scooter is hacked, flying at a much faster pace than the original ten miles per hour I thought it could go. I begin to wobble a bit as my body attempts to adjust to the increased speed. I tighten my grip on the handlebars and locate the footbrake beneath me just in case.
