Dallas (Time for Tammy Book 1)

Chapter 2: Don't You AIM?

The next day was the first full day of classes. I had three that morning. "Western Heritage" was a required course for all freshmen. Eckhart's 300 or so incoming freshmen were split between twelve professors, making each class size relatively small—which was one of the college's biggest selling points, besides the weather and ocean-front views. No one from my dorm was in my Heritage class, but I recognized one or two from my complex. The professor seemed nice enough.

In contrast to my Heritage professor—who was still in possession of most of his hair and told us all to call him "Alan,"—the professor for my marine invertebrate lab requirement had to have been at least eighty and looked to be a marine invertebrate himself. "Look around at your peers," he commanded us from behind the lectern.

I glanced around the nearly-full lecture hall. There had to be almost seventy of us. So much for small class sizes.

"You are all here because this class acts as an intro to marine biology. However, most of you will not be graduating as marine biology majors. The majority of the people sitting in this room will not be continuing on in that tract after next year." The professor stepped down from the dais to come closer to the edge of the stage. "In fact, most of you will be dropping this class before the end of the semester. Some of you will drop it by the end of today." From my vantage point in the back of the room, it seemed he was not much taller than the podium behind him. "So... let's weed out the easy ones. How many of you are here to be dolphin trainers?"

Quite a few people slowly raised their hands. I sat back, arms crossed. I'd always been more into fish than mammals.

"Humph. You need a psychology degree, not marine biology. Once you get that, you will need to claw your way to find a job—I won't say to the top as you will be working 365 days a year at minimum wage, 366 for leap years. Not to mention you'll have to find a partner who doesn't mind you smelling like fish."

One guy sitting in the third row slammed his notebook shut and shoved it into his bag.

"And how many of the rest of you expect to have a job at the end of four years?" The professor climbed back up behind the podium as the guy in front of me negotiated his way through his row and out the door.

The majority of the people in the room, including me this time, lifted their hands into the air.

"Not without at least two more years of schooling if not a full-on PhD if you are counting on making ends nearly meet. That is after you receive your purloined degree from Eckhart, where you will navigate your way through increasingly tougher classes."

My arms went back to encircle my chest as the people around me exchanged worried looks.

"And so." The professor's eyes became even more glass-like behind his thick frames as another group of students quietly left the lecture hall. "Let us begin with the phylum Arthropoda."

My last class that morning was Calculus, another requirement for my esteemed degree. The professor was tall and round with an unplaceable accent. He spent the hour writing with a dry-erase marker and talking to the whiteboard, his back facing us. As he moved, his protruding belly wiped away some of the marker.

"Are you wish me?" he finally addressed the class. The entire length of the whiteboard was covered with alien writing, like something out a sci-fi movie.

"Are you wishing?" the person in front of me asked. He (she?) had glossy brown hair that hung straight down his (her?) back.

"Wish me. Are you wish me?" the professor repeated.

"Wishing to get out of this class," Glossy Hair half-whispered.

"Are you with me?" a girl to my right hissed.