Meeting Halfway

Chapter 1

Footsteps thunder down the hallway against the clean, polished tile floor with a small echo that trails behind. The young man's bag bounces against his leg in an out of sync rhythm with the rest of his body. This would be our protagonist, Nathan LaVie; a 22-year-old young man starting his first day at his new college—and he's already late. It's not a good first impression to be seen running inside. However, with how this day has played out so far, a good first impression isn't exactly very achievable.

'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!' Nate scolds himself as he rounds a corner and hurries up a grand staircase. He repeatedly checks the room number on the slightly crumpled slip he clutches in his hand, hoping to whatever god there is that he's not lost. But as if heavenly light were shining down with angelic choir, he spots the classroom door just down the corridor.

Nate rushes to open the door, making a grand entrance of swinging the door open—which bangs against the wall—and tripping forward, nearly smashing his face into the floor.

He stumbles but soon plants his feet and recovers his balance. He looks up and finds the room deathly silent, all eyes on him with harsh judgmental gazes—including his new professor. He feels awkward tension in his throat thicken as he swallows hard.

"Can I help you," the professor slurs rather condescendingly. His voice is like the over-the-top mocking impersonation of a snobby rich person.

Words are getting caught in his throat as he stands before a room of eyes. "Uh, y-yeah I'm here for Introduction to Classics," Nate scratches the back of his neck, holding his pass with a full arm extension while he avoids eye-contact.

"Hmm, yes. You're also late," he says snobbishly, taking the crumpled paper with just two fingers like a germaphobe, "Will you please quietly place yourself at the available seat in the back?" Nathan holds back from rolling his eyes at his annunciation of 'quietly'.

Nate stares down at his feet as he strolls to the only open seat—one row away from the windows on the left, second seat from the back. As the teacher begins speaking again, the classroom's gaze shifts back to the front of the room. 'Mind your own business,' he thinks to himself.

Nathan silently pulls out his sketchbook and flips through it. He's tried different art styles, but always going back to his more cartoony comics he loves to write. He stops at a clean page, finding him with the motivation to draw but lacking the inspiration. He props his head up with his left hand, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against the paper with a sigh.

Nate listens to the professor monotonously lecture the class, feeling his ears going numb from the long droning dialogue. He tries distracting himself to help drown out the voice by examining the man's appearance. Balding, big nose, stout physique—a brown plaid suit jacket, tan shirt and a black bow tie with small white polka dots, brown slacks and black shoes—owlish eyes behind circular silver-framed glasses. Nate feels the need to adjust his own glasses, perhaps out of habit—or maybe out of comfort that his black-framed lens doesn't look as stupid.

Out of curiosity, Nate starts sketching light outlines, making subtle glances up at the professor. He draws exaggerated proportions, comedic mockery towards certain features. He has to stifle a giggle as he draws his nose inherently massive. He leans back in his chair, grinning at the humorous caricature.

The sudden collective noise of movement startles Nathan more than he'd like to admit. The class is already over before Nate realizes it, but he chooses to take that as a blessing. After he puts his stuff away, he lifts his bag strap over his head onto his shoulder and walks out. There's plenty of loud students filtering through the corridors, all the more reason for Nate to get to his dorm as soon as possible.