U of M Series: The Chemistry Poet

Chapter 1: Piper

One. Two. Three. This is not happening to me!

Four. Five. Six. Of all the days to get a flat tire, of course it happens today. Already late to school, why not add in tire malfunction?

Seven. Eight. Nine. Only the third day of classes, I have my first lab for chem three-hundred at eight AM sharp. I wanted to get there early so I could scope out the best spot and find a lab partner suitable to spend the next year with together. But of course, here I am, ten till, and still waiting for AAA.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Note to self: YouTube how to change a tire later.

Being one of the few female chemistry majors means choosing lab partners is particularly daunting. Do I pick the super nerdy pre-med guy who is socially awkward and stands too close? Or do I pick the dude who doesn't understand personal hygiene and spends his free time playing Dungeons and Dragons in his mom's basement. I mean, I've played and all, but it doesn't consume my life.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Or, worst of all, do I choose the guys who think their shit-don't-stink and is smarter than me believing they need to condescendingly mansplain all the assignments and theories to me?

Luckily, I have David Cho as a friend. We promised to be lab partners this semester. He, thankfully, doesn't act like any of the men I mentioned. He's top of his class, has well-adjusted social skills, and seems to brush his teeth daily. We constantly compete for the highest exam scores. Plus, he already knows my compulsive need to arrange everything just so when I do my experiments.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Unable to wait in my car any more, I climb out and lean against my little white Corolla and take a giant swig of my iced vanilla latte. Bliss. Hopefully my car will be fixed and I'll be on my way in no time.

I check the time on my Apple watch. Out of necessity, I look at it three more times. Every glance of the clock has to be done exactly four times.

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Distracted by my watch and my counting, I don't see the yellow Jeep barreling down the road swerving across the lane right toward me. Too Fast and too close.

Catching sight of it, I yelp and jump across the hood of my car to avoid sure doom. In the process, I smash into my latte.

I roll down the hood of my car to the ground and after a pause find my way back upright. Brown liquid rolls down my white tank top.

What the hell? The yellow Jeep slams its breaks and its back-up lights flicker on as it reverses my way.

Sawyer Daniels pulls up beside me. The Sawyer Daniels. Captain of the hockey team, Greek god look alike, and total man whore. A blond girl is in his passenger seat. A puck bunny, no doubt. Between their golden blonde hair and dashing good looks, they are like Barbie and Ken. The Jeep should be pink instead of yellow.

"Are you okay? You're going to get yourself killed, standing in the middle of the road." His gruff voice rattles me.

I don't know if I've ever heard him talk in real life. Just his Instagram stories and Snapchats. Damn, he's even sexier in person.

"Are you in shock?"

Shit.  I've just ben standing here with my mouth agape staring at him. Registering his words, I shake off my daze.

Placing a hand on my hip I reply, "I wasn't standing in the middle of the road. I was leaning against my car, which is far off to the side. It was you who was swerving all over the place! And driving way too fast!"

He gives me a sideways smile. His signature, and surprisingly tooth-filled, smile that surely has every girl at U of M dropping their panties for him. Running his hand through his shaggy sandy-blonde hair he replies, "Was I? Oops. Sorry." He nods his head to the girl next to him. "She was getting a little handsy."