The emcee's final remarks were like a starting pistol, triggering a mass exodus from the Coliseum. A chaotic surge of bodies, all clamoring for their schedules, swept me along like a leaf in a hurricane. My schedule, a piece of paper clutched in my sweaty hand, declared my fate—Statistics Class.
What a way to start my class with a subject I hate.
Designer labels swirled around me. I, on the other hand, was a scholarship kid, navigating this elite university with a battered backpack and a faded t-shirt. We spilled out of the Coliseum into the blinding sunlight.
"Seriously, three hours to tell us absolutely nothing!" a girl with a chestnut brown hair vented her frustration, her voice cutting through the din.
"Next-level hazing, I swear," a lanky guy beside me muttered in agreement.
Suddenly, a commanding voice boomed over the noise, silencing the disgruntled murmurs. "Quiet!"
The source of the voice wasn't a teacher, but an older student, his tall, athletic frame and chiseled features radiating an air of authority that seemed to make hearts flutter. He had that "senior god" vibe going on, the kind of guy who ruled the school with somewhat an iron fist and a perfectly sculpted jawline.
"First years," he spat out the words. "See that building?" He pointed towards a hulking concrete structure across the sprawling lawn.
"Yes," The response was a chorus of nervous affirmation.
"Engineering to Psychology programs, that's where you'll find them. The schedule tells you the rest: room number, and class name. Find your place or find the door."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving a trail of bewildered freshmen in his wake. My heart pounded in my chest. The imposing building loomed closer, its sharp angles and reflective glass surfaces glinting in the sunlight. The elevator, marked with a bold "VIP Only" sign, was off-limits.
Stairs it was. My legs burned as I took the first step, but I wasn't alone in my suffering. Gasps and groans echoed around the stairwell. I weaved through the throng of students, my eyes scanning the signs for any indication of my destination.
The first floor housed a sprawling cafeteria, its various sections boasting names like "French Fries Valley" and "Milkshake Avenue." The second floor was dedicated to the library and various administrative offices. The third floor was the domain of the engineering students with mostly male faces hunched over notebooks and high-end laptops. The fourth floor belonged to the sciences with various beakers, microscopes, and unsettlingly realistic anatomical models.
Finally, I reached the fifth floor, the home of the College of Arts and Sciences. Another floor loomed above, but the thought of climbing another flight of stairs was too much to bear.
The remaining students and I dispersed into the corridor. Classrooms blurred past me, their numbers a meaningless jumble. The floor plan was a maze, a network of intersecting paths and hidden corners designed to torture lost freshmen. After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon my destination: the designated room for Statistics, tucked away in a secluded corner far from the main staircase. I scanned the paper taped to the door, my eyes flitting down the alphabetized list.
Students' List of Enrollees (BLOCK 1):
Banuelos, Josephine BS PSYCH
Celestial, Justine Constantine BS PSYCH
De Los Santos, Mark Anthon BS PSYCH
De Los Santos, Mike Anthon BS PSYCH
Escobar, Drake BS PSYCH
YOU ARE READING
Only Him
RomanceJustine's college plans are derailed when his ex-best friend, Prince, returns, demanding more than friendship. With his grades, internship, and potential romance with Oliver at stake, Justine must choose between his past and his future.
