A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

If someone had told me twelve months ago that I'd have to resit my first year of university, I wouldn't have questioned it. Wouldn't have even blinked. It would hardly be off brand. However, if someone had told me the reason why, I probably would've laughed. A lot. Least until I realised said person was being deadly serious, at which point I would've locked myself into the nearest bathroom, crawled into the corner between the manky toilet bowl and the limescale-infused shower, and started crying.

After everything, I don't know what possessed me to think I could even attempt to pass the year, but despite it all, I was still determined to sit my exams. It took some intervention from every sensible person in my life--although I do include Tom in that, so sensible should be taken with a pinch of salt--for me to realise it was probably best I take a break for the summer. I guess I've got to admire my self-belief, even it was formed from complete delusion.

Unlike last year, I'm not about to start living with a bunch of strangers. The budget ghostbuster gang and I have found a shitty student house to rent, and it's move in day. Jamie, being the absolute buzzkill that he is, meticulously planned the moving process, and as I shuffle through a cardboard box full of kitchen utensils while bored out of my mind, he yammers on about his storage process for tupperware.

"Ideally, they would all be the same brand, and therefore share the same dimensions," he blabbers as I pull out a load of food containers, and open a cupboard to shove them into. "Most are leftovers from takeaways, I think, so we should sort through--No! Stop! What are you--No! Are you listening to a word I'm even saying? What's wrong with you?"

"Huh?" I question as I turn to him mid-shove.

Jamie growls, then snatches the tupperware from my hands. "Listening is a key skill."

I force down a laugh. He sounds like a goddamn school teacher.

"If you don't want to fail first year a second time," he says slowly as he starts organising the tupperware in a different cupboard to the one I just tried to dump them in. "I would recommend sharpening that skill, particularly given the imbeciles in the admission team have allowed you to attempt aerospace engineering."

"Hey, if the only option wasn't miles away, included way too much theory, and had awful job prospects--unfairly, if you ask me; no one repsects the arts--I would've swapped to a drumming degree," I argue.

Jamie pauses his organising, turns to me, then sighs. "My point exactly."

To piss him off, given the guy's being a complete dickhead, I proceed to turn my attention to the cupboard he's got his grubby paws in, and onto the little tupperware display he's created. He's still whining, but I zone his voice out as I focus completely onto the clear boxes. It takes me ten seconds or so, but without a touch, they fall onto themselves and fling out of the cupboard.

Jamie starts yelling, I start laughing, then he yells more, which makes me laugh even harder because his face turns bright red when he's pissed off, and his eyes bulge like a goddamn goldfish.

"I didn't touch them," I argue with a shrug. "Must have been a ghost. Or maybe just a bit off-balance. As an engineer, I can confirm you had some really weak foundations there, and--"

"Shut up, it was you!"

"Nah, weak foundations."

Ha. That's what he gets for dissing my drumming-related dream. I wish I could've gone full steam ahead with the whole drumming degree thing, but I had to compromise and settle on aerospace engineering. I always figured I was too dumb for it, and I can only assume I was accepted onto the course out of sympathy, but screw it, I can do it. Why not?