Excerpt

I walked into the room and everyone looked up. I smirked as I realized literally half the girls were wearing different variations of pink. I wonder if they’d planned it. Of course there was a small faction of “scene-sters.” But who are they kidding. With their incongruous style they sometimes seem even more desperate for attention than the preps, the only difference is they’re quieter.

I took my seat in the middle of the classroom. I know they’d expect someone like me to sit in the back, but a girl’s got to get the grade. There’s an undeniable bias teachers have against people who sit in the back. As long as they can see you’re paying attention or, in my case, making intermittent eye-contact, you’re ensured a better grade.

I threw my bag on the floor. It was a rough, black book bag I used as a laptop bag. Pretty manly, but it had been free. I slumped into my chair and took out my folder. I’d have to look especially interested today to make up for my arrival.

It’s not that I came in late. I just came in later. The professor had gotten so used to the ruling coterie’s habit of arriving ridiculously early, that he’d taken to starting class ten minutes in advance. Ugh, just like them- inveterate suck ups. I suppose I’d become notorious for my (apparently mortifying) practice of arriving on time.

I zoned out as some 19 year old boy spouted erroneous theologies he’d no doubt been hand fed by his parents or youth group. I’m sure he’d never questioned them. I almost felt bad for him as I pictured his certain disillusionment when he finally realizes the world isn’t rainbows and candy canes. I suppose we were all like that at one point. Some of us just pop the bubble sooner than others . . . or someone pops it for us.