Page 3 of Broken by my Bully
“Igot the text for my first class,” I blurt out. “I’m signed up for your digital class notifications thingy?”
The receptionist does that thing where she looks at me over the top of her glasses, then looks down at her computer and taps away again. “Professor Rooke’s class? The one that began yesterday?”
I lick my lips and desperately wish I’d put my chapstick in my pocket instead of letting it melt in my car’s console. “Yeah, see, my phone died, so I only got the text today. Like…now.”
I’m subjected to another scan over the top of her glasses, and a drawn out, “I see.”
I try not to dwell on the thought that it’s my first week of college and I’ve already fucked up so badly that the lady at the help desk is judging me for all my poor life choices.
But wallowing is right up there with overcompensation on the short list of Things Haven Lee is Good At.
It’s right under fucking up. I’m excellent at that.
Clack, clack, clackgoes the receptionist’s keyboard.
Ffwip, ffwip, ffwipgo my notebook’s pages as I stroke my thumb against the corner.
“Is there a…problem?” I ask brightly.
When she doesn’t answer straight away, my stomach feels like it’s filling with cement. Thank God I didn’t take off my cardigan. Not just because of the no-bra situation, but now I can hide the pit stains forming as I try not to freak the fuck out.
“Not at all, Miss Lee. All the Ts were crossed, just had to dot some Is. You know how it is.”
I don’t. Not at all. But I let her assume that I do.
She makes one last decisive stab at a button and then smiles up at me. “Welcome to Agony Hollow College, Haven, dear. I’ll put together a new orientation packet for you. You can pop by after lunch to collect it.”
We stare silently at each other for a few seconds, then the janitor starts vacuuming again.
“So that’s it?” I yell. “I’m in?”
The receptionist’s smile deepens as she waves me toward the stairs.
I grimace. “Is there like a map or something?”
She frowns, leaning in to yell over the noise. “What?”
“Map?” I form a square with my fingers. “So I know where I’m going?”
She waves away my apparently unfounded concerns at getting lost on my first day at a new college. “Room 102! Up the stairs, second door on your right!”
“Awesome, thanks!” I hurry past the janitor, peeking through the wide arches on either side of the foyer to the rooms beyond. One leads to a library and the other to a cafeteria.
Plenty of time to explore those later. I don’t want to be late to class, and it starts in like a minute.
I swipe my hands over my thighs, blotting away the sweat. These aren’t just ‘first day of college’ nerves. Or ‘terra incognita’ nerves.Or‘here’s hoping I don’t get into a fight with someone I know’ nerves.
These are ‘you’re a lying, cheating scumbag’ nerves.
My phone didn’t die. I pawned it a few months back and had to save up enough money to buy a new one. Money I still didn’t really have when I bought this crappy mobile from the gift shop down the road.
The door to Room 102 is closed. There’s a sign on it.
Class in Session
It didnottake me more than a minute to rush up the stairs. I mean, I didn’t even admire the paintings, or peek out the landing window at the sprawling campus grounds beyond.
Except I did, and now I’m late, and I’m sick to my stomach with anxiety. Deflated, defeated, and just…hollow. Like I was just about to cross the finish line of this fucked up marathon, but someone came up behind me and sliced my Achilles tendon.
