Page 69 of Distortion
Grabbing my stuff, I leave the library and walk through the Quad toward the sparkly Novelle Center. I ignore the people milling around, and the whispers that follow me, as usual. Inside the science building, I scan the names on the board for the office I need. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two figures I recognize.
What aretheydoing here?
I turn and walk briskly to the bank of lifts ...elevatorsout of view and vaguely see Mav and Shade go past from my hiding place up against the metal wall just inside. I frantically push the button to close the doors and pray that they don’t come in.
But they go right past and the doors shut smoothly. They never even look in my direction.
I press the five and feel the upwards movement, sighing in relief. Were they looking for me? Why would they try here? That doesn’t make sense.
The doors open into a white hallway and I don’t bother trying to guess their motivations any longer. I don’t care anyway. I’m on a mission, the most important of my life so far.
I find door 506 and see the name. Dr. Finbar Applegate plus about ten letters. I smirk as I remember that Stoke only had five after his.
I knock.
‘Yes?’ comes an impatient muffled voice.
I take a steadying breath and open the door. I step into the office, noticing the minimalist décor amongst a fair few diplomas, certificates, and awards. One’s a silver Rubix cube, the lines catching my eye.
‘My student hours don’t begin until nine. Come back then.’
I look at him, taking in the graying hair and the goatee. The white coat and the nonchalant way he’s sitting behind the desk. Despite his words, his dark eyes seem kind to me. Or perhaps they just don’t resemble Stoke’s ice-blue ones.
‘Apologies,’ I say, ‘but I’m working then. Would you be able to give me five minutes now? Please?’
He lets out a small sigh and rolls his eyes. ‘Fine. What is it?’
‘I’d like to change my major to Chemistry. You’re the chair of that department and I read online that I need to speak to you about it.’
‘You just need to put in a request,’ he says, sounding bored.
‘I’m not a freshman.’
‘What are you, then?’ He leans a little closer.
‘A sophomore.’
He looks at his watch. My time must be almost up.
‘What’s your major now?’
‘English.’
Even I see his surprise, and then his condescending amusement.
‘Literature?’ he scoffs. ‘Look, I’m not sure if this is a dare or what, but I don’t have time for these jokes.’
I step forward. ‘I’m not joking. I’m much better suited to STEM than Liberal Arts.’
His eyes roll skyward. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Marguerite Nov— Evans.’
He taps away at his keyboard, looking bored as his eyes begin scanning the screen. He straightens abruptly, giving me an assessing look.
‘What did you say your last name was?’
‘Evans.’
