Stay

13

EVIE

Rain pounded against the windowsills of the lecture hall masking the drowning sound of my professor. It seemed like the hours were ticking away slowly and his voice kept going on and on. He had become lost in the world of statistics; leaving most of us lost and left behind.

I was usually okay with math. Even in high school I was pretty successful in it, but for some unknown reason, my mind was unable to wrap around the concept of statistics. I took the class thinking that I'd be able to do well in it, yet here I was struggling to even stay awake to listen.

"Now, as you can see," Professor Chandler continued, "The probability of an event can be thought of as long run proportion and frequency. In simple probability in an event, the formula used would be P(A) equals the number of elements in A over the number in elements in S..." His hand sped across the white board as he wrote in the same faded black ink.

My eyes squint to catch the last bit of the formula, because being the ditz that I am, forgot to bring my glasses with me (and lost a contact).

"Need help?" I glance over my shoulder to see Ryder leaning across the table, his lips quirked into that all-knowing smirk.

"I'm fine," I lie, not needing his assistance. I was stubborn in that sense, never needing anyone to help me figure out a problem. I was able to do it on my own.

"Don't look too fine," he says with his eyebrows raised.

"Promise you that I'm fine. Fantastic even... super-dee-duper... now, if you excuse me," I whisper yell, before turning around and focusing on the blurry mess in front of me.

"Evie," Ryder whispers once more.

I ignore him once more, again not needing his help. Ryder doesn't seem to get the hint, however. I flinch when something hits the back of my shoulder, skidding across the floor. I whip my head around, embarrassed by the few students who sent a few withering stares my direction.

"You're being a nuisance. Grow up and do your work," I pick up his pen and throw it back at him, satisfied as it hits him straight on the nose.

"Why do you play soccer? You should be on the baseball team."

I don't say anything, but instead, flick him my freshly manicured middle finger. Take that pompous-yet-overly-sexy idiot! I hear his arrogant chuckles behind me. Once again I ignore them, focusing on whatever the teacher was going on about.

Once class was over, I packed up my notebook and sling my oversized book bag over my shoulder. I wince as the fabric digs into my boney shoulder. Realizing that I had everything, I make my way down the long steps of the lecture hall, and towards the front door.

"Miss. Jones," someone calls, halting me before I could make a quick getaway. I turn around and face Professor Chandler. He was a middle aged man with thick grey hair. His aged green eyes are kind but full of wisdom. He calls me over to his podium which is full of highlighted notes and an iPad.

"Yes Professor Chandler?" I say as I walk up, anxious to hear what he might have to say. I wasn't one to visit or talk to professors after class hours. Some days I found myself frequenting a few TA's offices whenever I had questions regarding a paper. Other than that, I usually figured everything out on my own, never finding the need to bother them during office hours.

"Miss. Jones, I was looking over your latest test score," he begins, pulling out a small file from under his mess of notes. My name is clearly typed on top, earning an eruption of anxiety to course through me. "I must say, I had heard a lot about you. Many teachers had spoken highly of your academics, praising you on your high test scores and aced papers."