Not A Temporary Love | Finley & Harlyn #1

Chapter 5

Finley

"Well, that's all for today," Pip says, closing her binder. "We'll see you next week."

I gather my stuff and watch our teacher, Pip, gather hers. "I want to be named Pip."

"You're so weird," Max scoffs.

We leave the building and emerge into, surprise, rain.

"That's going to be an interesting class," I say, attempting to dig my umbrella out of my backpack. But I give up and just speed walk across the courtyard to the next building, ending up next to the bookstore. Max pulls his glasses off and wipes them on the hem of his shirt.

"Yeah. The field trips all look super cool." He slides his glasses back on and blinks a few times. "We'll have to let Harlyn and Elly know the dates and stuff, so we can make plans for where they want to take us."

"Oh yeah," I say. Our Canterbury tour was a huge success. After the castle, he took us to his favorite little used bookstore a few blocks away. And then Elly took over when we hit the shopping district right off High Street, pointing out all the best stores. My first impression of the two of them were spot on. The whole day was easy and laid back. "Yeah, that's going to be great."

"Ok. I'm off to my next class. Gotta run across campus." He pats me on the shoulder and hurries off.

I check my phone. Mom and Dad will be up soon to get ready for work. They asked me to call after my first class to tell them how it went, but I don't feel like walking all the way home yet. Instead, I head toward the campus cafe just ahead of me and find a table, shooting Mom a text to see if she's up. Almost immediately, I get a FaceTime call from her.

"Good morning, dear," she greets from where she's curling her hair in their master bathroom. Dad's behind her, tying his tie. I got Mom's hair color, but Dad's texture, thick. Bridget got the opposite - Dad's bright blonde and Mom's thinness. She complains about it constantly, saying it's not fair I have such amazing texture. Like I have any control over how thick my hair is.

"Good morning," I say back, putting my headphones in. The din of the cafe muffles almost to silence.

"First class go well?" Mom asks, distracted as she brushes at her bangs, trying to get them to sit just right on her forehead.

"Yeah, it was good," I say, propping my head on one hand and my phone against my backpack on the table. "It's going to be a cool class. Every week, we learn about a place in England that has a big spot in history. Like in a few weeks, we're learning about Stonehenge. And then on Fridays we visit those places. So that week we'll go see Stonehenge."

"That sounds nice," she mutters.

I wonder if she's actually listening. We used to have better conversations than this. I used to tell them everything. And they'd listen. Of course, I know I'm calling in the middle of them getting ready for work. It's not exactly the best time to have an in depth conversation.

"What's the homework like over there?" Dad asks, finally finishing his tie and leaning his elbows on the bathroom counter to be eye level with Mom's phone.

"There's not a lot, actually. Well, at least not in this class," I say. "It's mostly participation, especially attendance for the field trips, since it's supposed to be an experience. Can't really get the most out of the class if you miss half of it. And there's a big final paper at the end. We already have the prompts we can choose from."

Mom looks down, eyebrows furrowing. "You're going to have to work hard on that, if that's what makes up most of your grade." I stop my eyes from rolling to the back of my head. "You should pick a prompt now. Start it sooner rather than later."