Bird-Dogging: an Academy Fan Fiction [on hold indefinitely]

Chapter One

Running late again!

Mondays would be rough unless I could change my work schedule soon. I shrugged my bag back up my shoulder as I jogged across campus to get to my quantum physics class. I enjoyed physics—well, all science really—but I was struggling with this professor. He was the only one who taught this class though, and it was required for my general engineering major. It was only week two of the semester, and I was already feeling some strain.

Being an eighteen-year-old college junior, I worked hard to get here, graduating high school at fifteen with eight college credits under my belt, thank you, AP classes. I needed this class, and I needed the grade, or I'd lose my scholarship. There was no way I could go back "home" to my step-mom, she'd made that perfectly clear, and my dad's new wife still had no idea I existed; I hadn't even heard from him since he took off my last year of high school. Without my scholarship, there was no way I could stay in college. I'd be on the streets, without even a car to live in.

          I couldn't let that happen. There was no back-up plan. I had nothing else. I quickened my pace, hoping to squeeze in the door of the lecture hall before the clock struck eight and the doors were locked.

I tore around the last bend with my coffee sloshing in its paper cup, seeing the door to the class slowly closing. It was moments like this I wished I had super-human speed or could throw my cellphone ninja star style to stop the door or... I'd been watching too many movies.

          Just as the door was about to shut me out, a hand caught the door and pushed it open. Oh, thank you! The guy went to walk in, letting go of the door, but caught sight of me and held it open. Who says chivalry is dead?

"Thank you," I said to him after squeezing in the door panting, my empty hand on my knee as I bent over and tried to catch my breath. I seriously hated running.

"No problem," he replied with a warm and friendly voice. I raised my head to see him walking away—not a bad view—to the back of the room toward the last row where a couple seats were left open.

I stood, still working to calm my breathing, and scanned the front of the room, hoping to find a seat near the front. I hated being in the back of classes; it felt like I could hear every cough, sniffle, paper rustle, keyboard click, and zipper pull. Because, well, I could. It was much harder to concentrate with all those sounds bombarding my highly attuned ears. Not one open chair in the front, dang it. My eyes passed across my professor. I was embarrassed to find him looking straight at me.

"Late again, Miss Simpson? Color me surprised," Professor Reid drawled sarcastically from behind the podium he was leaning heavily on.

          "Sorenson," I said under my breath. Though there was no point correcting him.

          With his all white suit ensemble, paired with shiny black shoes, and his white hair and beard, the man always brought fried chicken to mind. Someone should tell this guy he looks like Colonel Sanders. "Come see me during my office hours."

He turned to the class and began his lecture. I'd heard from the girl I bought my textbook off of that he never seemed to finish his lectures, but the tests were always given as if he had. His slow southern drawl made me want to suggest that speaking at a more human rate might ensure he got through his notes.

I'll have to go after I eat lunch so I don't daydream about Original Recipe and mashed potatoes. The thought to correct him about my name again when I went to see him later crossed my mind, but I doubted it would make any difference; he didn't care, and neither did I really.