Accustomed to Change
I knew friends who stayed at their University until they graduated and many who left. During complaints as to why, I found out the cost of living and the course itself were the main topics of discussion. Majority found Prestwick a good school. Prestwick North fitted in the sports side than it did with South as it provided teaching and Vet courses. East and West, the arts and science, were the same and usually it depended on which campus was closer to home. The one in the City, known as Prestwick City Campus, was the Head Quarters foundation, and unless you planned on working at Prestwick until the day you died, it stayed clear off preferences.
And that was what had me drowning myself in junk food glossed over in cheese: Prestwick had four different campuses, one being identically alike, and she had to pick this one?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes.
I was brought out of my inner thoughts by a laugh.
“I’m serious,” said Justin, or who we call Jay to not mix up our names, a guy with curly red hair and a scar on his cheek. “Myths and Legends is an elective but next year, I’m continuing it, and you’re joining me.” He nudged my right arm.
The guy on my left, Colin, snorted and kicked Jay underneath the table. “Dude, you might suck at it.”
“We haven’t started classes yet,” said Peter. His shaved head stood out among the four of us.
Jay scratched the back of his head. “It’s not gonna be like high school, all right? I’m taking this seriously. I want to focus on Myths and Legends.”
“Jay, you sure you want to spend your hours dedicating to it? I hear fiction is just as great,” I said.
Colin nudged me to him and whispered, “Year ten: Mrs Argentella’s English class.”
I chuckled. “The kid believed William Shakespeare was alive. I couldn’t shatter his dreams.”
Peter took a bite out of his McDonalds cheese burger and said, “Who did tell Jay that Shakespeare died anyway? I wasn’t there that class.”
“Blackthorn,” Jay said casually. “Remember when we partnered up for Sonnet Week? I asked her why Shakespeare wasn’t being followed by paparazzi and pompous princess told me he died in the 1600’s. ”
“Dude, shove your head up your arse and shut up,” Colin said and glanced quickly to me. “Code 210 is not open for discussion.”
Peter rubbed his head. “I’m open for it.” Colin turned his stare to Peter. Startled, Peter removed his hand and used it to grab some fries off his plate. He waved them around and said, “I never said shit.”
“Code 210 is open for discussion,” I told them, and wasn’t surprised to see their confused faces. “She’s living with me.”
There was silence around the table. I hadn’t realised what the outcome of what I said until Colin rubbed his forehead and muttered “shit”. The bile in my throat blocked any other senses in my system as the closure of my four month heartbreak reopened at its finest.
It was Peter’s phone that beeped us out of the moment. “I got the message from John; we’re good tonight.”
I waited until their excitement tamed before I asked, “What’s going on tonight?”
“My roommate knows a guy living in one of those off campus apartments. Open invite; doesn’t care who they are as long as they go to Prestwick.”
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Privacy of 210 [Prequel to Dorm Room 210]Teen Fiction
'She stood in the midst of the dorm, wearing those loose blue jeans that emphasised her tone legs, and a white and green blouse that held her small frame; the top two unbuttoned with sleeves wrapped round her elbow. Her toffee brown shoulder length...