Page 8 of Ignition

She slapped the table, her guffaw loud and intoxicating.

“Tell me you didn’t have class the next day!”

I snorted, short and amused.

“No class, no.

“Worse… an exam.”

She doubled over again, wheezing, and I briefly considered calling an exorcist as she wiped a tear away and smacked her knee.

The wide, warm smile tugging at my lips was entirely genuine.

It was hard to remember why I’d been on edge earlier.

Chapter three

Mia

Monday hung thick and hot, almost suffocating for early autumn, the kind of day where a storm brewed across the horizon, waiting to ravage the scorched grounds.

Something buzzed under my skin as I slipped into the uniform—agitation or excitement, I couldn’t tell. Even though the fabric was of better quality than anything I owned, it felt all scratchy and wrong, and my fingers kept fiddling with the collar as I crept across campus, noting the guys’ uniform was much the same, but for the crimson ties striped with gold and the navy slacks.

I almost expected someone to stop me and find me lacking again, but the student body as a whole was more preoccupied with finding shade under the shedding sycamore than with vetting how little I belonged.

Rumours trailed in my wake as I passed people sprawled on the grass, sipping on iced coffees and cool beers alike. I couldn’t make out the words fully, but slivers reached my ears, chased by vicious cackles.

“…scholarship…”

“…What did she do to get here?…”

“…hidden skills…”

The twisted undertone crawled under my skin, burrowing deep, but my chin stayed high.

I focused on the grounding weight of the textbooks in the canvas tote bag slung over my shoulder, on the cream-painted stucco facade kissing amber-red brick, on the earthy, rich smell my feet kicked up as they waded through the blanket of fallen leaves.

Stares needled at the back of my head as I took a seat somewhere in the middle of the grand lecture hall and tried not to gawk like a commoner—the feat proving nearly impossible, since the place kept taking my breath away.

Against my will, might I add.

Large, rounded windows let in pools of light that gleamed over the aged honey wooden desks crescendoing in a semi-circle around a raised platform. Polished wood panels in the same colour hugged the lower half of the cream walls, before climbing up to a high ceiling with crown mouldings so intricate, I wanted to reach out and trace them with my fingers.

The room retained its history while modern fixtures had been added with great taste—plush chairs where I imagined had once been benches, a discreet air conditioning unit in a corner, spotlights over where the teacher sat in front of a giant projector screen, his gaze tracking students as they filed in.

Gone were the days of having to beat others to a seat in the first rows, or I’d be squinting the entire lecture.

I took out my notebook and scribbled the name of my first ever class here—Intellectual Property Law— something warm bubbling in my chest as the last of my classmates joined our ranks, the heavy oak door swung shut, and even the steady hum of the air conditioning held its breath when the professor opened his mouth.

Classes felt like I’d been let in on a little secret the rest of the world had known all along. I sat leaning so far in my seat, I was close to stumbling over my desk and toppling forward, and my pen became a blur of ink on paper.

Halfway through the day, a rumour reached my ears that the following class was held by a professor as strict as they came. It had been scorching hot, so, naturally, my blazer lay tucked in my locker.

Laughter and giggles mingled in the air as I crossed the quad, driven by the single-minded focus to retrieve it.

Something whooshed right past my ear. Splat.

Cackles rose, mingling with shouts of pure, maniacal glee.