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by May, McKinley

He paces up and down the rows as he goes on.

  "This is a vocally led lab, and I expect everyone to keep up with me. The lab analysis will be handed out at the end of class, so you won't know the questions until afterward. What does that mean? It means you better take as many notes as possible on your observations! Capiche?"

  All the science geeks respond in a creepily-synchronized "Capiche".

  "Grab your microscopes and look alive!" He claps his hands together ten fucking times in an attempt to hype us up. "This is going to be a walk in the park for you guys."

  ———

  Three minutes into the lab and all I see when I look through the eye piece is black.

  I nudge Barbie's foot with mine.

  "Pssst," I whisper loudly in her direction. "Hey."

  Her head remains lowered to her microscope as she simultaneously kicks me in the ankle and shoos me away with one hand.

  ———

  Five minutes into the lab and I'm realizing microscopes are a helluva lot more confusing than I originally thought. The professor's over here using words like "objective lens" and "course adjustment" and "diaphragm" and I'm totally lost.

  I thought these fucking clunkers had one knob that handled the only two things you use a microscope for: Zoom In and Zoom Out.

  Not the case.

  ———

  Seven minutes into the lab and I'm wondering what the fuck kind of park he thinks we're walking through here, 'cause this is definitely no stroll through some kiddie playground.

  More like a trek through the damn desert with no water if you ask me.

  He's going at lightning speed, instructing us to insert the eighth slide to observe.

  ———

  Ten minutes into the lab and I give up. This shit is ridiculous. I've twisted every knob a hundred times, and there's still nothing coming through the lens.

  I turn to see how my seat mate's faring.

  She's following the professor's fast-paced instructions, jotting down notes and quick sketches on graph paper. It's obvious she knows what she's doing.

  Perfect.

  Her data will be good enough for the both of us.

  I lean back against the wall and get comfy, pulling out my phone to pass the time.

  I get away with this for about half a second before Dr. Benton's wandering gaze meets mine. His mouth turns down as he tells the class to insert the next slide.

  "Before we move on, I'd like everyone to touch base with their partners. Check one another's settings, and make sure you're both seeing the same thing. You have until I finish this song."

  And then he reaches under his desk and pulls out a fucking violin like this is open mic night or something.

  This guy is seriously wacky.

  He drags the bow across the instrument and pauses, raising a brow in my direction. I groan and stuff my phone back in my pocket.

  An upbeat melody and low chatter takes over the room as everyone begins comparing images. I wait for my partner to acknowledge me, but she refuses.

  "Let's go, Barbie," I mumble impatiently. "Professor Mozart's gonna finish his sonata soon."

  She reluctantly lifts her head and sighs, pushing her microscope towards me. "Go ahead. Check it out."

  I lower my eyes to the machine, not one bit surprised when a perfectly focused image comes into view.

  When I lean back, she juts her head forward, waiting for my analysis. "Well?"

  "Looks decent," I tease. "A little blurry."

  "It is not blurry!" She scoffs. "Does yours look like mine?"

  "Uhh...sure." I reach over and fumble the knobs a few more times. Hopefully, this final attempt will produce the magic touch that makes this P.O.S. work. "Sorta."

  "Sorta?" She frowns and dips her head to have a look. Her hair falls down in a curtain around the microscope, the movement sending a wave of fruity conditioner straight to my nose.

  I breathe in deeply, the smell downright intoxicating.

  Biology lab, microscopes, her mesmerizing scent...We're having a freaking Twilight moment over here.

  Except I don't want to kill her.

  I want to fuck her.

  The moment her eyes touch the lens, she utters an exasperated breath.

  "Oh my God, Weston." Her head rises and she forcefully turns the microscope around, jerking her thumb towards a small switch on the side. "It's not even turned on."

  "Damn." I laugh as I reach forward and flip the switch. "I wasn't lying when I said I sucked at this shit."

  "Didn't you take Intro Bio Lab?" she hisses.

  I shrug. "Dunno."

  "Well, it's a pre-req for this class."

  "Then obviously I did."

  "Could've fooled me," she grumbles.

  "Are you always this pissy in the mornings?"

  She opens her mouth to answer with what I'm sure will be a pissy response, but Dr. Benton's concert ends and we're forced to jump right back into the lab.

  The rest of the class is spent mimicking her movements, and it actually works for the most part. I write down a handful of observations, and the so-called "walk in the park" finally ends.

  "Divvy up the questions equally. I don't want one person doing all the work. And believe me, my friends, I will know. I've been grading papers longer than most of you have been alive," Dr. Benton remarks as the Teaching Assistant hands out lab analyses. "And don't get to thinking these are the norm for lab reports—this first one is a 'gimme' lab. The following weeks will get exceedingly more difficult."

  As he's speaking, Barbie snatches my lab analysis. She circles five of the ten questions and taps her pen on the paper twice.

  "Those are your responsibility." And then under her breath, "They're the ones that require no brain."

  Should I be insulted?

  Yeah. Probably.

  But I got the easy questions.

  And that's cool with me.

  A few more boring announcements and another freaking song later, the class bell finally rings.

  "So," I say as I bend over to grab my backpack. "How do you wanna do this? Should I send you the—"

  My words trail off as I sit up and realize I'm speaking to an empty stool. My vision travels to the front of the room where I spot a blonde blur flying out the door.

  How the hell did she get up there that fast?

  I throw my pack over my shoulder, quickly jogging down the aisle. My crumpled drop form is tossed in the trash as I leave the classroom.

  "You in a hurry?" I ask when I track her down.

  She whirls around and I immediately notice two things.

  1. She's tall for a chick. Really tall. I'm 6'3'' and she doesn't have to crane her neck to look at me like the majority of girls on this campus.

  And 2. She looks annoyed as hell that I followed her out here.

  "What do you want, Weston?" she questions, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear.

  Pretty sure there was some purple in there last time I saw her.

  "Just trying to collaborate with my lab partner."

  "Lab partner. Right." A sardonic snort follows her words. "Look, I don't need you screwing this up for me, alright? I need a good grade in this lab. Like, desperately need."

  I let out a chuckle at her dramatic statement. "Jesus, Barbie. Loosen up a little. It's just a fucking bio lab."

  "Uh, no. Maybe for you it's just a class, but for me, every class matters. Med schools aren't going to look at my transcript and ignore a bad mark because 'it's just a fucking bio lab'."

  Med schools?

  "You're pre-med?"

  "Yes." She crosses her arms and frowns, obviously offended by the incredulity coating my question. "Like the majority of people registered for this course."

  "Oh shit," I mutter in a concerned tone.

  "What?"

  "You're a Total Parker, aren't you?"

  "Huh?" She looks baffled. "What are you even talking about?"

  Before I can answer, she shifts her backpack from one should
er to the other, eyes bouncing to the clock on the wall. "You know what? Nevermind. As much as I'd love to continue this conversation, I have class on the other side of campus, so I'm gonna leave now."

  "Okay." I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. "Give me your number."

  "No thanks." Her eyebrows pinch together. "I'm not interested in receiving drunken mating calls from you in the middle of the night. Sorry."

  I roll my eyes. "It's not for a damn booty call, babe. It's for lab purposes. Obviously."

  She frowns and opens her mouth like she still wants to argue, but I interject before she can get a word out.

  "How are we gonna collaborate if I don't have a way to contact you? Don't you want to get a good grade?"

  My mocking tone doesn't go undetected by her, and she reluctantly gives in.

  "Fine," she mumbles. "But I swear, Weston, if you start sending me dick pics I'm going to demand a new partner."

  "Don't worry about that. I charge for those." I shoot her a charming wink. "Since you seem interested, I'll send you my rates."

  She ignores my quip and rattles off her number as I input it.

  I click Contact Name and start to type Barbie out of habit, but then I backtrack.

  My contact list is filled with descriptive words as opposed to actual names—I think I have three or four Busty Brunettes in there—but since this is for a class, I figure I could show an ounce of professionalism this time.

  "What's your name?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Name, Barbie. What's your first name?"

  Those bright green eyes narrow. "Are you kidding?"

  "Nope." I frown at the disgruntled expression that spreads across her face. "What's with the look?"

  "My best friend has been dating your best friend for months and you don't know my name? How is that even possible?"

  "Not my fault you've never told me your damn name."

  "But you must've heard it at some point!"

  "Probably, yeah." I shrug. "Don't take it personally. I'm not really a name-knowing kind of guy."

  "Shocking," she says sarcastically. "I'd never have guessed."

  "Cut the shit and just tell me what it is, Barbie."

  She straight up denies me. "You know what? No. I think I'll let you figure it out by yourself."

  And before I can utter another word, she takes a sharp 180 degree turn and speed walks in the opposite direction.

  I stare after her, feeling equal parts flabbergasted and intrigued at her refusal.

  She's sassy as shit.

  I could ask Vaughn or Rayne for her name, but I'm almost positive they'd make something up to fuck with me.

  And then there's always Ellie who seems to know the name, date of birth, and freakin' social security number of everyone she's ever exchanged "hello's" with 'cause that's just the kind of person she is.

  But yesterday she made it pretty damn clear how she feels about not remembering people's names, and I'm not in the mood for a lecture from her this morning.

  I turn around, about to shoot a text to Cameron when I run smack dab into the Teaching Assistant from lab.

  "My bad," I apologize as I grab her shoulders to steady her. "You good?"

  "Oh, it's no problem, really. I'm okay. Perfectly fine." Her eyes go wide, cheeks tinted pink as she lets out a nervous giggle. "See you next week. If you need anything, my email's on the syllabus."

  "Cool. Thanks," I say before continuing down the hall.

  I'm a few steps away when I realize I do need something from her.

  TA's have the class roll or whatever the hell it's called.

  And this chick was checking me out all class.

  A little smug smirk, a flirty compliment or two and she'd probably hack my grades and give me an A in the course. Shouldn't be too difficult to get Barbie's name from her.

  Hell, I could get a bit more info, too.

  I change direction and call out after her.

  "Hey, uh, —"

  Shit.

  She turns around and smiles, offering up her name without a moment of hesitation.

  "It's Jillian."

  Well, whatdoyoufuckingknow.

  There are still some normal people in this world after all.

  6

  When you're planning your courses for the upcoming semester, expectation and reality are two very different things.

  What looks like the ideal schedule on paper doesn't always translate to real life. For instance, during the registration period it's super easy to say "Sure. Four classes from 8 a.m. - 2 p.m. on Mondays with no breaks sounds like a wonderful idea!"

  Yeah...I'll let you in on a little secret.

  It wasn't a wonderful idea.

  It was a horrible one.

  After beginning the morning with the absolute disaster that was Bio Lab, I went on to suffer through a never-ending Pharmacology lecture followed by a monotonous introduction to Human Physiology.

  The brain-frying fest came to an end ten minutes ago when my Med Terms professor said we got to leave early today and let us out with three minutes to spare.

  How generous of him.

  Not only is my head pounding from all the info I tried to take in today, my stomach is completely empty. That iced coffee barely held me over for breakfast, and I've been verging into hangry territory for the past couple hours.

  To combat that, I'm currently ordering a burrito the size of my head at a fast-food Mexican place just off campus.

  "Can I get extra sour cream, please?" I question, putting on a wide smile. The employee gives a quick nod as he scoops a massive glob on top.

  I lean over the glass partition separating the freshly-prepped toppings from the queue of customers.

  "I'll take cheese, lettuce, and guac. And pile on every type of salsa you have." I point a finger at a lime green concoction on the far left. "Oooh. Especially that one!"

  "Ma'am, please don't reach over the glass," the employee mumbles, annoyance and a hint of disgust in his tone. "It's a food-safety hazard."

  "Whoops!" I take a quick hop backwards, not realizing I was practically drooling all over the merchandise. I tip my chin towards the container of guacamole. "I'm pretty sure I accidentally spit on that. Since it's already contaminated, you should probably just dump the rest of it on my burrito."

  The grumpy employee is not amused with my suggestion.

  "Hungry, Lexie?" My friend, Yasmine, gives me a funny look before ordering a taco plate.

  "Freaking starving," I admit. "And my stomach wants the world to know. It growled so loudly last class, the girl in front of me looked out the window and asked if it was going to rain."

  "That was you? I totally heard that all the way from down the row!" Yasmine scrunches her nose and laughs. "I thought it was thunder, too. I even checked my backpack to see if I brought my umbrella."

  She orders some chips and queso before turning back to me with a grin. "Good thing I was too late to get a seat next to you. I wouldn't've been able to hear the teacher's lecture over the hurricane in your stomach."

  I give her a guilty grin. "I tried to will it away, but no use. I got so desperate I was about to beg the guy on my left for a bite of his snack."

  "Is that why you were staring that boy down?" she questions, her eyes dancing in disbelief. "Because of his breakfast bar?"

  I nod vigorously. "It was peanut butter-chocolate flavored. It smelled like heaven."

  "I assumed you were checking him out because he was cute."

  "Was he? I didn't notice. I only had eyes for the granola bar."

  She makes a so-so motion with her hand. "He was cute in that clean-cut, goody two-shoes kind of way. He seemed like the type you usually go for."

  "I'll give him a good look next class."

  We grab our food and pay at the register before heading to a table for two in the corner.

  The moment my butt hits the chair, I take the world's biggest bite of burrito. It's so massive my cheeks are straining like a chipmunk and
a blob of pico de gallo dribbles down my chin. I look like a total glutton, but concern for my outward appearance is overridden by my stomach's long-awaited appeasement.

  Getting this food in my belly >>>>>> Manners.

  Yasmine pushes three napkins my way. I grab one, wiping the mess off my face before swallowing the bite.

  "Are you done for the day?" I ask her.

  "I wish. I have Plant Bio at 5." She grabs her soda and takes a gulp. "You?"

  "One more. Interior Design II at 4."

  Her brows pull together in confusion. "Why are you taking that?"

  "It's actually my minor." I drown a tortilla chip in queso and pop it into my mouth. "I wanted to focus on something that wasn't science-related for once, you know?"

  "Oh, I get it." Her head bobs up and down repeatedly. "Like a med school application boost? Genius!"

  "Uh, yeah. I guess?" I say with a half-hearted shrug.

  "I knew this girl who took up cello to stand out on her apps. It worked, too. She got accepted to every school she applied to." She tilts her head in contemplation. "I need to figure out something like that...How fast do you think I could pick up piano? Or what about juggling? That's unique enough to score me some bonus points."

  Laughing silently, I shake my head as she retreats deep into her thoughts.

  This girl is freaking passionate about becoming a doctor.

  For her, medical school is like a Klondike Bar—she'd do just about anything for it. As long as it isn't inappropriate, illegal, or life-threatening, she'll give it a shot if it'll up her chances of acceptance.

  She's still in her own little world, mumbling to herself like a woman possessed. When I hear her murmur something about juggling knives and fire batons, I frown.

  Maybe I need to remove life-threatening from the list.

  "Earth to Yasmine. Hi, hello, remember me?" I snap my fingers in front of her face until she blinks hard, coming back to reality. "Don't you think you should be focusing on more important things at the moment? Extracurricular talents can come later. Isn't your MCAT this week?"