Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Your face is super red. Like really. You hot? I can fan you with my notebook?” He chuckles.
I blink, coming back to the present. He totally brought that night up on purpose.
I cross my arms and circle back to our earlier conversation. “Why the fidgeting?”
He rubs at his jawline. “I have an attention issue and get distracted. A bird that flies by the window, someone coughing, you—especially you. Doesn’t mean I’m not smart. It just takes me a while to take it all in.” He taps one of the pens on his desk.
Especially you.
“ADD?” I’ve read enough to know a little about it.
“Technically, ADHD, but I don’t jive with putting a label on it.”
I feel him. “We put labels on everyone. Greeks, jocks, nerds—it’s how our society works. People need a name to understand it. I’m not saying it’s right, just human nature. It’s a fascinating topic.”
He nods and leans in. “Right. It’s just a trait I come with, not a disability. Got diagnosed in third grade when I wandered out of the classroom and the teacher found me in the gym shooting hoops.” He grimaces. “I spent most of middle school in the principal’s office. My meds didn’t work, and it wasn’t until I put a football in my hand that I felt right.”
Dillon leans over. “He’s a kickass football player with the reflexes of a cat. He’s a dynamo.”
Blaze smirks. “He’s my biggest supporter, obviously.”
DING!
We stop talking as a bell rings, something similar to those little metal ones used at old hotels.
Dr. Cartwright walks out from the office door at the front of the room. An older man with a shock of wiry gray hair and a barrel chest, he looks a little intimidating.
“Ladies and gentlemen, get settled. Class has officially started, and that was your first prompt. From now on in this class, you will hear that bell randomly. When you do, I want you to write down exactly what you were thinking at that moment. Whether you are intently concentrating on my lecture or thinking about clipping your toenails, I want the truth. I will be using this information for a study you all agreed to participate in by walking through those doors.”
Everyone dutifully pulls out a piece of paper and starts to write down some comments. I was thinking about Blaze when the bell sounded. Not fair; I didn’t know the thought police would be listening this morning.
I write down Reflexes of a cat.
Without being too obvious, I sneak a look at Blaze’s paper. Must pass this class.
“Also, write on your piece of paper your major and the number on your seat, but not your name. This will keep your responses confidential while allowing us to correlate all of the data to make it useful. I’m working on a new study, and you’re the mice in the maze. Also, I hope you enjoy the seat you are in, because it’s your seat for the entire term. To gather good data, I need it to be consistent.”
“I guess that makes us psych buddies,” Blaze says with a slight grin, nudging my shoulder with his. It’s just a light touch, but the pressure sparks fire straight to my core.
Down libido. I own you—you don’t own me.
“Just as long as you know we are no longer fuck buddies,” I say.
He frowns.
DING!
Great. I look down at my paper and decide it’s time to start not caring about this shit.
I write Fuck buddies on my paper and show him. What is wrong with me?
I glance over and notice Blaze has written Not fuck buddies.
“This semester we are going to focus on what people think, how they think, and why they think. There’s nothing off limits in this class, including speech. We want to understand why words have meaning and power, so we will let that shit fly. This will include taboo words associated with sex and anatomy. We do this to understand our world and to make it better, not to belittle or put anyone down. If this bothers you, feel free to leave now. I have special permission to allow anyone to drop the class without explanation this week. But, if you stick it out past Friday’s lecture, you are locked in, and I expect everyone’s honest and thoughtful participation in class discussion as well as the concentration study we will be conducting. Our goal is to understand society and, more importantly, each other.”
There is an awkward silence as Professor Cartwright surveys the room. No one moves.
“I don’t see anyone heading for the door. Good, now, let’s talk about menstruation and why this topic bothers some people. Show of hands, how many men in the room have ever bought feminine products?”
The room is as quiet as a church, and a slow laugh comes from the professor.
He points his finger at all of us. “The guys are lying, and we can’t have that. I know there are some real men in here who’ve run errands for a mom or a sister or a girlfriend. Don’t be shy. Let’s discuss.”