Read Online My Sweetest Escape by Chelsea M. Cameron - Free Book Online
Authors: Chelsea M. Cameron
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down and
dragging your ass to class, no matter what
you look like.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” I muttered under my
breath. I couldn’t even remember my
mother being this wound up about taking
me to kindergarten.
“Hurry up,” she said, rattling the
doorknob for good measure. I had half a
mind to walk upstairs stark naked and say I
was ready, just to see the look on her face.
But I didn’t fancy being naked in front of all
the guys, so that plan was out.
Eight minutes later I was shoving an egg
and cheese sandwich that Taylor had made
in my face and shoving notebooks in my
new messenger bag. Back in my “before”
life, I’d carried a designer handbag just like
all the other girls. Of course I also had a
small clutch purse that went with it for all
my makeup and tampons and such. Now I
had a black messenger bag with lots of pins
and buttons on it that I’d collected.
I’d thrown my red hair back in a braid,
put on my luckiest jeans and called it good
enough.
Since everyone’s schedules were
different, I was finally allowed to take my
own damn car. Renee had gotten me a
parking pass and handed me back the keys
she’d stolen when I moved in on the
condition that I didn’t get into any
shenanigans. I’d been completely
shenanigan-free ever since I’d gotten here,
but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone.
They were all still watching me, waiting for
me to screw up. Maybe I should, just to put
them out of their misery.
I said goodbye to everyone, promising
I’d come back in one piece later.
I blasted Ingrid Michaelson on my drive
to campus and sang at the top of my lungs.
It took a few times of driving around the
football field for me to find a free
commuter parking spot. Apparently they
were real asshats about parking in areas
that weren’t designated for you to park in.
Finally, I found one, even though I had
to squish in between a minivan and a huge
truck and slide sideways to get out. I had
ten minutes to get to my first class, Intro to
American Law. I’d thought about changing
majors, but I knew I could pretty much
sleep through most of my poli-sci classes, so
I stuck with what I knew.
The class was full of clones of the
students I’d left behind. I even saw a few
girls with the exact same bag I had shoved
in a box back at my mom’s house. Since it
was a sophomore-level class, most of the
nonserious people had been weeded out,
but there were still a few people who
looked like they wouldn’t make it through
four years of this. And, of course, since this
was New England, there were the token
Birkenstock-wearing, patchouli-smelling
weirdos who were going to spend their time
protesting whatever the trendy cause of the
day was.
They were almost worse than the
buttoned-up, straitlaced kids. They just had
to be so self-righteous about every. Damn.
Thing. They also loved to hear the sound of
their own voices.
Fortunately, I’d brought my
headphones, and since they liked to talk so
much, they’d take up plenty of class time,
leaving that time for the rest of us to do
whatever. I booted up my laptop and
listened as the professor, a guy in a nice
button-up and tie—big surprise—droned on
about Marbury vs. Madi-son. Been there,
done that.
I kept one ear open and the other
covered as I listened to some new music I’d
found the other day on low volume. I’d also
bought some new albums that I needed to
review, so I switched to those. The first was
a ska group that was way more punk than
ska and didn’t have a whole lot going for
them. It wasn’t even bad in a craptastic way
that made you want to listen to it anyway.
They definitely weren’t Street-light
Manifesto, or Reel Big Fish.
I made a few notes about some of the
songs and moved on to the second album
that had more of a folky/bluegrass feel.
That one was much better, and I found
myself transfixed by the complex melodies
and haunting lyrics. I didn’t think
dragging your ass to class, no matter what
you look like.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” I muttered under my
breath. I couldn’t even remember my
mother being this wound up about taking
me to kindergarten.
“Hurry up,” she said, rattling the
doorknob for good measure. I had half a
mind to walk upstairs stark naked and say I
was ready, just to see the look on her face.
But I didn’t fancy being naked in front of all
the guys, so that plan was out.
Eight minutes later I was shoving an egg
and cheese sandwich that Taylor had made
in my face and shoving notebooks in my
new messenger bag. Back in my “before”
life, I’d carried a designer handbag just like
all the other girls. Of course I also had a
small clutch purse that went with it for all
my makeup and tampons and such. Now I
had a black messenger bag with lots of pins
and buttons on it that I’d collected.
I’d thrown my red hair back in a braid,
put on my luckiest jeans and called it good
enough.
Since everyone’s schedules were
different, I was finally allowed to take my
own damn car. Renee had gotten me a
parking pass and handed me back the keys
she’d stolen when I moved in on the
condition that I didn’t get into any
shenanigans. I’d been completely
shenanigan-free ever since I’d gotten here,
but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone.
They were all still watching me, waiting for
me to screw up. Maybe I should, just to put
them out of their misery.
I said goodbye to everyone, promising
I’d come back in one piece later.
I blasted Ingrid Michaelson on my drive
to campus and sang at the top of my lungs.
It took a few times of driving around the
football field for me to find a free
commuter parking spot. Apparently they
were real asshats about parking in areas
that weren’t designated for you to park in.
Finally, I found one, even though I had
to squish in between a minivan and a huge
truck and slide sideways to get out. I had
ten minutes to get to my first class, Intro to
American Law. I’d thought about changing
majors, but I knew I could pretty much
sleep through most of my poli-sci classes, so
I stuck with what I knew.
The class was full of clones of the
students I’d left behind. I even saw a few
girls with the exact same bag I had shoved
in a box back at my mom’s house. Since it
was a sophomore-level class, most of the
nonserious people had been weeded out,
but there were still a few people who
looked like they wouldn’t make it through
four years of this. And, of course, since this
was New England, there were the token
Birkenstock-wearing, patchouli-smelling
weirdos who were going to spend their time
protesting whatever the trendy cause of the
day was.
They were almost worse than the
buttoned-up, straitlaced kids. They just had
to be so self-righteous about every. Damn.
Thing. They also loved to hear the sound of
their own voices.
Fortunately, I’d brought my
headphones, and since they liked to talk so
much, they’d take up plenty of class time,
leaving that time for the rest of us to do
whatever. I booted up my laptop and
listened as the professor, a guy in a nice
button-up and tie—big surprise—droned on
about Marbury vs. Madi-son. Been there,
done that.
I kept one ear open and the other
covered as I listened to some new music I’d
found the other day on low volume. I’d also
bought some new albums that I needed to
review, so I switched to those. The first was
a ska group that was way more punk than
ska and didn’t have a whole lot going for
them. It wasn’t even bad in a craptastic way
that made you want to listen to it anyway.
They definitely weren’t Street-light
Manifesto, or Reel Big Fish.
I made a few notes about some of the
songs and moved on to the second album
that had more of a folky/bluegrass feel.
That one was much better, and I found
myself transfixed by the complex melodies
and haunting lyrics. I didn’t think
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