When peer pressure pushes Lenny to try out a new dating app, she starts to realize that the past may not always define the future.
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Lenny Harlow wants a lot of things, but a boyfriend isn't...
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PROFESSOR CHANTREASTOOD behind her desk, chattering away with a small group of students who were trying (and failing) to suck up to her. I'd once again forgotten to email her my assignment, so I wrote it out to give myself a proper excuse for submitting it two days late. The chances of her letting me off the hook were slim, but that was the first time I'd ever handed anything in later than I should've. (It was also the first assignment I'd been given in histology class, but we don't talk about that.)
My heart hammered against my ribcage with every step I took. It probably wasn't worth it-the waiting and my very evident hunger-but since I'd already stayed five minutes, I figured a few more wouldn't be so bad.
The students slowly exited the hall, and I was left with my professor. I didn't think it mattered to point out my obvious nervousness, but once we got the main business out of the way, Professor Chantrea got right to it.
"Doctor Chantrea, I have a ... Is it okay if I submit my report now?" I asked her, clutching my binder to my chest.
She looked from my eyes to the binder. "Is there a particular reason I didn't get this two days ago?"
Apprehension clawed at my insides. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Clearly, I didn't think this through. Not that I thought about it at all, I had been too busy trying to edit the report and test out Carter's app.
"I wrote it out. I couldn't print it, and my internet kept failing, so I wrote it out. I didn't think I'd have to pen it down, and I've been so busy with school and other stuff that-"
"Lenny Harlow," she began, a hand stretched out towards me, "it's okay. I will review your report as soon as I'm done with the other stack that was submitted on the due date." I handed her the binder and she set it on the surface of the desk between us. "Anything else?"
I shook my head. "No, that's all. Thank you."
The walk from her desk to the door was more composed, and I found that I could breathe easier. I normally had no trouble speaking to people, but the thought of the possible consequences of late submission-such as a failing grade-was enough to send me into a frenzy. I wasn't necessarily scared of Professor Chantrea. I wasn't scared of anyone. Of anything. Not spiders, not snakes. Not even Slenderman.
My confidence was false and short-lived. I only had fifteen minutes to grab a snack and head to my next lesson (quite cruel, if you asked me), which was on the other side on campus, and I didn't have a suitable means of transportation. This is why my parents should've gifted me a car for my nineteenth.
Thankful it wasn't raining, I hurried my pace and weaseled my way through the narrow spaces between clusters of people. I could probably hang around the café and recuperate whilst sipping on a much-needed cup of coffee, even if it meant being a few minutes late to Radiotherapy 121.
