ArtHistory | a zadison college au

one. decaf

It's seven am on an early March morning and Zoe Benson has slept in well past her alarm. Calm, peaceful sleep. Clearly much needed, but it doesn't last long. Awaking before her, a small, black cat jumps up onto the bed and climbs atop her shoulder, biting at her cheek until she stirs.

"Salem, please."

A sleepy swat at the feline, only for him to swat right back at her face. As her eyes open, she stares up at the cat with a grin. The grin doesn't last long. As she adjusts to being awake, her eyes focus around the room, eventually falling on her alarm clock. Nine thirty.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She's late for class. She's late for the worst possible class she could be late for. The one, single class she can't get her grade above seventy percent in. Don't get her wrong, she loves her degree. Teaching has long since been her passion, but this professor is horrible. An art history course that she had no choice in taking. She hates it. But she needs to be there. In fact, she needed to be there an hour and a half ago.

She quickly rushes to get ready, throwing on a big sweater and a pair of jeans from her floor. Brown hair is brushed hurriedly before she ends up tossing her brush aside in favor of a hat to cover the mess with. This is as good as it's going to get.

Her cat is rushing alongside her, as if she, too, was in the same rush. Moral support. As one foot is already out the door, and her bag is only half on, she gives the small animal a few scratches before the door is shut and locked.

Never much of an athlete, unless you count the Speed-Reader's League in elementary school, she stuck to the sidelines. Not even, she wasn't anywhere near the field. However, she was speeding her way through the apartment complex and across the campus, turning a seven-minute walk into a four-minute one.

The class is closer to its end than its start, but she'd rather receive partial credit than none. The professor barely acknowledges her when she walks in, only greeted with a glare for disrupting her teaching. This was a huge class. Huge room, high ceilings with ornate wood detailing that has barely aged. Rows and rows of seating, room for hundreds of students, all eyes on one person that will never even bother to learn your name. Still humiliated at the thought of earning any sort of a negative reputation with her teachers, Zoe quickly ducks into the nearest seat and pulls her Macbook out of her backpack.

Her notetaking app is open and she quickly begins to catch herself up. She ends up sitting in front of one of the top students in the class, unbeknownst to her. In fact, Zoe would assume quite the opposite. The blonde, whom Zoe had never even shared a hello with, partially shut her laptop and tapped the tense girl's shoulder.

"Here," her voice is a whisper, "email my notes to yourself. You can catch up later." Her lips upturned in a smile.

Zoe's hands are overcome with a cold sensation of nervousness, staring at the stranger with a shocked, open mouth. It takes her a few seconds to process and answer. Even when she does, she fumbles the ball.

"Oh, shit- I mean, wow. Thanks- thank you? I- yeah, I really appreciate it."

Her cheeks begin to heat up as her hand secures the computer and quickly sends the neatly organized file of notes to her own email. Still flustered, she has to take a few deep breaths before she turns around again. When she does, she sees the blonde is taking notes on paper now, equally as diligent. Picking up right where she left off. Where does she know her from... such a familiar face. Hazel eyes lift and lock with the caramel ones and suddenly Zoe's heart feels as if it's beating so loud the professor could hear it. This is stupid. She can't handle this right now, she needs to get her grade up. And yet, she can't pull it together. Unable to totally reel herself back in right away.

"Just give me a call if you need anything else," the stranger responds.

Zoe nods, her mouth suddenly feeling all too dry to even speak. Leaving the conversation at that, she turns her focus back to the class and tries her hardest to actually, well, focus. It doesn't work. Without even realizing it, the brunette has totally spaced out. No information is retained.

And suddenly, thirty minutes pass in a second, and everyone is already filing out of the room. She blinks back to reality and quickly shoves her belongings away in her bag, head-spinning around to look for the girl that had helped her earlier. She's gone, must've headed out quickly. As she is leaving the classroom, she pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and sees a notification. No, two. Both from the same person. One was sent approximately forty-five minutes ago, with no message attached. Just a notes file. The second email is from the same source, attached is a copy of the rest of the notes. The message reads,