The Hall Speaks #fallsemester

RA in Bed

#Alana

Owen handed Alana the phone. The web page was the Chronicles of Higher Education. At first she noticed that it was a list of articles, close to a hundred. Then she realized they all had the same author. "Landon wrote all of these...?"

"Yep, but that's not the half of it. Let's just say a lot of people rely on Landon. He's somewhat of a guru; he's done a bunch of research on mental health in education." Owen took a sip of his drink and went on talking.

Alana eyes darted around the room, never landing on any one object as Owen went on and on about mental health problems.

"He'll get VP," he chuckled, "unless the dean puts a hit out on him." Alana's black brows pulled closer at his last statement. "You're too gullible!" Owen laughed. "We'll work on that later. Anyway, the whole situation is a bit controversial. Before Landon got here everyone was confident that Dean Helen would be the next VP, even though no one likes her and she smells like mothballs. Whenever VP Collins retires, they want Landon to apply for the position."

"And how do you know this?" Alana asked, flicking off her flip-flops and tucking her feet under her bottom on the plush chair.

"This," Owen pointed around with his index finger, "is my classroom. I want a career in Higher Education, so I pay attention to the politics. Besides, I overheard the pro-staff talking about it during the earlier part of training," he admitted.

"Landon... vice president of a university..." was all Alana could say.

#Carly

The staff was sprawled across the elegant furniture like they were home. Everyone's eyes looked glazed over with exhaustion. Suddenly, Marcus perked up in his seat as he read a message on his phone. A wicked Grinch-like smile appeared on his face, making it look squarer. He scooted off his chair and headed toward the lobby doors.

"Hey, where are you going?" demanded Owen.

"None of yo' business," Marcus retorted, grabbing a ping pong paddle from behind the desk.

"Huh, I know where he's going... priorities, priorities, priorities," said Carly in a nagging tone. "He's going to see Tiffany. They'd better be at her place tonight. I can't... seriously, I'd rather sleep in the lobby," she mumbled almost inaudibly.

"When 6 a.m. comes around you'd better be in the lobby or else you're going to be fired," Owen said sharply, as if he had the authority.

"Owen, you worry about you. I got this," Marcus said.

Owen almost looked offended by Marcus' remark, and Carly laughed boldly. She admired Owens' outspokenness. He seemed to be able to get away with saying the very thing everyone else was thinking but couldn't say without avoiding a fight. She figured he had the liberty of speaking his mind because he had a way of sounding more like a concerned grandmother than an opinionated jerk. People weren't quite sure how to read him. Either way, the staff rarely took offense to his often brash comments.

As Marcus left the lobby, Carly looked at Owen, slapping her hand on his chubby knee. "Now, if I said something like that, I would have been called a-you-know what..." she said, implications heavy in her voice.

"Girly, sometimes you just have to risk it and say what you have to say or you'll be living with regret after regret." But maybe he was being a hypocrite, just a little. It was his junior year, and everyone but his parents knew he was gay.

"Are we going to play Balderdash or what? It's getting late and I plan to work out in the morning," yawned Ethan, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back on the plush couch.