Losing Control✓ (New Adult Romance)

Chapter Six

The English building at the University of Montana reminds me of high school. White tiles line the floor, bulletin boards hang on the walls, lockers stem between classrooms. I stand at the base of the staircase with my head tilted up towards a hanging sign of professors and room numbers. It takes me nearly fifteen minutes to find Mr. Brekk's nine o'clock class, but still, I am a solid twenty minutes early.

The room is empty when I enter. There are four lines of wooden tables, scrunched together so that there's barely an aisle in the middle. I choose a seat in the second-to-last row, far enough away that I won't likely be called on, but close enough that I don't look like I'm purposefully hiding. My seat is also next to the window, so if things get too boring, I can entertain myself with students milling about campus.

I line out my materials and stare at the door. My insides thrum wildly, and I can feel my forehead lining with sweat. A million questions swirl through me: What if I'm in the wrong class? What if I have the wrong time? What if I don't make any friends?

The door pops open five minutes later. It's a mouse-faced boy with Dumbo ears, an odd combination that makes him appear even smaller than he truly is. I try to give him a wave, something that says, I'm friendly, you can sit by me, but he sits down before I have the chance. After that, the students trickle in until nine o'clock. Professor Brekk is the last to enter. He doesn't carry a briefcase like I expect him to, but rather a worn satchel that looks moments from tearing at the seams.

"Good morning, future authors," says Professor Brekk as he drops his satchel on the front desk. It's a fairly small room, and yet, the sound echoes throughout, bouncing off the walls and windows.

A few kids mumble their hellos, but I stare blankly at the front of the room. Only one student sits behind me, and only two sit in the same row as me. Everyone else is crowded in the front two rows, obviously eager to be here. Not that I'm not eager.

"Anyone read anything exciting this summer?" he asks. Brekk walks around his desk and leans against it. He stares expectantly at us, and then glances back at the chalkboard—yes, a chalkboard. I haven't seen one of those since elementary school. "Do any of you read?"

Only silence follows. Even the brave ones who greeted Professor Brekk are quiet, looking amongst themselves.

"Ah, I see," says Brekk, clapping his hands together. "We're a shy bunch, aren't we? That's okay, I used to be shy, as well. And luckily for you, there's an easy solution to your quiet." He again claps his hands, this time rising from the desk. "Everyone, grab a table, and let's form a circle."

Of course, no one moves. I stare at him and then glance at the other students. My heart thumps into my ears as I try to decide whether he's being serious.

"C'mon," he says. He grabs at one of the front tables and starts pulling it away from the front row.

This finally spurs everyone into action. We clamor around each other, trying to make all the tables fit, even though there's obviously not enough room. By the end, two tables sit in the center, and the rest form an ugly shape that we pretend is a circle.

"Okay, we're going to pretend we're back in high school," says Brekk, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who flinches. "Remember those weird trust games teachers had you do? Well, we're going to do that. After introducing yourself, I want you to say one secret, something not many people know." His mouth broadens into a smile, one that causes me to twitch again. "And no, I'm not doing this to torture you. Quite the opposite. An important part of creative writing is feedback, and unless you're comfortable with each other, the critique portion of our semester won't go well."

I shift uneasily on my table. The chairs are scattered throughout the room, some by Brekk's desk, others blocking the door, and a few stacked in the middle. My legs dip down toward the floor, swaying nervously.

"Do I have any volunteers to go first?" asks Professor Brekk.

I look down at my hands, which I know, I know, is the worst thing you can do. Teachers pick up on avoidance faster than a shark smells blood. Even before he calls on me, I know it's coming.

"How about you in the purple shirt?" he asks.

My eyes flicker toward my purple blouse, suddenly despising my decision to wear it. Then, I look up slowly, looking to Professor Brekk to make sure he truly, really means me.

"Me?" I ask dumbly.

"Yes, you," says Professor Brekk with a friendly smile. "Why don't you start us off, introduce yourself?"

Because I'd rather pull out my intestines.

"Um, my name is Addison Welch," I say slowly. "I'm a freshman this year, coming from North Idaho."

Professor Brekk nods at me, encouraging me to go on. I don't know what else to say though, so I only grit my teeth together and give an awkward smile.

"And, what's something not many people know?"

Oh no, I'd forgot about that part. I ring my fingers together, staring at them intently. Everyone is staring at me—I can feel it. They're waiting for me to say something, anything, and I don't know what to say. The panic rises through my body, starting at my stomach and crawling into my chest. It's not a panic attack, but I feel like it's not far away, like it could strike at any moment.

"Addie?"

"I was diagnosed with severe depression at seventeen," I blurt.

Don't ask me why I said it. I have no idea why I revealed one of my darkest secrets to a class full of strangers. As soon as the confession slips from my mouth, I know I've made a mistake. What an idiot. What a freak.

"Oh, thank you for sharing," says Professor Brekk slowly. It makes me feel like I'm in a support group.

When I finally lift my eyes from my lap, I see everyone staring at me. It's not in my head this time—they're literally all staring. A girl with squinty eyes arches an eyebrow at me, and the mouse-faced boy scrunches his nose.

"All right, who's next?" asks Brekk. He claps his hands again, a habit that will undoubtably last the entire semester.

The girl beside me giggles slightly. "Hi, my name is Hannah. I'm from Michigan. And my secret? I've played the guitar for two years."

"What kind of guitar?" asks mouse-face.

"Electric," says the girl, and she plays a quick air guitar solo.

"Wow, that's awesome," says another girl. "I wish I could play the guitar."

I bite down on my tongue, barely flinching when the blood trickles into my mouth. Electric guitar? I just freaking admitting to having a mental condition, and that's what she gets off with? As the answers move around the room, I realize I'm the only one with a true secret. Other people have secret talents and food fetishes and weird TV shows as guilty pleasures. Me? I'm the class nut job.

I sink into myself for the duration of class. Creative writing is supposed to be my best class this semester, but instead, it's going to be a nightmare. No one is going to befriend the crazy girl, and if they do, they'll always feel bad for me. Or worse, they'll think I'm weak. They'll be like Wes and assume I'm making myself sad.

"Looks like time's up," says Brekk. He grins. "Next class period we'll discuss the syllabus and this semester's reading." When the class groans, he laughs. "I know, I know, but we have to do it."

Three fourths of the class leaves, but I stay behind to help put the tables back in order. I forgot how heavy they are, and I notice I'm the only one struggling to move them. Nobody comes to help me though, not even Professor Brekk.

A part of me wants to stride up to him with bold confidence and demand an apology. It's his fault for putting me on the spot, and he should feel guilty for embarrassing me. Of course, I'm too shy to do that.

Instead, I tuck my head toward my chest and slide out of the classroom, ignoring his call of goodbye.