Odds || H.S.

I

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I slumped further into my seat as my international affairs professor struggled to project his PowerPoint onto the screen in the lecture hall. 

"I feel like half of my tuition goes towards waiting for professors to figure out how to work technology rather than any actual content." my best friend, Jon whispered. 

"Honestly...72k per year for this shit," I scoffed. 

"Yeah, luckily not for us," Jon quipped. 

I nodded and giggled at Jon's reference to our hefty academic scholarships. I feel so lucky to have the privilege to study at a university as prestigious as New York University. My parents are not poor by any means, but they certainly are not rich enough to send me to a private institution without the help of a decent scholarship. Isn't that just the plight of the (middle) middle-class America? 

I pull on the kinky coils of my hair and watched them snap back into place, it's satisfying. Shifting in my seat,  I tapped my pen against my notebook peppering small marks across what used to be a blank sheet of paper.

 I continued to reposition myself in my seat as I was impatient, anxious, and most importantly excited for tonight. 

"Lila, girl if you don't stop man-spreading and tapping your damn pen I swear... we have a small amount of space in this lecture hall as it is," Jon mumbled.  

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just so excited! Aren't you?" I grinned.

"You mean to see the man, the myth, the legend, Harry Styles perform at Madison Square Garden from the Cherry Pit... no, I actually don't care at all," Jon deadpanned.

"Shut up, you know you can't wait," I beamed.

"Of course! I need to see Harry Styles more than I need oxygen to move throughout my bloodstream" he swooned. 

We turned our attention to the Professor who had finally got his presentation on the screen and began lecturing. 

After discussing several political theories and complaining about some of Trump's foreign policy decisions, the class was finally over. 

Jon and I pushed through the crowds of students huddled in the hallways. We rushed into the street and began a brisk to our dingy apartment in Alphabet City. Upon arrival at our building on Avenue B, we ran up the five flights of stairs and into our respective rooms to put on our premeditated outfits. 

"Not even a hello?" our roommate and my other best friend, Addy, questioned from her spot on the couch in our living room. She was already dressed and ready to go.