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“You’re the chick who sat by me in the reserved seats in the criminology class.”
I raise an eyebrow, not sure I understand the meaning of these words.
“What do you mean, ‘reserved?’ Since when do we reserve seats in a classroom when it’s full?”
She simply shrugs her shoulders in response, and I finally realize what she’s talking about, or rather who. The different colored-eyed Public Danger. So what, because he’s got himself seats, people are listening to him? Who the hell is this guy?
“Wait, are you talking about the full-of-himself guy who came in and said I had taken his place?” I laugh falsely and she stares at me a little more closely, intrigued by my reaction.
“You really don’t know who this is, do you?”
“I’m new here. And no, I don’t know who that is. But I sit wherever I want, reserved or not.”
Yeleen tilts her head to the side, both eyebrows raised.
“You’ve got guts. It’s been a long time since a new girl talked to him like that. I like that.”
“And so…who was he?” His eyes so disturbing haunt my thoughts again and I shake my head to clear them.
“What’s your major?” she finally says, ignoring my question.
“Psych. Junior year.”
She whistles as if impressed.
“And you’re sticking with Professor Richards? Good luck with that. Me, I decided to drop out as soon as she mentioned the workload!”
She suddenly turns to the girls still protesting a little further away.
“Stop showing your tits, damn it! We’re not doing a striptease for all these jerks. You,” she says to one of the spectators, “stop staring at these girls or I’ll cut off what’s hanging between your legs.”
I like her tactlessness.
Yeleen turns to me again. Noticing my scrutinizing look, she squints, “Hey, psychologist lady, I feel you analyzing me.”
“Sorry, it’s involuntary.” I have a habit of trying to decipher the behavior of people around me. But sometimes I get it wrong.
A girl calls to Yeleen, and she says, “I have to go.” She starts to walk away and then stops for a moment, giving me one last look. “Watch out for the ‘wolves’ on campus, Iris.”
“Wolves?”
But no answer comes to me as she walks away, giving the finger to one of the guys who is still filming the other topless students.
3. Rescue the Damsel
Iris
As I push open the door to High Peaks Bar, a hubbub instantly reaches me. The space is completely packed. The various tables scattered around the bar are all occupied. My eyes land on a small stage at the back of the room, where a man is performing. He is playing his guitar while covering a hit from Imagine Dragons. In front of him, some girls are dancing among themselves, totally enchanted by the singer’s husky voice.
I see, on the other side, a bar where two older bartenders are struggling. One guy waves a twenty-dollar bill in the air in the direction of a bartender while another slams his hand on the counter, impatient.
I take a deep breath. Well, it’s…lively. Most of the younger people here tonight seem to be students, which makes me feel a little better about trying my luck here. I glance at the small paper half-crumpled between my fingers. High Peaks Bar is looking for someone to serve several nights a week, and I need money.
I play elbows to reach the bar and move hastily, avoiding a young drunk. I glare at him, but he doesn’t even notice my presence and moves away, joining a table where several girls are waiting for him, a big smile on their lips.
What a jerk.
I make my way over while crumpling the paper in my right hand. I lean on the bar, trying to attract the attention of a bartender. “Excuse me!” I try.
