It's your first day at St. David's University, a private college in the rolling hills of mid-America. With an average class size of 8,000, an estimated 20,000 students at St. David's, you are but a feeble, little fish in an unknown and cut-throat sea.
"Hey, ," a student beckons, "you enrolled in Farley's Newspaper course for one of your art creds." The boy's name is Patrick Dell, and he is one of two Lead Writers at the St. David Beat, your university's award-winning newsletter. You met him on class registration day, at the sign-up table for the Newspaper course, where Dr. Farley sat with a grim and unamused presence. Something instinctual told you to turn and run for some other subject, perhaps Film Studies or Choral Performance, but Dr. Farley's powerful look held you hostage. Pen-to-paper, the deal was struck before you knew it, and you were walking away from the Beat table knowing this was going to be an eventful decision.
"Freshman don't usually get accepted into the Beat crew," began Patrick, eye-balling you as you stand outside the door for your first class, "you should consider yourself lucky. Farley hates Freshman, and certainly anyone who seems so," he holds for a moment, "...fickle." You hold your stare for a bit, tuning into your observational prowess.
Patrick, about 5'11", you think; thin, nice arm muscles, a bit on the tan side, maybe part Italian, or just an outside kind-of boy; short, brown hair, neatly brushed to the side, a pair of thin-rimmed prescription Oakley's; blue button-up shirt, faded stripe-pattern, covered with a black, form-fitting, unzipped leather jacket; basic blue jeans, basic white Nikes, a book-bag thrown over a shoulder and a concerning smirk at the corners of his lips. Patrick Dell, you think; remember to break this one.
"Problem?" he asks, hands crossed over his chest, "because you can look at this face all-day in the paper, small-fry," he finishes, bolting off with one last disgusted sigh.
Your first enemy, and without even trying. That was easy. |