61 The First Day of Class

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!" Roselle shouted, still covering her eyes. She had just caught two people 'getting busy' in a college campus classroom.

"What's wrong with YOU?" the girl asked. "Why are you walking in on us?"

"Play nice, princess," the guy said. He had an accent that originated from a Spanish-speaking country of some kind, but Roselle couldn't tell from where exactly. "You can open your eyes now. We're dressed."

Roselle peaked from out of the corner of her hands, and they were more clothed than before, but they weren't exactly 'dressed'. The guy had dirty-blond hair that was curly and thick, and his eyes were a cool shade of green. He was shirtless, and it was hard not to note that he was incredibly muscular.

The guy finally put on his shirt. "Sorry about that, you must be new around here," he said. "This is an abandoned building and entrance here is forbidden."

"Why are you guys even here then?" Roselle asked.

He smirked, his dimples becoming abundantly apparent. "I guess the thrill makes it even more exciting. Many students come here to make love to one another."

She felt like gagging. "Okay, too much information. I was just looking for my class and two guys told me it was here."

The guy sighed. "The students here like to play tricks on newbies. I'm sorry about them."

The girl in the back rolled her eyes. "Anyway honey, your class ain't here so BYE!"

Roselle opened her mouth to tell her off, but the guy held his hand up, signaling for her to wait.

"I think I'll show you to your class," said the guy.

The girl dropped her jaw. "But you and I were finally--"

"I'll call you some other time." He turned to Roselle. "What class do you have?"

Roselle didn't really want THIS guy to show her to her class, but she was already very late and didn't have much of a choice. She pulled out her prospectus. "It's here."

He examined it. "Ah, Spanish. I'll escort you there."

"If you say so." She sighed. She walked out of the room with the guy, and the girl he was with was glaring at her so hard that she could practically feel the daggers. The girl gave her the middle finger, but in turn, Roselle threw her a peace sign.

* * *

As they walked out of the abandoned building and through the campus, students were looking at them as if they were celebrities. Guys would smirk, and girls would glare.

A few guys in jerseys walked up to the guy and gave him a high five. "Sup man," they greeted, giving him bro hugs. "You coming to practice later?"

"Ah, maybe." He grinned. "I may have made Veronica angry. I might need to make it up to her later."

"Coach is gonna be mad if you're a no-show again."

He shrugged. "Yes, but he won't kick me off the team."

"If you say so." The guys headed off in their own direction.

"Well, you sure are Mr. Popular around here," Roselle said.

"I guess so." He raised a brow. "You mean to say, you don't recognize me?"

"Nope. Should I? Are you some kind of important guy or something?"

He shook his head, smiling a little. "Nah, never mind." He changed the subject. "So, princess, why are you taking up Spanish?"

"Seriously?" She used air quotations. "Princess?"

"Oh, sorry. You don't want to be called that? Most girls like it when I call them princess."

"Well, I don't."

"What should I call you then?"

"How about by my name? It's Roselle. Ro for short."

"Roselle." He held out his hand as if he was trying to shake hers. "My name is Vicente. I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I hope we can start over."

She glanced at his hand, then at his face. "I'm not shaking hands with you after I saw you just . . . never mind."

Vicente slowly took his hand and slicked his hair back instead. "Right."

"Who was that girl you were with anyway? She was so rude. Was that your girlfriend?"

"Ah, Veronica?" He snickered. "It's more like a friends with benefits situation. We're just casual."

"Good. I hate her."

"I'm sorry if she said anything that offended you. She's just been in a bad mood lately."

A thought crossed Roselle's mind. "Why did you offer to walk me to my class?"

"I felt awful that you had to see that. Again, I'm sorry for the people at this campus. They can be cruel sometimes. Especially when they smell fresh meat."

They finally approached the building that the Spanish class was in.

"Well," Vicente said. "This is it."

"Thanks." She turned to walk inside, but before she could, Vicente stepped in front of the door.

"Wait," he said. "Will I see you again, Ro?"

She sighed. "Look, buddy. No offense, but I've already seen PLENTY of you."

"I could tutor you in Spanish if you want. It's my native language."

"I already have a tutor. Now get out of the way."

He took out a piece of paper and wrote something on it. He handed it to her. "Here. In case you change your mind." Vicente gave a wink, and with that, he walked off.

Once he was out of sight, Roselle tore the piece of paper apart, crumpled it up, and threw it away in the nearest trash can.

* * *

When Roselle opened the door to her Spanish class, everyone was staring at her, including the teacher. The silence was toxic and humiliating. She frantically darted her eyes around searching for a place to sit, but every single chair was full.

"Well, hola," the teacher said. "¿Cómo te llamas?"

She froze. It's been so long since she took Spanish class, so she didn't know what her teacher said exactly. It sounded familiar. Was it a greeting of some kind?

"Soy bien, ¿y tu [I'm good, and you]?" Roselle replied in the heat of the moment.

The class burst into laughter, causing Roselle's face to become hot.

"I asked what your name was," the professor said. "If you're this bad at Spanish, you should at least be on time to my lessons."

"I'm sorry . . . I got lost and I--"

"Your name."

"Roselle Reyes."

The professor narrowed his eyes. "So, you're the one."

"The one that what?"

"Students, let me tell you a little story about Roselle here." The teacher made his way walking down the aisles of the classroom. "This class was full yesterday, and when a class is full, it's the university's policy to ensure that no other students get in unless someone drops the class. Yesterday, Ms. Reyes got her friend. Mr. President, to bail her out and force the registrar to make room just for her."

She gulped. One, two, three, four, five, inhale. Five, four, three, two, one, exhale.

"Let me tell you all a secret," the professor continued. "I hate students that get complacent when they're friends with 'big shots'. Do you think that just because you're friends with President Parker that you can show up to my class late?"

"N--no, I just--"

"Take a seat and let me talk."

Roselle looked for a place to sit again, but she couldn't find one. "There are no more chairs."

"Do you know why that is? There are only a certain number of students allowed in a class, yet you forced your way in anyway. You can sit on the floor in my class, or you can bring your own chair since you're the 'extra' girl. You may not sit in any of the seats meant for the 'real' students."

It was humiliating. She wanted to run out of the class right there and then. She wanted to scream and she wanted to hide in a hole. She couldn't though. Not after everything that everyone has done just so she could be there. Roselle sat on the floor in defeat and tried not to give the teacher the satisfaction of seeing her discontentment.

The professor smirked. "Good." He went on giving additional information to everyone. "From now on, if you're late to my class, I'll lock the door so you can't get in. I am a very strict man, and I don't tolerate any misconduct or disobedience. If you follow my instructions, maybe you'll pass. If not, you'll fail. If you are late to an exam, don't expect me to let you retake it unless you got hit by a car that day and have proof."

The students exchanged nervous looks with one another. Some of them even formed droplets of perspiration on their foreheads.

"I am strict with everyone, but," he looked at Roselle. "I will be even harsher on you."

If Roselle had a seat, she would have sank in it.

"Now then, let us continue on with the lesson." He turned to the board and pointed at words that the students had to verbally translate. "Me llamo Señor Jimenez [My name is Mr. Jimenez]."