Quinn looks out over the quad for a moment, a loose magenta t-shirt hanging gently over her black jeans. Running her fingers through her now short hair, she sighs to herself as she walks onto the quad for her first day of classes at Wharton University. Her first week had been a bit hectic, moving into her new room (a single, thank God), arranging a schedule, and trying to track down professors to get permission to add their class to her official roster, despite the university’s best efforts. But now, her room livable and a schedule approved, signed, and duly filed in triplicate with the registrar, only one task remained: locating the classes based on the acronyms in the course and room roster. Oh, and surviving the first day of classes would be nice as well.

Walking across the quad, the eclectic mix of buildings on the campus seemed to crowd her narrow path. The University policy that buildings must be representative of the time they were constructed in sounded great on paper, but led to a very interesting feel for the campus. Where else could you find a combination of colonial architecture, castle-like monoliths of brick and stone, and the infamous Randall Hall, designed in the industrial nightmare style so popular in the 70’s? Somehow, this would be her home for the next four years. It would take some getting used to.

Shaking her head, Quinn remembers the task at hand. Class. Dropping her bag to the soft grass, she removes a small slip of paper, studying it carefully before proceeding.

"White Hall? That would be … there."

Across the quad, an old colonial building stands behind a quartet of tall oak trees. Behind the leafy canopy of the center two trees, ‘hite Ha’ is visible in large metal letters. Zipping her bag and hefting it over her shoulder again, she heads off towards the building, entering through the first entrance.

#

Inside the building, a single long corridor runs the length of the building, ending in a stairwell. Along either side of the corridor, classrooms branch off at irregular intervals, with room numbers mounted on large plastic signs just outside the door.

"Ok, Introduction to Micro-Economics 101, White Hall 143. Hmm. 130, 132, 134 … "

After a moment of searching, it becomes clear that there are no odd numbered rooms anywhere in sight. Puzzled, she notices a sole open door at the far end of the corridor. Curiously, Quinn moves to the end of the corridor, peering cautiously into the office. Satisfied, she walks through the door, revealing a middle-aged woman sitting behind a large metal desk, piles of papers neatly stacked on every flat surface. Looking up from her work, the woman studies the new arrival with penetrating but friendly eyes.

"Let me guess, a freshman?"

"Um, yeah."

"I’m Rosalyn, the department secretary. Can I help you?"

"Um, I’m looking for room 143? I have a class there…"

Smiling, the woman gestures at the far wall of the office. "Go back down the hall, walk outside, and go in the other door. Room 143 is the second door on the left."

"Outside?"

"Yep. This building is divided into two parts, which don’t connect to each other inside."

"Why would they do that?"

The woman sports a small smile before responding. "Our best guess is that the architect was drunk. Or just didn’t like the university."

"And no one thought to check the plans before they built it?" Quinn asked, genuine surprise in her voice. "Whose crazy idea was THAT?"

"Hey now, don’t be criticizing the University," Rosalyn warned, wagging a finger at Quinn.

"Um, why not?"

Chuckling lightly to herself, the woman turns back to her computer, typing as she speaks. "Oh, no reason. They just like it if we say stuff like that."

"Oh," Quinn said, checking her watch. "Well … I really have to be going. I wouldn’t want to miss my first class."

"Watch what you say. You might change your mind."

Shrugging, Quinn heads out of the office, turning down the corridor towards the door.

#

Inside a lecture hall, a tall, thirty-something professor is perched by the door, sitting back against the wall in front of a sparse classroom. Glancing in disappointment at the scant handful of students in a classroom designed for over one hundred fifty students, the professor turns quickly as the door swings open.

"Hey, hang on a second Miss …"

Shifting slightly to observe the professor, she replies to his implied question. "Morgendorffer."

"Miss Morgendorffer. Are you in this class, or just looking?"

"In the class. You signed my add/drop slip last week."

"Oh. Well then, you’ll need a course packet. Here."

Taking the packet, she takes a seat in the middle of the classroom, leafing slowly through the stapled sheets. As she scans the syllabus, the seats around her slowly fill with groggy students, an aroma of coffee hanging heavily in the air. Just before reaching the end of the packet, the professor addresses the class in a loud, confident voice.

"Ok class, I suppose I should welcome you to our fair university and all that, but lets get right down to business. My name is Professor Warre, and I am taking over this class from Professor Johnson. I know that many of you see this class as nothing more than an easy grade, but I can assure you that this year will be different than previous years."

The professor pauses briefly as a groan circulates through the class.

"Great. I wonder if there’s any room in poly-sci?" mumbles a student from the back of the room, eliciting a disappointed glare from the professor. Raising his voice slightly in a commanding tone, the professor continues, quickly regaining control of the lecture hall.

"I can assure you that by the end of this class, you will know the basics of economics. Or you will fail. Three tests, twenty percent each, one final, thirty percent, and weekly homework to make up the remaining ten percent. Now that we’ve gotten through the basics, we may as well get started with the class."

"Well, he sure doesn’t waste any time, does he?" a girl whispers from the row behind Quinn.

"What?"

"Usually they give a day for people to settle in. So much for gentle introductions."

"Ms. Morgendorffer!"

Turning in shock back to the front of the room, Professor Warre is staring directly at her, as is much of the class. Behind her, a lanky girl, dressed in a pair of cut-off jeans and a dark black t-shirt with ‘Carpe Noctem’ written on the front, sits back sheepishly, looking thankful but guilty for bringing the professor’s wrath on her classmate.

"In my classroom young lady, we do not talk during lecture. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Um, no?"

"Good. But while I have your attention, perhaps you could explain to us the concept of supply and demand?"

Leaning forward, the black-shirted girl surreptitiously whispers, "I’m sorry," softly into Quinn’s ear.

"Well Miss Morgendorffer, we’re waiting for you to enlighten us."

Facing the professor, she stares at him with determination, locking eyes for a brief but significant moment before responding. "Supply and demand is a simple concept that economists like to pretend is complex and insightful. Basically, it means that if the demand for a commodity, say oranges, exceeds the available supply, then prices will rise until demand for oranges equals the available supply."

"That’s a reasonably good, if simplistic view of the matter…"

"Of course, this ignores the effects of limited competition, product substitution, and inelastic demand on an economy, which would merely interfere with the understanding of the fundamentals, don’t you agree?"

The professor cocks his head, recognizing that there is more to this girl than meets the eye. "Um, yes, that’s, uh, very good Ms. Morgendorffer," he replies, studying her carefully before scanning the class once again. "Moving along…"

As the lecture winds to a close, the class as a whole have their heads down, furiously taking notes in their notebooks as the professor concludes his presentation.

"And that’s the basic foundation upon which modern economics is based. Now, before the next class, I expect you to read chapters 1-3 in your textbook."

From the front of the classroom, a male student looks up in surprise. "Professor Warre? You want us to read three chapters by Wednesday?"

"The first chapter is only ten pages. It’s a very simple overview of the entire course."

"You want us to read two chapters by Wednesday?"

"Yes. I do."

"Oh."

As the class begins to stand and pack their bags, the black-shirted girl leans forward, getting Quinn’s attention. "Hi, I’m Amber," she offered in a friendly tone. "Not bad back there. How’d you know all that stuff?"

"Oh, that? Something I picked up in High School."

Amber stares at Quinn for a moment before continuing. "Are you always so confrontational with teach … professors?"

Shaking her head, she turns to Amber with a smirk. "Well, not really. But if you establish yourself as a ‘smart’ one early on, you’ll earn a lot more leeway later."

"And the smart ones make the teacher look like a fool?"

"No, no. You’re not showing them up, you’re challenging them. Show’s you’re awake…"

"Semantics. Say, I didn’t catch your name…"

"Morgendorffer." Looking up in surprise, she shakes her head briefly in amusement. "Sorry about that, I’ve been in a few too many university offices this past week. My name is Quinn. Quinn Morgendorffer."

Looking at Quinn, Amber studies her for a second, her blue eyes trying to look straight through Quinn. "You’re a freshman, right?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I am," Quinn replied, not fully understanding the significance. "Is that a problem?"

"Nope. We’re all freshman at some point," Amber reassured her. "At least, those of us who get that far. It’s just rare to see a freshman with your confidence."

"You know what? You still haven’t." Now if Daria was here, Quinn thought …

"A rose by any other name …" Amber said, rubbing her eyes as the two began to head out of the classroom. "Hey, if you want, I know this great coffee shop nearby. I don’t know about you, but these 8:30 classes are just too damn early for me."

Coffee. Quinn could think of a thousand reasons to say no. Stains. Complexion problems. Just two of a number of reasons she’d used in the past. But now, they all seemed … distant, unimportant. The answer surprises Quinn, even as she responds. "Sure. Coffee sounds great."

#

Opening the large glass doors, Quinn and Amber enter a quaint coffee shop, making their way into the short but rapidly growing line. Quinn looks up behind the counter at the vast array of coffee flavors as Amber leans against the railing. Quinn tries to decide what she wants, staring up at the large printed menu. English Toffee Cream, French Vanilla, Rain Forest Nut, Hazelnut, or Irish Cream? So many different flavors to choose from, Quinn thought, turning to Amber. "What do you recommend?"

"Personally, I love the hazelnut. Good stuff." Closing her eyes for a moment, she smiles in remembrance. "After nine at night, they’ll make it triple strength if you ask nicely."

Shuddering slightly at the thought, Quinn shoots a strange look at Amber. Noticing her reaction, Amber smiles, looking back at Quinn. "So I take it you’re not a big coffee fan?"

Uh-oh, Quinn thought, think fast. "Um, it’s not that," Quinn said, trying to buy time for her mouth and mind to come to agreement. "It’s just that, um, I never really needed to stay up that late in High School." At least not for academic reasons, she mused.

"Oh, so you’re one of those genius types who don’t have to work at anything, huh?"

Quinn shifts slightly, angry with Amber for making fun of her, when she realizes that Amber doesn’t know anything about her, that she was actually serious in her question. Caught up in the irony of the situation, Quinn begins to laugh. Confused, Amber looks to Quinn, cocking her head in a curious stare.

"Was it something I said?"

"You might say that," Quinn managed as she gradually stopped laughing. "If you really want to know, I’ll tell you over coffee. It’s kind of a long story."

"So whadda you two want?" barked the apron clad employee working the counter.

"I’ll have the hazelnut, cream, no sugar." .

"And for you?" he asks Quinn.

Sniffing the air for a second, Quinn gives a barely perceptible shrug. "Hazelnut sounds fine."

"You want anything in that?"

"Um, no?"

"Black it is then."

The employee turns, removing two paper cups from a stack before walking back to the wall of coffee machines behind him. As he pours the coffee, Amber looks to Quinn in surprise. "Black?"

"My jeans?" Quinn asked, having missed the employee’s comment.

"Your coffee." Looking at Quinn suspiciously, Amber gently questions her. "Have you ever had coffee before?"

"Um, once or twice, yes."

Before Amber can continue, the employee returns with two large paper cups full of coffee. "There you go, one with milk, one black, hazelnut. Pay up at the register," the employee says unenthusiastically, directing his attention at the next customer. "Next!"

As the man behind the two places his order, Amber and Quinn make their way to the cash register. Searching her jeans to find money, Quinn nods her head towards the counter. "Not terribly friendly here, are they?"

"Well, if you had to get in at 4AM for the early shift, you probably wouldn’t be in a great mood either."

Handing a five dollar bill across the counter to the cashier, Quinn considers Amber’s statement. "I guess that makes sense… But if they don’t like it, why do they work here?"

"Money. Loans don’t cover everything."

"Loans?" Quinn asked, receiving her change from the cashier.

"Sure. You can’t spell Wharton University without IOU," Amber replied, heading off towards an open table.

As Quinn and Amber walk towards the table, Quinn lags slightly behind Amber, her head cocked slightly. She seems friendly, Quinn observes silently. And with a touch of Daria’s sense of humor too. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

Taking a seat in a booth against the wall of the shop, Quinn removes the plastic lid on her coffee and takes a tentative sip. After an initial look of pleasant surprise, Quinn’s face flinches slightly as the bitter aftertaste kicks in. Waiting a second, Quinn takes another sip, her reaction almost completely suppressed.

"You’re right, this is pretty good." Placing the coffee down on the table, Quinn looks across at Amber. "I take it you’re not a freshman?"

Looking up at Quinn, Amber smiles briefly. "That’s right, I’m a big bad sophomore."

"Oh."

"Is that a problem?"

Shouldn’t I be asking you that, Quinn wondered? "Um, it’s just that in high school, we didn’t really, uh, interact much? With the other classes, that is."

Laughing slightly, Amber shakes her head. "I’d forgotten just how naïve you all are coming out of high school.

"Gee, thanks."

"Oh, relax. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that it’s not all that important here. Here, you’ll get to know the people in your classes, and maybe in your major. Do you have a major yet?"

"Um, no." A major, Quinn wondered? I’m just worried about surviving for now. Besides, how am I supposed to know what I want to do? "Do you?"

"As of yesterday? Yes. I’m officially a Computer Engineering major."

"Computer engineering?"

"Yep. Now you know my deep dark secret."

"Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re a sophomore."

Amber laughs in surprise as she puts down her coffee. Being careful not to knock over the cup, she reaches up and gently scratches the side of her nose. Satisfied, she turns her head to Quinn with a smile. "You’re pretty funny for a freshman."

"Um, thanks," Quinn replied uncertainly. Continuing with trepidation, she asked "If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in econ 101? Isn’t that, like, a freshman class or something?"

"Not for engineers. We get stuck with calculus, physics, and chemistry our first year."

"Ick!"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. So you’re interested in economics?"

Taking a sip of her coffee, Quinn considers her answer for a moment before responding. "Well, sort of, I guess. Honestly, my advisor recommended the course to me, said it fit a lot of, um, destitution? No, distribution requirements."

"You were right the first time," Amber replied, holding back a laugh. "You seemed to know what was going on pretty well though. You must have had a better high school that I did …"

"Lawndale? Not really. I had an older sister," Quinn said as a pensive look crossed her face. "She’s a lot smarter than I was. Am. Whatever."

"Don’t sell yourself short Quinn. I’ve seen a few people stand up to professors like that before, but most of them are, um, arrogant pricks. You seem almost normal."

Normal. Had someone called Quinn normal in high school, she would have been livid. She was so much more than normal. She was pretty, popular, important. She was somebody. Funny then, how normal seemed like such a compliment now. Taking another sip of coffee, she slowly stepped out of her moment of introspection. "Thanks, I think."

"Don’t mention it," Amber said flippantly, checking her watch. "I’ve gotta get going now. I have to stop by the Engineering Registrar before my next class to make sure that they haven’t mangled my schedule too badly. Say, would you want to join my friends and I for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Or what passes for it at the dining hall."

"Um, sure. What time?"

"Oh, we’ll meet you outside, and we always leave the dorm at 6:22 for dinner."

"6:22?"

"I have strange friends. See you then!"

As Amber stands up, heading out of the building, Quinn watches in silence. Turning back to the table, Quinn stares at her coffee, deep in thought. Nice. She seems so nice, Quinn thought. Why couldn’t she have been at Lawndale? Oh well. I suppose I should track down my next class while I have the time.

"Now where would BH 203 be?" Standing up, Quinn slings her backpack over her shoulder, remembering at the last moment to grab her coffee as well. Taking a sip as she heads for the door, Quinn smiles. "You know, a girl could get to like this whole coffee thing…"

#

Across the campus stood a large, imposing building, a masterpiece of brick and mortar. Known to the students as Balder Hall, it was the home of the chemistry department, and the home of many a campus legend. It was rumored that the roof was designed to remain in a single piece in an explosion, although university policy took a dim view of students attempting empirical validation of this legend.

It was all very interesting, Quinn thought to herself as she entered the large front door into the cavernous corridors. Now if there were only some easy way to locate her classroom. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that it was a rite of passage or something. Little did she know that the university thought almost the exact same thing. Thankfully, the building was considerably simpler than White Hall. Heading up the staircase, pausing now and then to gaze at the ornate marble carvings and gold inlay, she was pleased to discover room 203 immediately adjacent to the staircase.

"Now that wasn’t too bad," Quinn muttered aloud. "I think I’m getting the hang of this whole college thing."

Opening the classroom door, Quinn hesitates momentarily to look over the classroom. It was somewhat smaller than her economics class, seating about seventy students in hard wooden chairs with swing-up desks just to small to be of any use at all. Heading into the classroom, Quinn is about to take a seat when she recognizes a student towards the front of the lecture hall. Curious, she walks over and sits down next to him.

"Justin?" Quinn asked in surprise. What was he doing here, she wondered? Justin was one of Quinn’s neighbors in her dorm, an average, blond young man with a penchant for chemistry and physics. As he turns to face her, Quinn can’t help but smile. He has a certain … innocence to his expression, a natural ability to look completely naïve, even when it was clearly not the case. It was for the better that he doesn’t realize this, she thought. If he ever did, he could be dangerous.

"Quinn? What are you doing here?" Justin asked, looking up from his notebook.

"Um, I thought that my chemistry lecture was in here. Is there a problem?"

"Well, maybe. My chemistry lecture is meeting in here today."

"Chem 215?"

"That’s right. Chem 215. Honors general inorganic chemistry."

Taking in Justin’s statement, Quinn stares at him for a long moment, remembering her first week. Honors chemistry? But the lady said that this was the only one open. She didn’t mention …

"Um, Quinn? Are you OK?" Justin interjected.

"Yeah, I’m fine Justin. They just didn’t tell me that it was an honors class. Great."

"Is that a problem?"

Problem is an understatement, Quinn thought. "Well, unlike you, I’m not all that good at chemistry. It’s just, um, not my thing."

Watching her expression of concern, Justin smiles at her sweetly. "Just give it a try, for a few weeks at least. It can’t be all that bad, can it? Besides, if you have any trouble, just ask me. I’d be more than happy to give you a hand."

"Uh, thanks," Quinn said uncertainly. With most guys, Quinn would have no doubt that it was pure hormones speaking, a simple trade, chemistry for a date. But with Justin, Quinn could never be certain. Justin was a healthy male, but he was also genuinely nice, and in the week she had known him, he had gone out of his way to help people a number of times, for little more than a smile and a ‘thank you’. It made him very hard to figure out at times, a trait that Quinn alternately found annoying and attractive.

"No problem. At least this way, you get to enjoy my company during lectures."

"Well THAT certainly convinced me to stay."

"Hey now, let’s not get personal."

Smiling, Quinn looks up, straight at Justin. "What, you’re saying there’s no chemistry between us?"

Grimacing slightly, Justin gives Quinn a look of faux-disgust. "That’s just horrible Quinn."

"Thanks." Reaching down to retrieve her notebook, Quinn couldn’t help but give a small chuckle. Was she flirting with him? Hell, she wasn’t even sure. But he did have a point that lecture would be much more bearable with a familiar face nearby. And she did have three weeks to switch classes at will, didn’t she? As the professor began to introduce himself and the class to the students, Quinn looks down at him, considering her options. I may as well give it a try, she mused. What do I have to lose?

#

Well, I survived the first two classes, Quinn thought, walking into the bookstore. Dropping her bag into a cubby against the wall, she retains only a small slip of paper containing her class roster. Passing through the large anti-theft detectors mounted at the entrance/exit, she immediately stops at a diagram of the bookstore layout, a large diagram color-coded by subject.

"If I were a chemistry book, where would I be hiding?" Quinn asked, looking down at the legend. Turning back to the map, she quickly locates the blue section on the diagram. "Ah, chemistry! Got you!" she exclaimed.

Spending a moment to orient the map with the bookstore around her, Quinn heads into the bustling crowd. After a fighting through the overcrowded aisles, Quinn slides into the chemistry section, taking a moment to breathe before beginning the search for her textbook. Scanning the course numbers listed on the shelf, Quinn locates her textbook relatively easily. Picking it up, she briefly scans through the book, reassuring herself that it is the right one. Satisfied, she closes the book, noticing the price tag on the back cover.

"Ninety dollars? For a book?" Quinn exclaimed without thinking. "That’s ridiculous!"

Quinn stopped suddenly, mortified that someone had caught her talking to herself. But as she looked around, she realizes that none of the students appear to have even give it a second thought. With a slight scowl, she picks up the book. "It’s not like I get a choice here, I suppose," she sighed. Clutching the book to her chest, she pushes her way back into the crowd.

Maybe I should have picked a less crowded time, Quinn pondered as she fights against the surging crowd of students. Lunch might have been better. I can’t imagine it could be worse, in any case. Of course, back in high school, she could have recruited an entire honor guard to clear the way for her. Such was life. Taking advantage of a brief opening in the crowd, Quinn ducks through, pushing her way into the economics section.

"Now which of these books do I need?" Quinn asked herself.

"Oh, that’s quite easy miss," a store employee responded, surprising Quinn. "On the bottom of each shelf is the listing of both the required and recommended books for each class."

Turning, Quinn cocks her head at the employee. "Oh, I didn’t notice that. Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, eying the crowd nervously.

"Busy day?"

"Actually, yesterday was worse."

"Worse than this?" Quinn asked, staring out at the crowd.

"Yep."

"I’m sorry."

"Hey, it pays the bills. And as long as I can avoid the manager, I won’t get stuck at the checkout."

"Excuse me? Sir? Can you help me?" another student asked, confused. "I can’t seem to find my textbook, and the sign said it was somewhere over here…"

Sighing, the employee turns to the student briefly. "Sure, I’ll be there in a second." Turning back to Quinn, he looks at her in silent frustration. "Well, duty calls," he observed, gesturing at the crowd. "Good luck out there."

"Thanks." Watching as he walked away, Quinn turns slowly back to the books, searching until she had located the two books required for her economics class. Piling them on top of her chemistry text, she lifts the three books, genuinely surprised at their weight. Should have gotten a basket, she thought as she forced her way back into the crowd towards the long checkout line. Enduring a moment of silent frustration, she takes her place in the long checkout line.

#

Returning from the bookstore, Quinn opens the door, standing in the doorway as a silhouette against the bright hallway lighting. Two hours in line, she thought flipping on a light switch and driving the shadows to the corners of her room. With a hint of exhaustion, she drops her backpack on her bed, sitting down momentarily. Leaning over, she sets the bulging plastic bag of textbooks on the floor next to her bed, rubbing her tender wrist gently.

Kicking off her shoes, Quinn looks slowly over her room, her home for the next year. Her desk, standard university issue, doing an admirable job of holding up the laptop her parents had given her for graduation. "For academic use only," Jake had insisted, before Helen managed to divert his attention. Thankfully, he had missed Daria’s gift, The Sims, "For non-academic use only". Family could be so strange at times. Or all the time, in her case.

Standing up slowly, Quinn walks over to the window next to the desk, pulling the curtains open to look over the dining hall immediately behind her dorm. "What a scenic view," Quinn said to herself, as she watches students entering for dinner. After opening the window slightly to let some air into her room, Quinn turns away from the window, heading towards the closet next to her door. Opening the closet, Quinn stares in, a wistful expression on her face.

Reaching into the open closet, she is interrupted by a knock at the door. Closing the closet, Quinn turns, opening the door to reveal a blonde girl, standing an inch or two shorter than Quinn. Smiling, Quinn leans against the wall as the girl enters.

"Hey Marisa!" Quinn exclaimed, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Did your first day of classes go well?"

"Oh, not bad," Marisa replied in a friendly tone. "I just looked for the trail of clueless-looking students, and followed them. It worked pretty well." Looking at Quinn’s bed curiously, she points at the bag still sitting on the floor. "Shopping at the bookstore?"

"Two hundred and fifty dollars worth of textbooks," Quinn replied fatalistically. "And that’s only two of my classes."

"Really?" Marisa replied, astonished at the figure.

"Well, that’s what they charged me."

"Oh. You know, I better call my mom tonight. I don’t know if I have that much money left."

"Um, they take credit cards," Quinn ad-libbed. Thankfully, Marisa didn’t seem particularly worried about her financial status, which suited Quinn fine. Quinn had no problem with it per se, but after years of manipulating Helen and Jake, and her time with the fashion club, she never really worried about money. One consequence was that she often forgot that her friends’ parents out here might not be as well off as the average Lawndale high crowd.

"That only puts it off for a month," Marisa observed sourly.

"Yeah, I know. But it at least gives you time to find the money."

"I guess," Marisa admitted warily. "It just seems like a lot for books."

"It is Marisa, it is." Glancing down at her watch, Quinn notices that it’s already ten after six. "Hey, I’m meeting someone for dinner in ten minutes or so. Hungry?"

"Sure. Just gimme a sec to check my mail and grab a coat."

"Cool. I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready."

Ah, Marisa, Quinn thought as she closed the door. It would be good to have a familiar face around during dinner, just in case. Pulling out a chair, Quinn sits down at her desk, tapping the touch pad on her laptop to rouse the computer from its sleep. After a short moment, the soft whir of the cooling fan permeates the room as Quinn launches her E-mail program.

"Junk, Junk, Forward from Daria, read it later, random university notices, Ooh, chain mail," Quinn reads aloud. "Well, that was worth it," Quinn observed in bemusement, minimizing her E-mail program. Grabbing a small wallet containing a few dollars, a student ID, and a credit card, she closes the top on her laptop, slips back into her shoes, and heads out to get Marisa for dinner.

#

"There’s nothing like a meal at the dining hall to make you miss that good old home cooking, eh Quinn?" Amber asked in amusement. Picking at her food, she looks across the table at Quinn. "Somehow, I get the feeling that salad isn’t supposed to be brown."

"Um, actually, the food here is better than my father’s cooking."

"Really?" Amber asked, surprised. "Is that possible?"

"I don’t think the dining hall’s food has sent anyone to the hospital," Quinn replied, staring down at her plate. "Although the jury may still be out on that one."

"Oh, it’s not so bad Quinn," Marisa interjected. "At least it’s all you can eat."

Assuming that you like grease, Quinn thought. Sandi would be in hell here. Too bad she’s not around, Quinn mused, smiling slightly at her private joke.

"You mean all you can stomach?" responded one of Amber’s friends sarcastically.

"Oh, come on Dave, you know it’s not all THAT bad."

"What, next you’re going to tell me that it grows on me?"

"That would kind of defeat my argument, now wouldn’t it?"

Quinn couldn’t help but be amused by Amber and Dave’s easy repartee about something so trivial as the food. They’ve already been here a year. She’d think it would get old by now.

"And we just couldn’t have that, now could we?" Dave quipped, obviously teasing Amber. There was something about the familiarity between the two that Quinn found … interesting. Back at Lawndale, things were so simple. Boys were for dating, and girls were competition for said dates, simple as pie. Not that she could make pie, but that was another matter. Here, however, things were more difficult, confused.

"You know me," Amber replied in a pouty tone. "I’ve always gotta be on top"

"That’s not what I’ve heard…" Dave responded in a suggestive voice. Surprised, Quinn and Marisa exchange a look of uncertainty, neither one terribly comfortable with this type of conversation.

"As if you would know," Amber countered, taking it in stride.

"Um, excuse me?" Marisa said meekly, looking at Amber with a questioning gaze. "Doesn’t that bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"All his, um, innuendo and stuff?"

"Oh that? Not at all. He’s just trying to get a rise out of me."

Hmmm, Quinn thought. Should I or shouldn’t I? "Or are you trying to get a rise out of him?" she asked suggestively. Oh God, she thought, did I really just say that?

"Hey!" Amber shouted, momentarily surprised. Thinking for a second, she laughs at herself as she turns to Quinn. "Not bad Quinn, not bad at all. You’ve got potential kid."

"Are you always so nice to everyone?"

"Only those who can hold their own with me."

"Why Amber, you flatter me," Dave replied sweetly, flitting his eyes at Amber in an absurd gesture.

"Not you Dave, I’m just using you for homework."

"As long as there’s no sex this time. There’s only so much a man can take."

"Aww, did I tire you out?" Amber asked in a teasing voice. Shaking her head, she turns to Quinn and Marisa, speaking in a softer voice. "This is what you get for choosing a predominantly male field, I suppose."

"So, you don’t like it?" Marisa asked curiously.

"I get to wrap men around my little finger. What’s not to like?"

What indeed, Quinn thought. "And they don’t mind?"

"Naw. This twerp aside, it’s not as if I make them do much more than get together to work on homework. Oh, and buy pizza. Pizza is good."

"Pizza?"

"Breakfast of Champions."

"Pizza for Breakfast?" Quinn responded, more surprised than anything else.

"Sure," Amber responded, in a matter of fact manner. "It’s easier on the stomach than curry chicken."

"Ewwwww …"

"Freshmen," Dave observed sardonically. "So closed-minded."

#

In her room after dinner, Quinn sits on her bed, reading slowly through the economics assignment. I realize that this is a textbook, Quinn thought as she finished the introduction, but do they have to make it this boring? Scanning the next chapter briefly, she closes the book, pondering for a moment before deciding to check her E-mail again. How did people ever procrastinate before computers, Quinn wondered as she sits down in front of her computer.

Opening her mailbox, Quinn checks for new mail, receiving none. Noticing that Daria’s forward is still marked as unread, Quinn double-clicks on the message, opening it in its own window.

"Now why did Daria send me this?" Quinn wondered aloud. Curious, she scrolls down to see what the prediction for her name is.

"Oh, thank you very much Daria," Quinn exclaimed, slightly amused nonetheless. "Glad to know that you have such a high opinion of your little sister."

Thinking for a moment, Quinn scrolls back up to the beginning, looking for the ‘D’ section. As she reads it, Quinn stifles a laugh.

After a brief moment of thought, Quinn hits the reply button, a smile on her face.

Well, that ought to be good for at least a nasty response in the morning, Quinn thought. Not that Daria would really be offended by any of it, but she had a reputation to protect. And if anyone’s earned the right to tease their sister, Quinn mused, it’s definitely me.

Standing up again, Quinn notices that it is only 8:30. It’s amazing how much time is in a day when you aren't averaging two dates a night. Reaching down, she grabs her chemistry book off the floor, reluctantly followed by her economics text and a five-subject notebook. Dropping a pen in her pocket, Quinn leaves, closing the door behind her.

#

Up a half-flight of stairs from Quinn’s room lay the study lounge for the floor. As with most everything, the name could be deceptive. The study lounge served as one of the primary social areas for a given suite in a dorm, providing a comfortable public area for students to study, read, or share a greasy pizza at three in the morning, cramming for a test.

As Quinn entered, the décor still surprised her, although she had often sat in the lounge in the week before classes, getting to know her suitemates. It’s just awful, she thought, fully realizing that the university wasn’t about to replace perfectly functional furniture simply because it looked like a reject from a 70’s leisure suit.

"Hey Quinn!"

"Oh, hey Justin," Quinn replied, somewhat surprised by his presence. Looking over at him, she pensively gazes at the dark-haired boy sitting next to Justin on the bench before hazarding a statement. "You’re … Victor, right?"

"Can any of us really say who we are?" Victor replied without looking up.

"You’ll have to excuse my roommate," Justin said, a chuckle in his voice. "He always seems to get philosophical when he thinks he’s busy."

"Cuts down on questions," Victor offered, not terribly fond of being described in the third person.

"But what if someone responds?" Quinn asked.

"Then at least I get a good conversation out of the exchange."

"Don’t mind him. He’s a pre-med, terminal case," Justin observed, a jocular note in his voice. "I’m told that there’s no known cure for this disease, so we’ll just have to render supportive care and hope that we can bring him out of it on his own."

"Funny Justin. Current acceptance rates for medical school have fallen below forty percent, which doesn’t even count all the people who gave up before they had the chance to apply. I have to work as hard as I can if I want to be sure to make it into medical school. You just don’t understand the pressure a pre-med is under."

"Sure I do. I just don’t think it’s worth the trouble." Walking over to Quinn, he sits down next to her, casting a brief sideways glance at her books. "Studying already? You’re almost as bad as Victor."

Seemingly paying Justin little mind, Quinn reaches out, making a brief note in her notebook. Dropping the pen into her textbook to mark her place, she calmly turns to Justin and playfully hits him over the head with her notebook. "Did you say something?" Quinn asked coyly.

"Oh, never mind," he replied, lifting the cover of Quinn’s open book to glance at the title. "Chemistry? Isn’t it a bit early to be worrying about that?"

There’s never enough time to sufficiently worry about chemistry, Quinn thought. All those formulas and interactions, it just never made that much sense to me. "Well, we can’t all be chemistry Olympians Justin."

"Potential Olympian. I was one of twenty candidates, but I wasn’t one of the three selected to compete."

"So you’re only one of the twenty best in the nation, rather than one of the three best," Victor said sardonically, hazarding a glance up from his work. Smiling at Justin with an implied challenge on his face, Victor returned to his work before Justin could respond.

"Don’t you have work to do?"

"And miss this wonderful lesson on geek flirtation?"

"I’m not …" Justin mumbled, trying to find the perfect words as a gentle shade of pink covered his face. It was really quite charming, Quinn thought. She had plenty of experience with boys reaching for dates with her, due to her good looks and instant popularity. But Justin treated her more like a friend than a girl. It was something Quinn was ill accustomed to, but, like a drug, the more she received, the more she wanted.

"This isn’t geek flirtation, its geek friendliness," Quinn teased.

"Gee, thanks Quinn. I think…"

"Don’t mention it." Looking over to where Justin had been sitting, Quinn notices that he doesn’t appear to have any books with him. "Are you working on anything?"

"Nope. The power in our room went out, tripped a breaker or something. It takes a while for the damn thing to reset once it trips."

"Oh," Quinn remarked thoughtfully. "I just wanted to get out of my room for a while," she admitted sheepishly.

"Stir crazy already?"

"Nope. Just felt like being around people."

"So you could read a chemistry text."

"Misery loves company," Quinn said, lifting the chemistry book in a symbolic gesture.

"It can’t be that bad now," Justin reassured Quinn. Leaning over, Justin rests his chin on Quinn’s shoulder as he scans Quinn’s book. For her part, Quinn glances at Justin uncertainly. Part of her wanted to push him back, the ‘not until the fifth date’ reaction she had so vigorously cultivated in high school. But Justin was merely reading innocently, as far as Quinn could tell. Besides, it feels rather nice, she thought secretly. In the end, the situation resolved itself, as Justin sat back, shaking his head, a bemused smirk on his face.

"Oh, stoichiometry. Yeah, that pretty much sucks. Sorry."

"I thought you liked chemistry?"

"Chemistry, yes. This is more of applied math though, just balancing equations. The fun stuff comes later."

"Fun stuff?"

"Yeah. There’s some really cool stuff that you can do. Here, let me see that book for a second." Opening to a chapter in the book, he sets the book on her lap, leaning over as he begins to explain to Quinn the finer points of chemistry.

#

Back in her room, Quinn removes her shoes, getting ready for bed. Justin loves talking about chemistry, she mused. Had someone suggested even this morning that she would find chemical equilibrium remotely interesting, she would have dismissed it out of hand. But he had so much enthusiasm that Quinn found herself genuinely interested at times, to her great surprise. Sliding her economics text and a notebook into her backpack, Quinn slips into a t-shirt, and had just taken off her pants when her computer emitted a telltale beep. I thought I turned that off, she thought, as she pulls on her shorts. After staring at the computer for a moment, she sits down, tapping gently to bring up the screen and the new E-mail.

Quinn smirks as she finishes the message, pleased that Daria hadn’t been too offended at her previous E-mail. This truly is an age of miracles, she thought, when even Daria can take a joke. Putting her computer to sleep, she slides into her bed, laying her head back on the pillow. Staring up at her ceiling, she couldn’t help but feel some degree of satisfaction. Not bad for the girl’s whose own mother "couldn’t think about what went wrong there."

If Helen had known that she was hiding behind a car the whole time, she would have been devastated. Sighing, Quinn remembered it all too clearly. It had taken her a while to realize exactly what her mother had meant, but Quinn wasn’t a complete moron, even back then. Watching surreptitiously over the following months, she realized something. Her parents were proud of Daria, of her achievements. Granted her parents, Helen in particular, were concerned about Daria’s social development, her casual disdain for so much of the modern world. Even so, it was clear to Quinn that they were proud of Daria nonetheless.

In contrast, Quinn had realized that she was being tolerated, handled. It wasn’t like they didn’t love her or anything, and probably didn’t even realize that they were doing it. But after so many years, their expectations for Quinn had fallen far below what she was capable of. Despite this, Quinn had almost convinced herself that she was just being paranoid, when she got her PSTAT scores back. That was a major turning point for Quinn, when she made a life-altering decision. I am pretty, I am popular, but I am not stupid. Now to prove it, she thought, drifting off to sleep.

#

Later that morning, inside a comfortable classroom, a group of students are sitting around a large round table, chatting in a reserved fashion with each other. As Quinn enters, she scans the room, finding an empty seat between a heavyset young man and an African-American girl with bright red hair. Sitting down in her seat, she turns to the girl, studying her hair with a queer expression.

"Yes, it’s dye," the girl offered brusquely.

"I kind of figured that," Quinn responded, looking down with an abashed expression on her face. "The black roots kind of give it away." Pausing momentarily, Quinn collects her thoughts before proceeding. "Do you like it that way?"

" Well, it’s kind of fun, and this way, if people look at me strangely, they can just pretend that it’s because of my hair."

"Why else would they look at you strangely?"

"Hello? How many black students have you seen here?"

"Oh. I see," Quinn admitted. "I guess I didn’t notice," she said, embarrassed.

"Why would you? It’s not like it’ll cause you any problems."

Oh boy, Quinn thought. "Well, you’ll always have the hair, won’t you?"

The girl looks at Quinn briefly before responding. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m Sam."

"Sam?"

"Short for Samantha."

"Ah, Ok. I’m Quinn," she offered, glad to be on less tenuous ground.

"So Quinn, are you into mythology?"

"Well, sort of. It helped that this class happened to fit my schedule pretty well."

"You too? I was afraid that I would be the only semi-enthusiastic person here."

"We’re freshmen meeting at eight in the morning. I don’t think over-enthusiasm will be a major problem," Quinn observed, still a little bleary in the eyes.

Sam begins to speak, but is interrupted as a twenty-something man in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt enters, removing a backpack from his shoulder to extract a notebook. Opening the notebook, he takes an official-looking list and stands up in front of the class. Briefly canvassing the class, he clears his throat, garnering the silence of most of the students in attendance.

"Class? If I could get your attention please? My name is Jeremy, and I’ve been assigned to teach this class. I need to go through the roster to make sure that everyone is here, so when your name is called, let me know that you’re here, OK?"

"Professor?" a girl asked, raising her hand.

"Call me Jeremy. I’m a grad student, not a professor."

"Oh. Can you sign my add/drop form?"

"I could, but it wouldn’t mean anything," he replied, somewhat disappointed at the answer he had to give. "You’ll have to go down to the department office for that. They don’t permit grad students to sign official forms, other than tuition checks, that is."

Scanning the class, Jeremy pauses for a few seconds, giving time for any additional questions. Receiving none, he begins calling student names from the roster.

Making a final note, Jeremy places the class roster back on the desk, finished with the roll call. "Ok, I should have everyone down now. Those of you who aren’t officially in the class need to contact the department to be added pretty soon. Let me know if there are any problems, and I’ll do what little I can to resolve them." Pausing, he extracts a nagalene bottle from his backpack, taking a small sip of water before continuing.

"Hopefully, y’all realize that this is a class on mythology. More specifically, we will be studying the traditional Greek and Roman mythology, with a limited coverage of derived works such as those of Homer and Virgil. But first, I’d like to pose a simple question to all of you. Why does mythology exist?"

"Because someone wrote down the legends of the time?" the boy next to Quinn proposed.

"You’re missing the point," he replied gently. "What was the motivation of the legends? Why go to all the trouble to create such an intricate and complex system, a system that was evidently part of public life if temples are any indication. What fundamental need did mythology fulfill?"

Back near the window, a conservative student speaks up in response. "They were lacking a spiritual life, and were not yet prepared to accept the truth of the one true God," he stated with utter confidence.

"Prepared? In what way?"

Rising to the challenge, the student hesitates but a moment in responding. "They were not ready to make the difficult leap and admit that there was but one God for all mankind."

Great, Quinn thought, fearing the worst. My second day of classes, and we’re already starting a holy war, like when Stacy decided that she didn’t like Sandi’s shoes …

Looking up in a conscious attempt to pay attention rather than let herself be distracted, Quinn was surprised. Not only did Jeremy seem entirely unconcerned at the situation, he actually seemed to enjoy it. As Jeremy turned his seat to face the student, Quinn leans forward, curious.

"So you feel that accepting the one God was simply too difficult for the ancient Greeks to accept. Is that it?"

"Yes. They could not conceive of anything as beautiful as our Lord."

"If you don’t mind me asking, why was that so difficult?" Jeremy said innocently.

Taken aback, the student gives him with a strange look as Quinn watches in fascination. "Well, to realize that you’re wrong, and that there is but one God …" he reiterated, much less confident than he had been earlier.

"You don’t understand the question," Jeremy interrupted. "Historically, if we look at Christianity, it WAS difficult, but much of that difficulty was due to being persecuted, tortured, and killed for your beliefs. Looking at the beliefs themselves, the traditional Christian believed in a single God who loved all, a kind God who was vengeful only as necessary. In contrast, the pagan gods of Greek and Roman mythology were a convoluted lot, often working at cross-purposes against one another and causing trouble to many a mortal who happened to get in the way. So which is more difficult, believing that a loving God will watch over you, and reward you for the hardships you’ve endured for him, or believing that your gods work mainly for their own benefit, caring little for a mere mortal?"

"Um …" the student stammered, uncomfortable with the recent turn of events. Quinn smirks as the student sits back in his seat, admitting defeat. As he does, Jeremy stands, trying to make a point to the whole class.

"Polytheism was not necessarily ‘easier’ than monotheistic beliefs, and treating them as such can affect your reading of classical mythology. But getting back to the first question, what was the purpose for mythology? What basic desire was satiated?"

Taking a chance, Quinn slowly raises her hand, nervous but determined. Jeremy looks to Quinn, glad to have elicited a response from the class. "Yes, Quinn is it?"

"Yes, Quinn," she reiterated, buying an extra second or two. "It seems that, like, a lot of the myths seem to, uh, explain how stuff works. The world, I mean." Pausing for a moment, Quinn gives a slight shake of her head, trying for a better explanation. "If you look at mythology and all, there are a lot of stories about how the world works, like, um, Apollo as the sun, and that Atlas guy holding up the sky. So, um, was mythology a way to explain, like, how things work?"

Quinn looks slightly away as she finishes, trying to hide the fear that she had just made a fool of herself, made herself look stupid in front of her classmates. Thankfully, the fear was short-lived, as Jeremy’s face lit up in satisfaction.

"That’s an excellent observation Quinn. That is in fact one of the major purposes of mythology, to provide an explanation of the natural world around them. By providing an explanation, mythology helped people to understand their world, to be more comfortable with it, as it were. There is another major angle to mythology that y’all should be able to see. Any guesses?"

The class looks at him with uncertain expressions, unsure about what he’s looking for. Reaching down, a few students remove one of the textbooks, scanning the pages for a clue, when a soft voice is heard.

"Morals?" a woman asks from the back of the class.

"How so?" probed Jeremy, trying to extract more details from the student.

"Well, there’s a bunch of stuff about what to do and what not to do. Lots of heroes, like Jason and Theseus, but lots of anti-heroes, like Arachne and Narcissa. So, like, it seems to me that they were a way of teaching people how to behave…"

"Very good! There’s just a little extra piece. In addition to saying ‘this is good, this is bad’, the myths also provided rewards and punishments. If you were really good, you could become a god, whereas if you were really bad, you would spend eternity in Tartarus as punishment. So myths were both a list of approved behavior and a threat/promise of punishment/rewards," Jeremy lectured enthusiastically. "Of course, these myths were intimately entwined in the culture of the time," Jeremy notes, proceeding to start a class discussion on the subject.

"So, today we’ve discussed the basic motivations for mythology, and how these factors interacted with the local culture to affect the myths themselves," Jeremy tells the class, wrapping up for the day. "Before next class, I would like you to read the first three sections in our first book, which covers the basic creation myths found in Greek culture. Next class, we’ll be discussing these myths, with an eye towards comparing them to the creation myths of other cultures. Are there any questions? No? Then that’s the class for today."

As Jeremy closes up his notebook, Quinn does the same, placing it back into her backpack and preparing to leave the class. Standing up, she picks up her backpack, turning to Sam as she does.

"See you next class?"

"Yeah, I’ll be here. God, this is too early for me."

Sam walks out the door. As Quinn moves to follow her, Jeremy addresses her. "Quinn? Do you have a minute?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Quinn answered, trying to figure out why she had been singled out. Did I do that badly, she wondered?

"Did you have a class on mythology in high school?"

"Um, not really. My sister had a lot of books though. Why?"

"Well, you really seemed to understand what was going on in our discussions today. I just thought you’d like to know."

"Oh," Quinn uttered, genuinely surprised. "Um, thanks."

"You’re welcome. See you Thursday?"

"Yeah, I’ll be here," Quinn said uncertainly. Turning to head out of the classroom, a smile spreads over Quinn’s face.

#

Beneath the bright blue sky, Quinn sits down in the shade of a large oak tree, looking out over the quad as the sunlight splays across the green grass. Removing the shrink-wrapped sandwich and diet soda she had picked up at the dining hall, she leans back against the tree beginning her lunch.

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she removes her economics book, reading slowly in the gentle fall air. How is it that they can ruin a simple turkey sandwich, she wondered. Quinn was far from a gourmet cook, but even she could handle a few slices of meat between two pieces of bread. Quinn smiled in amusement at the fact that the same university that was directing her education somehow directed these people who couldn’t make a decent sandwich.

"Quinn?" Marisa asked, walking up behind Quinn, interrupting her train of thought. "Is that you?"

"None other. What are you doing here?"

"It’s just too nice a day to spend inside. I mean look around! Everything’s so green and warm. You’ve gotta enjoy weather like this while it lasts."

"Spoken like a true Canadian."

"Whatever. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Sure, there’s plenty of grass to go around."

As Marisa sits down and takes out her lunch, Quinn returns to her book, trying once again to finish the chapter. Sighing, she closes the book, turning to Marisa. "Somehow, I don’t think that the most beautiful setting on earth would be enough to make this book interesting. Do the professors, like, get to choose which books they use?"

Hesitating a moment to swallow her food, Marisa looks at Quinn in a thoughtful stare. "I guess so," she offered tentatively, "I wonder how they choose…" Thinking a moment, Marisa reaches out with her hand. "Could I see the book for a minute?"

"Sure," Quinn replied, handing over the book. How tempting it is just to tell her to keep it. The thought of wading through that entire text was not something that she was particularly looking forward to. Looking over at Marisa, Quinn watched as she studied the first page or two of the book. Why would she be interested in the copyright information, Quinn wondered. The answer came quickly, as Marisa handed over the book pointing to a single line:

"I’ll bet he gets paid for using that book," Marisa observed as she opened a bottle of iced tea.

"What," Quinn asked in surprise, "You think they bribed him?"

"Not exactly. But I’ll bet he gets a royalty for each book sold. So, like, by making the whole class buy his book, he probably earns some money."

"I don’t think he’d do that just for the royalties, do you?"

"Probably not. But if you were the editor for a text, don’t you think you’d want to use it for your class?"

"Not this book," Quinn scoffed.

"Hey, to each their own, I suppose."

"Yeah, whatever. I’m just not looking forward to reading through this whole book for the class. It’s just utterly tedious."

"Why don’t you get another book, a better one?"

"What?" Quinn asked, not understanding.

"Well, just because you’re required to buy that book doesn’t mean that you couldn’t get another book, does it?"

"You know, that’s a really good idea. Thanks."

#

After a nice lunch on the quad, trading writing seminar stories with Marisa, Quinn sets off to track down her final class of the day. Luckily for her, labs didn’t start for another week or so, giving Quinn and the rest of the freshmen a chance to get their life in order. The language department was housed in Jameson Hall, a quaint building in a secluded edge of campus, it’s walls of brick and mortar covered in a thick mat of ivy. Out near the forest preserve, it was easily Quinn’s longest walk of the day, the farthest from her dorm room by far.

Entering a small classroom intended for no more than forty students, Quinn takes a seat, waiting for class to start. Spanish, she thought. University regulations required a foreign language, and most of the people she had seen in arranging her schedule recommended Spanish as a good choice. It was one of the more common languages in the United States, and she was assured that it looked good on a resume, although that was a concern for after graduation, years from now.

At the front of the classroom, a tall Hispanic woman with long black hair enters, standing at the front of the classroom. Checking her watch, she begins the class almost exactly at the appointed hour.

"Buenos tardes, estudiantes. Me llamo Senora Martinez, y daré clases de español para Ustedes."

Ok, Quinn thought sourly, if I knew what you’re saying, I wouldn’t need this class.

"Quisas quieren saber si puedo hablar en ingles. Es verdad, Yo hablo ingles cuando es necessario, pero espero que después de uno o dos meses, podríamos hablar sólamente in español."

Realizing the confused look emanating from the classroom, the professor addresses the class in English this time. "I’m Professor Martinez, and I’ll be teaching Spanish 101 this year. It is my hope that after the first month or two, we can speak only in Spanish. It is my opinion that the best way to learn Spanish is to speak Spanish, and that is exactly what we will do."

Sighing, Quinn opens her notebook and pulls a pen out of her pocket, preparing for the long class ahead of her.

#

Back at the dorm, Quinn enters her room, carrying another large bag of books, a bag that she unceremoniously dumps at the foot of her bed, next the others. Gently setting her backpack down, she looks out the window for a moment, going over her assignments in her head. Three chapters of economics, two of chemistry, a few myths for a discussion session, and the first section of her Spanish text, including writing out all of the problems included therein. It was a lot of work.

Heading over to her closet, Quinn opens the door, staring inside. To the right, there are a plethora of shirts, jeans, and dresses, arranged carefully by color. To the right is a single, solitary outfit hanging loosely off of a hanger. As Quinn turns the outfit slightly, it comes clearly into view, a small pink t-shirt with a butterfly across the top and a pair of bell-bottom pants. Quinn looks for a moment, closing the closet door with a thunk. As she moves towards her bed, someone knocks at the door.

"Hey Quinn! It’s Marisa!"

"Oh, hey. What’s up?"

"A bunch of us are going out for pizza. Wanna join us?"

"Sure," Quinn responded. "Just let me grab my wallet."

Picking up her wallet and keys from her desk, Quinn looks back at her room in satisfaction. I can do this, she thought. I will survive college. Shutting off the light, she heads out the door and out for dinner with her new friends.