CHAPTER FOUR
Ethan counted down the seconds until his Thursday 9 a.m. class was over.
Like all Browerton professors, his Spanish teacher bemoaned the quarter system. There were so much curricula, but never enough time. They had eight weeks for classes, plus a week for studying and a week for finals. So two months to teach a college-level course. The professors tended to use every second of class time.
A student had to interrupt to alert the professor that class time was over. Ethan darted out and ran down the stairs outside. He still wore khakis and a button-down shirt. He refused to listen to Greg, refused to let him get under his skin. This time, he would make it to class on time and get a good seat and make a good impression and so on and so forth.
He creaked open the back door of room 304 and gazed out over the packed lecture hall. Professor Sharpe leaned against the podium, already mid-lecture. It was only 9:55! Was his watch slow? He gave the room a cursory glance, but found no empty seats. Ethan wouldn’t tempt the professor’s wrath again by doing an in-depth search. He trudged to the back row.
“You’re late again.” Greg looked up from his phone. He was watching a video with one headphone plugged into his ear and looked like he was wearing the same exact warm-up pants and T-shirt from Tuesday’s class.
Ethan didn’t respond. It seemed that this would be the new normal. A permanent latecomer. Still, he was in Constitutional Law, learning from a valued professor and gaining experience for his eventual next step into law school. It didn’t matter where he sat, he realized. It just mattered that he was here.
He retrieved his notebook and pen from his backpack. Sweat stains from his backpack straps left marks on his shirt. He didn’t even want to look under his arms.
“You need to work on your tardiness. Sharpe is not impressed.” Greg shot him a Cheshire cat smirk, and this time Ethan noticed how his cheeks bunched up to his eyes. He had a squintier smile than most, and on a less vile person, Ethan might have found it cute.
Instead, he sighed with resignation. He would be stuck next to Greg for the entire quarter.
“Don’t worry. If it makes you feel better, Sharpe wouldn’t remember your name anyway.”
“Because I don’t have tits, right?”
“Whoa. Language, Ethan.” Greg covered his ears, while Ethan’s perked up.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s written on your notebook.” Greg pointed to the “Ethan Follett [email protected]” written with perfect penmanship on the cover.
Ethan flipped it open and took out a fresh pen.
Was it weird that he liked hearing Greg say his name? He thought he’d read somewhere that people liked it when their name was said aloud. Although it sounded more like a whine whenever Jessica said it.
“What’s the nickname for Ethan?” Greg asked.
Ethan tuned him out in favor of Professor Sharpe, who was going over very detailed slides.
“Eeth? Than? Ethie? Ether? Nah, none of those sound right. Is there really no nickname for Ethan? What do your friends call you?”
“Ethan. Just Ethan,” he snapped back and then shushed him.
“That’s so boring.”
“It works for me,” Ethan said in a gritted whisper. “We have our first paper due next week. It wouldn’t kill you to pay attention.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure about that?”
“As long as I pass, that’s all I care about. In the real world, nobody cares about your GPA.”
Ethan slammed down his pen. Out of all the crap Greg spewed, that was the most ludicrous. “Oh, really? Then how will you get into a top law school?”
“A good internship and kickass LSAT scores. Not by killing myself for these four years.” He sat up in his seat, and Ethan noticed his pecs pulling against his shirt. “Don’t piss away the one time of your time when you have total freedom and no real responsibility except living it up.”
“You are just full of positivity.” That had sounded much better in Ethan’s head.
“Just the truth. College is a reward for working hard in high school, which I did. Do you really want to be one of those kids who spends college in a library?”
“I think our library is pretty.”
“You know what I mean.” Greg waved it off. “I’m trying to be nice and help you out. Ride the wave.”
“You’re just trying to distract me.”
“You’ve stumbled onto my evil plan.” Greg lifted his shirt to scratch his stomach, giving Ethan an extended glimpse of his abs. And then he yawned, not covering his mouth. “It’s too easy teasing you, dude. Take some deep breaths once in a while.”
Ethan didn’t say anything. He turned back to his notes. He knew why Greg didn’t need to do any work. It was a dirty not-so-secret that fraternities kept their brothers’ old papers and tests to use in the future. Since Sharpe probably didn’t change the curriculum much year to year, he figured that Greg already had all the papers and test materials he needed to pass. Guys like him didn’t have to do any real work. They could coast on their charm, their connections, and their looks. And then they used their old-boys network to get great jobs. Well, Ethan would work harder than all of them.
So he stayed quiet. He took the high road. Ethan listened to his professor, followed the PowerPoint, felt the knowledge pouring into him.
A few minutes later, he got a whiff of body spray as Greg leaned over. What now?
“Sharpe always begins class at 9:50. He believes that being punctual means showing up early, being extra-prepared or some bullshit like that.” Greg’s voice vibrated in Ethan’s ear, sending a trail of goose bumps prickling down his back. “All the suck-ups get here by 9:30, in case you were feeling left out.”
Greg shot him a smirk with raised eyebrows. At least Ethan knew why he was such a latecomer now.
“I can’t get here by 9:30.”
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for the rest of the quarter.”
Maybe that’s not so bad was the first thought that jumped into his mind, and he instantly shook it out. Get it together, Ethan!
Greg kept looking at him, like he was waiting for a response, a continuation of their back-and-forth.
“I need to concentrate,” Ethan said and returned his attention to Professor Sharpe’s lecture.