POV: Layla
In a bit of a predicament but five thousand richer than before, Layla walked out of the classroom. Though it was not autumn yet, her feet were colder than expected against the brick flooring. But worse was it that she was being looked at funny by the other students. There was no hope of being taken seriously now, she thought as she found her way to one of the common areas. It was not a long walk home, but she would heat herself up with a cup of coffee before leaving.
Entering the cafeteria, she had quickly become familiar with it due to her many coffee runs – she would have to buy a coffee machine to minimize her spending on coffee soon. She bought another coffee, but just as the day before, in front of her was Professor Elijah Johnson. And again he was taking the last cup of coffee!
"Excuse me!" Layla said, her hands placed firmly against her hips, "You really should stop doing that!"
He turned towards her and smiled vaguely, "You know you are not entitled to the coffee, at least not more than me."
She frowned, "Maybe not, but you could at least share it," she snapped a little at him, but then remembered that he was her professor – also known as the person who grades your work. "I am sorry. It has been a day."
He took a look up and down her, lingering a little, but not at her feet. "I see that." He paused, "I am too tempted, I must ask why you are not wearing any shoes?"
"Long story," she said and paused, "wait, actually it isn't – a fellow student bought them from me. For way more than they are worth."
"I see," Professor Elijah said and nodded, "well, we do have quite a large population of students from… richer than average families, I will say." He looked at her one more time, "I am surprised you accepted her offer – but maybe you have an eye for business?"
Layla laughed, "I wouldn't say so."
"Don't dismiss the thought so quickly," he said, "such talents will give you an advantage in most fields – including mine."
"Academia? Lecturing?" she asked in a doubting tone. She could not imagine that one would have to sell their clothes or shoes in that field.
He nodded, "Of course – being able to sell yourself for more than you are worth," he said, and walked away with another nod for goodbye before she was able to say anything else.
What exactly had he meant by that? More than you are worth. Was it an insult or a compliment, or both? Layla pouted as she tried to get even a drop more coffee out of the machine.
***
POV: unknown
There she was again, in the cafeteria, with her professor. They were chatting about something. How dare this girl talk to him so easily? They were bonding over coffee, she supposed, though she could not hear a word they were saying. She would have to get closer. But she could not get too close, or the professor, her professor, might notice her. And he had specifically asked her not to talk to him outside of academic settings. She supposed the cafeteria was not an academic setting.
She had been working many hours to get as familiar with the professor, and still she had not been able to make him laugh the way this girl did. She bit her lips so hard that she broke the skin of them, and a taste of blood spread over her tongue.
***
POV: James
James barely made it back in time to start his pizza before his friends came over for dinner. He had somehow managed to acquire a single room, which he hoped he could get some good use of now that he had found a friend of similar interests. He felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of them sharing their mornings or cosying up in front of the TV. He imagined them having a romantic evening at the beach – maybe they could go surfing together when the waves were right.
***
POV: Layla
Layla had made her way home and dried her feet. She only hoped she would not catch a cold the first week of classes.
She put on a casual dark turquoise dress and black stilettos – one had to dress up for your friends, of course – and headed over to James' place.
All four – James, Layla, Marisha, and Ryan sat down for dinner. James had said nothing rude to Ryan, which was only what Layla had expected of him. He forgave so easily, almost as if he could erase any wrongdoing from his memory.
"This smells delicious, James!" Marisha exclaimed, "However did you learn to cook so well?"
This was a joke, of course, since James' dad was a well-renowned Michelin-starred chef.
"The internet," James said, "taught me everything I know." He turned towards Ryan, "My father works at…" but he did not get to finish his sentence.
"Oh, I know," Ryan said, "I am familiar with your family's work. One might even say I am a fan."
They all blinked in surprise – James, Layla, and Marisha – and James thanked him.
"You constantly surprise me, darling," Marisha said.
"We have only dated for a couple of days," Ryan laughed, "I expect to find many surprises about you as well."
They laughed, and Layla had to admit that though Ryan had initially come off as a bit of a nuisance, she had perhaps judged him too quickly.
Marisha turned towards James. "But now for other matters – I hear you have had a date today as well?"
Layla turned, her mouth open, "Excuse me? Why didn't you tell me? And also, does anyone actually study?" Layla shook her head half in a joke, half in a serious question. She surely had had no time to even ponder dating.
"No," Marisha answered with a laugh.
"So, what is her name?" Layla asked on the edge of her seat.
Marisha moved a little as well, so that they were both leaning in towards James, ready for the latest news.
"Well," James paused, taking a deep breath. Maybe he was not ready to tell them, he thought. Maybe they would be too… No, he reminded himself; they were his friends. He could tell them. "His name is Alex."