Journalism wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy. The class was the smallest one you’ve had so far your senior year with only about 20 students in it compared to the 30-35 students that were in your other classes.
You loved how small the class was because you had more time to ask questions and be able to learn everything you possibly needed to know.
“But that doesn’t make any sense.” You said raising your hand. You heard a groan from the back of the classroom as the professor began to reexplain the part that you didn’t understand. You didn’t care who was groaning, you wanted to write for New York Times and you needed this class in order to do that. You had learned in high school not to be afraid to ask a question because 1)someone else could have the same question and 2)it’s your education on the line and if you didn’t understand it, you needed to ask to better your education. “Thank you.” You said after she explained it a different way.
“Class dismissed.” She said, every student packing their things away and heading off. You were the last one to pack your things. You made sure to save the notes you were typing on your laptop before closing it down and looking up.
“Let me guess, the groaning in the back of the classroom.” You said picking up your laptop. He laughed.
“I couldn’t help myself. If you didn’t ask that question, I would have been out of here a lot sooner.”
“Well some of us care about this class.” You said shoving passed him.
“Hey, I care about this class.” He said. “I need it to help me write music.” You rolled your eyes. Unless he was writing article about his music, he didn’t really need this class. He followed you out the door.
“Well some of us need this class in order to write for New York Times.” You said.
“Wow.” He said. “That’s huge.”
“My mom used to work there.” You said and kept walking.
“Why doesn’t she anymore?” He asked.
“She died.” You answered.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” You said walking into the Starbucks that was on campus.
“Well, there’s a party at my place tonight, just a few people, would be nice to get to know you.” He smiled handing you a piece of paper with his address and number on it. “Call if you need a ride or something.” The boy with the blonde hair hurried out the door and out of sight.
Now the question was if you should go to this party or not.
“New York!” The blonde hair boy yelled, you never learned his name. He was clearly drunk and barely able to walk.
“It’s Y/n.” You yelled over the music.
“Michael.” He said and you nodded. “Want a beer?” He asked.
“I don’t drink.” He shrugged and dragged you to the table with a ton of snacks. “Why is the music so loud if there aren’t many people here?” You asked and right away he turned it down. “You’re drunk.”
“No I’m not.” He said chugging down whatever was in his cup. He then tripped and fell. You laughed before helping him up.
“Which room is yours?” You asked as you helped him to the stairs. He pointed and you got him into bed taking off his shoes and getting him under the covers.
“Don’t leave me.” He said reaching for you. It was only a few minutes passed ten and he was already wasted off his ass and you were laying in his bed. “New York?” He asked.
“Can we go to coffee tomorrow?” He asked making you smile.
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