There is something in my bag that would make this whole situation a lot better. But from the front row, I’ll have to be pretty covert about it if I don’t want the professor to catch on. I have a “good student” reputation to defend, after all, and I can’t ruin that in my first semester. My professor – a boisterous and imposing woman with a thick German accent who could probably break me in half with a glare – is also not someone whose bad side I want to explore. But these three-hour-long Anthropology 101 night classes just kill me.
I cough quietly as I pull it out; a diversion. I adjust my notebook atop the desk so that what’s happening on my lap cannot be seen from the professor’s vantage point. Just a few pages is all I need.
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