Reborn Read Free Page A

Max,” I chirp as I slip past her. “Going for a run?”
    She nods. “Want
me to wait for you?”
    “Thanks, but I
have class.”
    “Okie dokie.” A
breeze whips by me when Victoria takes off. “Remember, we have a board meeting
later. Five thirty. My room!” she tosses back over her shoulder.
    “Yes, Madam
President!” I call out behind her.
    Thankfully, the
downstairs is empty, and the house is quiet. I don’t think I’ll have to explain
my whereabouts again.
    On the second
floor, I swipe my card key to get into my room. I peek inside, but my roommate
isn’t here. I strip down with my door still slightly ajar, wrap myself in a
white towel and head back out to the bathroom. I shower quickly, wetting but
not shampooing my hair. When I get out, it droops around my face in damp, dark
blonde tangles. I tug a comb through it, studying myself in the mirror above
the sink as I do so. Two large eyes stare back at me. They consume most of my
face, and along with my wide pink mouth, sometimes I feel like a frog. My
driver’s license says my eyes are blue, but they’re actually a deep violet.
Without eye makeup, I look too ghostly, so I swipe on some mascara and
eyeliner.
    A half hour
later, I’m out the door again, this time wearing a clean pair of skinny jeans
and a dark purple t-shirt with paisley Gamma Lambda Phi letters. The panicked
click of the small heels of my black sandals against the sidewalk echoes my
urgency to get to class on time. I bring my schedule up on my phone to see what
building and room my first class is in. “World Myths and Legends” is a red
square spanning from ten to eleven a.m. on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It’s
in room B10 of Frasier Hall, the humanities building.
    I race into the
classroom with only one minute to spare. I find an end seat in the back next to
some guy I don’t know.
    “Hi!”
I exclaim, giving him a friendly smile and holding out my hand. “I’m Siobhan.”
He looks at me blankly, as if he’s never shaken a hand before, and grunts
something that sounds like it could be “John” or “Josh” before turning back to
the front of the room. Dropping my hand, I also twist in my seat to face the
front. I guess I can cross him off my list of potential study buddies.
    I
had a class in this room last year—it’s one of the larger lecture halls that
seats one hundred and fifty students, and about one hundred of those seats are
taken, mostly by young women. Even though it’s a morning class, it’s a popular
elective to fulfill history credits. This is all probably because of the reputation
of the charismatic man looming behind the podium: Dr. Eric Mars. He’s over six
feet tall and looks like someone peeled him off a page of a Sexy Lumberjacks
calendar rather than a history professor. He has a full head of charcoal black
hair and a slick mustache and goatee. The sleeves of his maroon dress shirt are
rolled up to his elbows to reveal two thick forearms. The podium just might
break in two from the pressure of his massive hands gripping it on either side.
    “Happy
Monday,” Dr. Mars says. His wide, friendly smile reveals a set of large,
perfectly straight pearly whites. The room quiets down instantly. Many of my
classmates, including a few of the guys, are perched on the edges of their
seats, their jaws hitting the floor, their eyes fixed on our professor with
sloppy admiration. “I’m Dr. Eric Mars, but please feel free to call me Eric.
Welcome to ‘World Myths and Legends.’ I hope you’ve all read my email and have
brought a copy of the syllabus with you…”
    I forgot to
print one out, so I bring it up on my phone and zoom in. He continues to talk
through typical first-day-of-class stuff—expectations, text books, course
materials, homework, exams, grades. I only half-listen. Not even this
larger-than-life man can distract me from this morning’s confusing reunion with
Max. Our relationship—if I can even call it that—fizzled out with distance and
the