But the five slots under his name were filled. Damn.
One was in pencil, and I spent a few moments indulging in the fantasy of erasing it and putting my name there. But it probably wasn’t a good idea.
A tall young woman with short blonde hair was watching me from behind the table. “Having trouble deciding?” Her eyebrow arched.
“Yeah.”
“It really doesn’t matter. All of our mentors know their stuff.”
“Good to know.” She was probably right, but for some reason, this felt important. Like a decision that could turn out to help me—or come back and bite me in the butt. Frustrated, I took off my sunglasses and squinted at the last sign-up sheet, as if it held hidden answers.
While I did that, the woman behind the table was squinting at me. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
Crap. That was my least favorite way for people to ask me about my heterochromia. To save time and frustration, I lied. “I lost a contact.”
“Bummer,” she said, satisfied now that the mystery had been solved. Briefly, I contemplated asking her name so that I would know not to accidentally choose her group.
She wasn’t the only one I was irritated with, however. It wasn’t like me to have this much trouble making a decision. Usually, I decided something quickly and did my best to make it happen—like when I’d decided I wanted to stay in that suite yesterday. But today, I felt less confident. My time as an undergraduate had involved a ton of hard work and effort, and graduate school would be even harder. It was important to get off on the right foot.
“Is it possible to get on the waiting list for a cohort that’s full?”
“No. Just pick another one.”
Another woman glanced over from the table next to me. She had curly red hair and was closer to my height. “Which cohort were you wanting to get into?”
“Parker Stanton’s.”
The blonde woman smirked. “If we let people get on a waiting list for his cohort, it would be a mile long.” Her tone was condescending, but the redhead’s wasn’t.
“I don’t blame you. He’s great.” She gave me a quick smile before turning back to her taller friend. “Remember what happened at the end-of-the-year barbecue last year?”
The tall blonde didn’t seem to be in a reminiscing mood. “No, but—”
The redhead turned back to me. “The Corporate Sustainability class challenged the Strategic Management class to a volleyball game. Susan Oliver tried to spike the ball and it hit a post, made a wild bounce, and nailed Professor Foley in the back of her head. She was so pissed! Susan just stood there in horror, but Parker jogged over to Professor Foley and apologized. He not only took the blame, but he somehow got her to laugh. She actually laughed after being hit with the ball! I’ve never even seen her smile, have you?” That last part was directed at the blonde.
The tall, snooty woman looked unimpressed by the redhead’s story, but I loved it. It was further proof that Parker hadn’t always been like he was now. “No, but it doesn’t change the fact that she can’t be in Parker Stanton’s cohort.”
“Who can’t be in my cohort?”
All three of us jumped when Parker appeared at my side. He nodded when he noticed me and then looked back at the blonde.
“This first-year,” the blonde said. “I told her your group is full.”
“She can join,” Parker said, his voice soft but deep.
“But—” Her protest trailed off as Parker walked away.
Grinning, I picked up a pen and added my name. “Thanks for your help,” I said to the blonde woman, probably pissing her off more, but I couldn’t resist.
8
Kylie
Unfortunately, getting into Parker’s cohort was the last good thing that happened to me that day. After the orientation, I went to a coffee shop and finally read over my schedule. I didn’t get the professor I’d read good things about for my finance class. My Organizational Leadership class met at eight in the morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Ouch. Luckily, classes were starting on Wednesday this week, so I’d only have to deal with it once.
Things got worse when I went to the very crowded university bookstore. Some textbooks were available online and some weren’t, but the one thing they had in common was that they all were expensive as hell. Suddenly, the money I’d saved up from working at the bar all summer didn’t seem like much.
Still, this was what I signed on for. This was my dream, to get my Master of Business Administration degree and get my career on the right path. At the moment, I didn’t know exactly what that would look like, but it sure wouldn’t be in tiny Norris, Colorado.
My wallet was feeling metaphorically lighter when I left the bookstore. I’d bought everything I needed except for an enormously expensive text for the Organizational Leadership class. I intended to ask Parker if he had one from last year that I could borrow. Probably I could’ve asked him about more of them, but some were online and password protected and couldn’t be shared. Plus, I liked to highlight and underline in physical textbooks.