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Description
Chapter Two: Two good reasons not to go to college

The sun shone brightly as it always did through the kitchen window and onto the linoleum. Cecelia was busy pushing a stir-fry around the sizzling pan with a spatula and Louis stood at the sink, meticulously peeling potatoes. After years of begging, his mom had finally deemed him old enough to handle the job, and at her warning of the potato peeler being sharp, pulled the instrument carefully along the potato, watching the skin roll off and into the sink.

Cecelia looked over at his progress. “Nice work, Louis,” she said, grinning. “Those potatoes look beautiful.”

Louis glowed with pride. “Thank you,” he said. He had to admit, it did look great, considering this was his first ever try at potato peeling.

His father came in the front door and kicked his shoes off.

“Hi, Victor,” Cecelia greeted. “Dinner will be ready in a little bit.”

Victor walked into the kitchen, scratching his pudgy chin. He took a beer from the fridge and then surveyed Louis’s work. Louis tried to focus.

“A little slow, aren’t you sport?” he commented.

“It’s his first time with the peeler,” Cecelia explained.

“Is it now,” Victor mused as he exited the kitchen. “Dinner would happen a lot sooner if he’d pick up the pace.”

Cecelia was quiet.

Louis frowned and peeled faster.

---

“Louis.”

Louis jerked up to see his writing professor standing over him; the rest of the classroom was empty.

Ah, great. He had dozed off during Mrs. Mauly’s English class again. He cleared his throat and quickly rubbed his eyes.

“Yes?” he responded.

She hardened her jaw into the shameful glare she gave all her students in whom she was disappointed: mostly him. He couldn’t help it, and to be frank, he didn’t much care. When would he ever need writing? Even so, his advanced physics course seemed to deem it necessary, so he needed this credit, but other than that, the only courses he scheduled were science and PE. Professor Mauly’s course required a certain amount of attendance to pass and he had used up all his wiggle room. He was here; what more did she want from him?

“If you plan to sleep through my class, don’t come at all,” Mrs. Mauly said as she straightened crooked desks.

“Sorry,” Louis apologized, standing up and picking up his bag. He felt the bump on the back of his head, hoping his peaked hair covered it.

“How have you been, Louis?” she asked, with more concern than polite conversation. Generally she left him alone, but she had a habit of sometimes getting nosy, going back and forth between hardened instructor and caring counselor. Louis didn’t want to speak to either.

“As well as a prisoner of general education can be,” he answered.

Professor Mauly seemed taken aback by his answer. “Surely you don’t include English in that statement,” she goaded playfully.

Louis laughed along for a moment. “Oh,” he said between chuckles. “But I do.” The laughing stopped and Louis climbed down the steps and out of the classroom.

Louis passed the rows of cars in the sunbaked parking lot in search of his little gray friend. He had found it on the side of the road selling for five hundred dollars. After getting the price lowered even further, he had paid the owner in cash and took it home like a stray cat, all mangy and barely alive. After fixing it up, it ran like the best of the European cars, just with less shock absorption. Paul didn’t approve of it, but oh well. Louis loved his car like Speed Racer loved Mach 5.

He spotted the old, gray metal trunk of his mechanical comrade parked against the curb. He pulled out his keys and fumbled for the right one, only noticing the girl standing by the driver’s side door when he nearly ran into her. Looking up quickly, he apologized under his breath and unlocked the door, expecting her to move. He squeezed and slid, but could not get past her and into the seat. It occurred to him that maybe she had a reason to block him and was not just oblivious to his efforts, so he stood and faced her.

Her hair was a curly and dark and her eyes were brown: chocolate-colored, he would say if he were a sappy romantic, which of course, he was not. She stood about his height – which didn’t say much for him – and had a lovely figure accentuated by her black tee-shirt whose sleeves she had stylishly folded. “Security,” it read. Oh, he realized with a sour taste in his mouth. Her hair wasn’t all that brilliant anymore.

“Are you the owner of this vehicle?” she asked, all seriousness.

“Are you kidding?” he retorted, jangling the keys in front of her face. She didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s parked in the fire lane.”

Louis glanced down at the yellow curb. “So it is,” he replied.

The young woman scribbled a last few words onto her perforated ticket notebook, tore one out and handed it to him. “I was just about to stick this on your windshield, but I guess I can give it directly to you.”

Louis took it and gasped at the fine.

“Two hundred dollars?” he exclaimed. “I can’t pay this!”

“I’m sorry,” she replied with a justified distain. “You shouldn’t have blocked the fire lane.”

“I’m a poor college student!” he continued, angrily. “I eat twice a day and only what I can scrounge up. I rent a house with no hot water! Can’t you just pretend you never saw me?” he exaggerated, with what he thought was a seductive smile. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

“No.”

The smile disappeared and he groaned.

“What if someone had had a heart attack?” she reasoned, quickly. “What if the ambulance had come but couldn’t find a place to park because this parking lot is always so crowded—”

“I couldn’t find a place to park, either,” he mumbled.

“—And the guy had died because of it?” she finished. “Huh? What about that?”

“Well,” Louis groped for retaliation. “Well… well, it didn’t happen. So, you just got all worked up for nothing.” He pulled the door open.

“Have a good rest of your day, sir,” she said before she left. “And don’t worry: that ticket doesn’t need to be paid for a month or more.”

Fuming, Louis got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Putting on his seat belt, he started the car and shoved the ticket into his cup holder. He had put it into gear before he realized he still had his book bag slung over his shoulder.

Description
Chapter Two: Two good reasons not to go to college

The sun shone brightly as it always did through the kitchen window and onto the linoleum. Cecelia was busy pushing a stir-fry around the sizzling pan with a spatula and Louis stood at the sink, meticulously peeling potatoes. After years of begging, his mom had finally deemed him old enough to handle the job, and at her warning of the potato peeler being sharp, pulled the instrument carefully along the potato, watching the skin roll off and into the sink.

Cecelia looked over at his progress. “Nice work, Louis,” she said, grinning. “Those potatoes look beautiful.”

Louis glowed with pride. “Thank you,” he said. He had to admit, it did look great, considering this was his first ever try at potato peeling.

His father came in the front door and kicked his shoes off.

“Hi, Victor,” Cecelia greeted. “Dinner will be ready in a little bit.”

Victor walked into the kitchen, scratching his pudgy chin. He took a beer from the fridge and then surveyed Louis’s work. Louis tried to focus.

“A little slow, aren’t you sport?” he commented.

“It’s his first time with the peeler,” Cecelia explained.

“Is it now,” Victor mused as he exited the kitchen. “Dinner would happen a lot sooner if he’d pick up the pace.”

Cecelia was quiet.

Louis frowned and peeled faster.

---

“Louis.”

Louis jerked up to see his writing professor standing over him; the rest of the classroom was empty.

Ah, great. He had dozed off during Mrs. Mauly’s English class again. He cleared his throat and quickly rubbed his eyes.

“Yes?” he responded.

She hardened her jaw into the shameful glare she gave all her students in whom she was disappointed: mostly him. He couldn’t help it, and to be frank, he didn’t much care. When would he ever need writing? Even so, his advanced physics course seemed to deem it necessary, so he needed this credit, but other than that, the only courses he scheduled were science and PE. Professor Mauly’s course required a certain amount of attendance to pass and he had used up all his wiggle room. He was here; what more did she want from him?

“If you plan to sleep through my class, don’t come at all,” Mrs. Mauly said as she straightened crooked desks.

“Sorry,” Louis apologized, standing up and picking up his bag. He felt the bump on the back of his head, hoping his peaked hair covered it.

“How have you been, Louis?” she asked, with more concern than polite conversation. Generally she left him alone, but she had a habit of sometimes getting nosy, going back and forth between hardened instructor and caring counselor. Louis didn’t want to speak to either.

“As well as a prisoner of general education can be,” he answered.

Professor Mauly seemed taken aback by his answer. “Surely you don’t include English in that statement,” she goaded playfully.

Louis laughed along for a moment. “Oh,” he said between chuckles. “But I do.” The laughing stopped and Louis climbed down the steps and out of the classroom.

Louis passed the rows of cars in the sunbaked parking lot in search of his little gray friend. He had found it on the side of the road selling for five hundred dollars. After getting the price lowered even further, he had paid the owner in cash and took it home like a stray cat, all mangy and barely alive. After fixing it up, it ran like the best of the European cars, just with less shock absorption. Paul didn’t approve of it, but oh well. Louis loved his car like Speed Racer loved Mach 5.

He spotted the old, gray metal trunk of his mechanical comrade parked against the curb. He pulled out his keys and fumbled for the right one, only noticing the girl standing by the driver’s side door when he nearly ran into her. Looking up quickly, he apologized under his breath and unlocked the door, expecting her to move. He squeezed and slid, but could not get past her and into the seat. It occurred to him that maybe she had a reason to block him and was not just oblivious to his efforts, so he stood and faced her.

Her hair was a curly and dark and her eyes were brown: chocolate-colored, he would say if he were a sappy romantic, which of course, he was not. She stood about his height – which didn’t say much for him – and had a lovely figure accentuated by her black tee-shirt whose sleeves she had stylishly folded. “Security,” it read. Oh, he realized with a sour taste in his mouth. Her hair wasn’t all that brilliant anymore.

“Are you the owner of this vehicle?” she asked, all seriousness.

“Are you kidding?” he retorted, jangling the keys in front of her face. She didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s parked in the fire lane.”

Louis glanced down at the yellow curb. “So it is,” he replied.

The young woman scribbled a last few words onto her perforated ticket notebook, tore one out and handed it to him. “I was just about to stick this on your windshield, but I guess I can give it directly to you.”

Louis took it and gasped at the fine.

“Two hundred dollars?” he exclaimed. “I can’t pay this!”

“I’m sorry,” she replied with a justified distain. “You shouldn’t have blocked the fire lane.”

“I’m a poor college student!” he continued, angrily. “I eat twice a day and only what I can scrounge up. I rent a house with no hot water! Can’t you just pretend you never saw me?” he exaggerated, with what he thought was a seductive smile. “I was just leaving, anyway.”

“No.”

The smile disappeared and he groaned.

“What if someone had had a heart attack?” she reasoned, quickly. “What if the ambulance had come but couldn’t find a place to park because this parking lot is always so crowded—”

“I couldn’t find a place to park, either,” he mumbled.

“—And the guy had died because of it?” she finished. “Huh? What about that?”

“Well,” Louis groped for retaliation. “Well… well, it didn’t happen. So, you just got all worked up for nothing.” He pulled the door open.

“Have a good rest of your day, sir,” she said before she left. “And don’t worry: that ticket doesn’t need to be paid for a month or more.”

Fuming, Louis got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Putting on his seat belt, he started the car and shoved the ticket into his cup holder. He had put it into gear before he realized he still had his book bag slung over his shoulder.