Lyle's POV:

I just changed colleges, and now, I'm so late to Mr. Anderson's class. 

My flight was delayed, and I had to move into my dorm at midnight. My roommate, Marcus, was already awake when I arrived and was really nice, but fell asleep soon after we introduced ourselves. 

Before I went to bed, I thought, 'I'll be fine, I have time to burn, art class isn't even until like 1pm.'

I did not, in fact, have time to burn...

I was done packing around four a.m., and jet lag was setting in, so the adrenaline had worn off, and I crashed. Unfortunately, my alarm was set about thirty minutes before I had to be at class.

And I may have slept through my alarm.

And I may have only got up because Marcus slapped me to wake up, and then happily informed me that if slapping me had not worked, he would have dumped water on me.

Great... First day everybody...

I rushed to get ready, brushing my teeth and making coffee. I rush to my mirror, I have a green shirt on backwards, my light brown hair is tangled so badly, but I don't have time to fix it. I think my eye bags have bags at this point.  

I rush out of my dorm room. I have no idea where anything is (yes I skipped orientation, so what?), and I know at least that my class is somewhere in the west part of the campus and that it's supposed to be my advanced algebra class. It's actually insane that I got into that class. I guess I have my parents to thank for that. I burned through tutors like it was a contest. Apparently, no one likes the adhd kid, who would have though so?  

My phone pings after the class, probably already had been in session for a bit.

Marcus: heyyyyy class 440 room, ur fuving late :p

I found it! I'm half dead, half asleep, I'm a fucking god!

I think I may be mentally unstable. My therapist may be right... No. Just bad sleep.

I walk through the door, exceedingly proud of myself,

"Hello, Mr. Griffin, my name is Mr. Anderson, and you are late for my class," My slightly annoyed professor greeted me.  

How did he know me on sight? I know that I look like a dumpster fire dipped into grease, put out, then lit on fire again, and he still recognized me.

I decide that this man is something else right out of a book. I scan the room looking for a seat. I want to be close to the back so I can hopefully stay out of Mr. Anderson's point of view. 

Marcus, the traitor, is asleep in the back of the room. I make an ugly face. I would flip him off if it wouldn't make me look immature, which is close to impossible because I am the living embodiment of being immature. 

Mr. Anderson has picked up talking again, and there is this girl who keeps putting her hand up and waving it, it looks like she is going to shit her pants if he doesn't call on her, which is weird because he isn't asking any questions. The person next to her is face-palming in embarrassment. I feel them, I would sit next to them and compliment their hijab, it's green, the best color. But alas, no open seat.

There are a couple of people who are sharing a bag of chips and taking notes. I would sit there because they have cool vibes, but unfortunately, there isn't an open seat, and I don't want to impose.

Oh! I see a seat! ...Wait. I see it. A very pretty girl is looking at this awesome-looking goth girl. I move to look for another seat.

Oh! another seat! Right next to another sleeping guy. It's all good, I'll just ask if I can sit there and he'll say yes, and bam! Best friends. I am a genius.

I walk over, "Hi! My name-"

"What do you want?" this very grumpy man asks.He looks up at me, dark brown skin reddened around his cheeks due to his face being glued to his part of the table. 

Ok, I get it, I just interrupted his sleep.

"I'm so sorry, can I sit here?" I point to the open chair. His head swivels and check the small blue chair and back to me shuffling around waiting to sit down.

"Oh, yeah, sure." He responded, he looked surprised,  like he was expecting a different question. I can't imagine what else... 

"Thanks!" I sat down, but I could only think that my ass was thanking me for finding a seat.

"So... Let's get off on a better foot. What's your name? Mine's Kenneth, but you can call me Ken. No Barbie jokes," Ken said he brushed a curly black lock of hair behind his ear and reaches his hand out to me.

"Ok, my name is Lyle, no instrument jokes," I laugh, I shake his hand.

"What do you mean?" Ken cocks his head and squints his eyes.

"Lyre? You cannot tell me you do not know what that is," I ask him.

"I do, I do," he laughed.

"You can move to your next class," Mr. Anderson announces. I was either really late or I talked too much. I'm betting on being late.

"Hey", I turn to Ken, "What are you studying?" 

"I want to be a lawyer," He answers as we gather our stuff, "You?"

"I want to be an Artist," I reply. 

"Don't you think it's fucked  that we are all going to have student debt, and most of us won't be able to pay it off until we are all old and saggy, and the system has milked all the money they can out of us?" Ken asks me as someone holds the door open for the mob of people. 

I say thank you to the person opening the door.

"Meh, I dunno, it's America," I answer, "We're fucked since birth."

"Kurt Cobain?" He grins at me brown eyes glinting with amusement.

"You caught me, I know I butchered it though..." I shrug and look away sheepishly.

"Hey, if you can quote more artists, come find me, I think you're cool," He says while walking off to his class leaving me standing in the mostly empty hallway.

Whoa... I think I have a new friend.

I then remember that I have yet another class to find. I pause for another second before running out to hopefully not be late again..