"Natalie, if you touch that hot glue gun one more time, I'll glue your hands to the wall," I said as I leaned over Leah's bottle, filling it with sand so it would stay standing.

"I know how to work this thing. Just let me try it," Natalie said.

"I'm serious. Don't test me."

Natalie pulled her hand back from the glue gun. "Lame."

I shook my head, then turned back to Leah's model of Sojourner Truth.

"So I get to decorate her however I want?" Leah asked.

I nodded. "Pretty much. Just make sure you get the big details, and the rest is up to you." I then looked over to Melissa. "You almost done typing your report?"

"Almost. I just don't know if I should use 'there', 'their', or 'they're' in this situation. Emily Dickinson died there," Melissa read.

"That would be T-H-E-R-E," I said. "It's a place." I looked up from Leah's bottle and caught a glimpse of Natalie's hands wandering back to the glue gun. "Nat, I swear to God, I'll-"

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Amanda, I left my key in there. Can you let me in?"

Jackie.

I brushed off the sand that had collected in the wrinkles in my shirt, stood up, and let her in.

"Thank you so much," she said. Her nose was bright red, like she had just come in from a chilly day. But despite it being almost October in Minnesota, it was still warm enough that it couldn't be the case.

"You feel okay?" I asked.

"Just a little cold. I'll be fine." She smiled at me. "Wow, the projects are really coming together."

I nodded. "A lot faster than I expected." I looked over at Natalie. She was just about to touch the glue gun again. "Fine. Burn yourself. I don't care."

Natalie smiled. "It's not that hot." She grasped for the gun, then wrapped her hand around the metal part.

RIP.

She recoiled her hand immediately and let out a squeal in pain.

"I told you," was all I said.

She looked up at me, holding the burned hand with the other. "I guess I deserved that."

I nodded.

"If you need any help, I'll be glad to help out," Jackie offered.

I looked up at her.

She wasn't the quiet type, but she was polite, considerate, and kind. Even though we weren't best friends or anything, I still liked her company over none.

"Actually, if you want, you can help Melissa with her Emily Dickinson model," I said.

Melissa smiled and waved at her.

"That sounds like fun. I actually love her poetry," Jackie said. "I'm impressed that you picked her for your famous American."

Melissa's eyes lit up. "Yeah."

I wasn't one for art and poetry, but Melissa had found someone who understood.

I couldn't have been happier for her.

"My teacher didn't want to let me pick her, since she thought I couldn't be able to understand her poems, so my brother had to have a chat with her," Melissa continued.

Jackie shook her head. "That's a shame. That really shouldn't happen. If you like her poetry, then you should be able to do a project on her, no matter how old you are."

"And even if you didn't understand her poems, how's that any different from doing a project on Albert Einstein or something? It's not like the average kid your age understands his theory of relativity or anything," I said.

Melissa nodded. "That's what Matt told my teacher!"

"Most teachers aren't like that, but there are some that will want to hold you back. Don't let them. You're capable of more than they think," Jackie said and took a seat next to Melissa.

"Speaking from experience?" I asked.

She nodded. "A little bit."

And she was majoring in chemical engineering. Not easy at all.

I smiled.

Success was definitely counted sweetest.

"Will you please read through this for me and see if it all seems okay?" Melissa asked, handing the laptop over to Jackie.

"Of course," Jackie replied with a smile.

I smelled a friendship blossoming. Jackie could understand Melissa much more than I ever could, and she would be a much better role model for someone like Melissa.

No one deserved that more than Melissa.

***

We finished up their projects at three in the afternoon on Sunday. The triplets were a little too excited to spend the night in my dorm, but to my surprise, they actually did sleep.

I took them back home, and each of them piled into the car with their bottle people rested gently on their laps.

"Now, don't ruin your projects, and don't forget them at home. Don't bother Matt too much, but don't forget about him," I reminded them just before Viktor and I left to go back to Winterview.

"Blah, blah, blah. We know. Don't do drugs, don't talk to strangers, don't kill each other. You covered this before," Natalie said.

I smiled. "Last rule: listen to Matt."

"Okay, we'll be good. I promise," Leah said.

"We promise," Melissa said.

Natalie shook her head. "Speak for yourselves."

Not long after, Viktor and I were back at Winterview University.

I wasn't happy about it. I got a nostalgic taste of what life used to be, and I still wasn't ready to give it up. It was odd; I knew I loved my family and friends but hated pretty much everything and everyone else, but I was willing to deal with all that shit just to have what I loved back.

And I didn't even hate college, in fact, I enjoyed it a lot, except for Dr. Mann and sociology.

***

I decided to add another thing to my college hate list.

Monday mornings.

They sucked just as much as high school Monday mornings, of course, but at least I had Arti and Blaine then. Now all I had was Viktor.

He greeted me almost every morning, and this time was no exception.

"Good morning, Candy Cane. Guess what?" Viktor said as I let him in.

Jackie, once again putting on her makeup, smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

"What?" I asked.

He smiled. "It's raining."

"Holy fucking shit!" I exclaimed, then looked out the window. "It's a fucking miracle. It's literally raining in the fall. Oh my god."

Viktor looked at me, then laughed. "I'm just trying to cheer you up. You look a little grumpy."

"I usually look like this."

"Well, yeah, but we should go outside."

"Why?"

"Because it's raining, of course." He laughed like I was stupid or something.

"But it's raining."

He smiled. "But it's raining!"

"Oh my god. What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked.

Then I remembered Blaine's list of song lyrics. I was supposed to like getting caught in the rain.

While that wasn't completely true, since I just liked to watch the rain falling from the comfort and dryness of the indoors, I did love it when it rained.

Both of us had class in an hour, but that wasn't going to stop me from bringing a little sunshine to Viktor's life.

"Just let me get dressed, and then we can go outside for no fucking reason, get drenched, then pretend like we're completely normal."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, now get out of here before I change my mind." I smiled. "God, I hate you."

He smiled back. "You wish you did."

He turned and walked out of the room, and I looked at my clothes, trying to decide what I wouldn't mind getting rained on.

The only thing I could think of was a fucking garbage bag.

I smiled. It reminded me of the time I told Dr. Mann that I could've worn a trash bag to his class, but I didn't.

Why was it that every amazing idea I had always came with Viktor's voice in the back of my mind telling me that it was a horrible idea?

"Hey Jackie," I said, looking over to her. "Do you have any garbage bags or scissors?"

She set down her lipstick. "Um, that's a strange request."

"Do you?"

"Why?"

"Because I feel like being a little bit unreasonable today."

She didn't take her eyes off of me. "Why do you need a garbage bag and scissors? That sounds a little questionable."

"I need the scissors, so I can cut arm holes," I said.

Guess who decided to wear a goddamn trash bag to class?

Me.

It was me.

Jackie inhaled. "For the garbage bag, there's some right by the garbage can, and the scissors are in my desk drawer."

I smiled. "Thank you."

If she was going to be like this, I wanted her as my new right-hand woman. Not Arti's replacement, but for my other right hand.

My left-hand woman?

Was that a thing?

***

I sat right in the front of my sociology class. I would not be ignored with my latest fashion and sociological statement.

No one could control me. Not society, not Dr. Mann, no one.

And I was determined to let Dr. Mann know that.

The raindrops beaded on the surface of the bag, and I brushed them onto the ground. Viktor and I didn't even spend that much time outside, but I was still soaked to the core. I probably should have worn something more substantial underneath the trash bag, since I spent the few minutes before class shivering, but with great power came sacrifice.

Freezing for a little bit was the least of my worries. I wanted to make a point, a statement that I was me, and there was nothing Dr. Mann could do to stop it.

Dr. Mann walked into the lecture hall, and there I sat, front and center, wearing my trash bag and a smile.

"Are you really bringing this up again?" he said, lowering his eyes.

I nodded.

"We're done with that. We're moving on to first impressions. Now, if you don't mind, since you're so special and individualist, I'd like to start my class."

I didn't even say anything, and somehow, I was special.

"You have my permission," I said without even thinking about it.

He focused his glare on me. "I don't know why you think you can talk to me like that."

I shrugged. "Neither do I. I just have a knack for pissing people off."

It was actually quite simple. He was the superior, and I was the pupil. But in his mind, I wasn't the pupil. I was the inferior.

And when I flipped that around, it really pissed him off for some reason.

Crazy.

"Okay, welcome back to class, everyone. I hope you enjoyed your weekend. This week, we will be discussing the importance of first impressions, and how to manage them properly in order to achieve the desired relationship," Dr. Mann said.

He turned to me. "Now, I'm going to ask Trash here, what did I do the first day of classes?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know who you're referring to."

I knew.

He adjusted his glasses, not moving his glare from me. "The only one wearing a trash bag, because 'fuck society', correct?"

It was more of a "fuck you" to him, but instead I said, "We can work with that."

He exhaled loudly. "So tell me, what did I do the first day of classes?"

"Um, you told all of us that we're incapable of free thought-"

"I meant before class even began."

I thought for a moment. "Uh, you went around the room, shaking everyone's hands."

"And how did that shape your first impression of me?"

"This probably isn't the right answer, but I'm gonna say it anyway. At first, I was confused, but when I thought about it, I decided it was an empty gesture and a lousy attempt at seeming personable."

"And how has that impression changed?"

"It hasn't really," I replied.

"That's the point. While most people don't demonize me for it, once that impression was formed, it's extremely difficult to overcome that."

I rose my hand.

"What?" he asked.

"What was your first impression of me?" I asked.

"This isn't Amanda-ology. And I generally try to keep my language PG in this class."

"But you said, 'fuck society,' like a minute ago," the guy sitting next to me said.

He looked at me. "Shut up."

"Do you seriously think my voice is that low?" I asked.

"Shut up."

I had a lower voice, but it didn't sound like a guy's. Or at least I didn't think so.

Dr. Mann continued. "I'm trying to teach a class here, and your interruptions are disrespectful to everyone here."

"The way you talk to me is disrespectful. I know that I'm just trying to fight fire with fire, and it actually is rude to everyone, but I'm not going to let you treat me like garbage. It's a trend that has to stop somewhere, and if I have to be the one that fights you about it, I will. No one deserves to be spoken to the way you speak to me," I said.

"I don't have to respect you. You're the student. Get out of my class."

"Are you serious?"

He nodded. "Get out. You're disruptive to my class."

And with that, I packed up all my shit and left.

He implied that his first impression of me was that I was a bitch (or something not PG), he called me Trash (which was my fault, for wearing a trash bag), and he fell back on "I'm the professor, you're the student, so shut the fuck up," any time someone challenged his ideas.

I didn't care. It just pushed me even more.

I wasn't sure who let him talk to them like that, but it was going to stop at me one way or another.

And I even agreed that first impressions were important and difficult to overcome. I agreed 100%. But something about the way he spoke made me want to argue everything he said.