Eventually, they finish up doing the work, with the end of the class approaching. 

"The writeup and analysis for this lab is due in 1 week, at the start of the class," the professor tells them, when some of them are starting to finish. "All of you are going to need to find time to meet up at some point in the next week to finish doing up the workbook, so I'd trade emails or phone numbers now, before you all leave. You can work on the workbook together, here, if you finish early, but once you're done with the experiment, you can leave." 

Zoe sighs, and takes out her phone. He's nice enough to work with at least. And the workbook is only a couple of pages. Shouldn't take too long. "What's your number?" she asks him. "I'll text you from mine, and we can figure out some study time to get this done from there." 

He gives her his number. "Yeah, sounds good."

She sends him a text, telling him who this number is. 

And then class lets out, and he's got about a half-hour to kill before his writing seminar. 

That sounds like an amount of time he could spend driving! Damn he loves his car.

When he does get to his next class -- the writing seminar -- he'll find it's a smallish classroom -- only about 15 students -- and of all people, Karen is there, sitting close to the front. She looks quite a bit happier and more stable than she did when he'd first met her (at least, from what he can tell from the back of her head). There's some empty seats around her (most of the students aren't sitting in the front), so there's plenty of space near her to sit if he wants. 

Hell yes he will sit next to Karen.

"Hi," he says. "I'm terrible at math and I need help. How's your week been?"

She turns her head, a bit shocked and surprised to see him. She figured they wouldn't ever have any classes in common. And she was going to look up his email in the registrar later but... she might have forgotten. Oops. But he's here now! She gives him a happy smile, genuinely pleased to see him again. A little overwhelmed with the abruptness of his request, but. Well, he's asking for her help. She should probably not be quite as abrupt as he's being -- nothing wrong with being polite -- but honestly Karen would love a way to keep talking to him, and make sure things go well for him and that he has the space and environment he needs to grow. (And, not that she'll admit it, but it feels really nice to be treated as intelligent and a resource and be asked for help like this. She hopes she'll live up to his expectations.)

"Oh, hey! Things have been, well, they've been alright? The survey course I'm taking is, well, going to be a boring chore, for sure -- but the math class I'm taking is super challenging. So glad I tested into it. Most of the people in there are sophomores! But it looks like it's going to be a lot of fun." And it does! And they actually aren't treating her like the hot nerd girl they want to sleep with! Well, for the most part. But it's still a lot better than high school was. "The programming class is still way too easy, though." And there, well. That class has a lot more... disrespectful boys in it. But she can sit in the back in that one, and not pay attention, and she'll probably be fine. "This is my last new class -- I'm not particularly looking forward to it, though, since writing's really never been my strong suit." That's why she's sitting up front, after all. Easier to pay attention that way. "What's been going on in math class? What kind of help are you looking for? What about the rest of your classes?" She is, admittedly, fishing with that last question -- but she really wants to know. Hopefully he's not doing horribly in all of his classes? 

"Physics is great, I get to do things. Calculus is abominable. The other one's all right I guess. Turns out architecture is actually kind of cool."

Karen can't help grinning happily when he tells her about his classes. It honestly fits her predictions almost perfectly. The poor kid just never had any good opportunities to figure out how he learned growing up, and he had parents and teachers who didn't give a shit about that, just wanted him to fit into their perfect little molds. She's so happy that she's going to be able to help him grow and be free, here. 

"Well, that's mostly good to hear, except the calc, of course. What's going wrong there? What kind of help were you looking for there? Some kind of tutoring, or something?" 

"Yeah. I'm kind of not... learning anything... in the actual class. It's all just—sitting and listening to a guy talk about something that I don't understand and he doesn't care about."

Oh, yikes. Yikes. Well. Maybe she should should help with that. And maybe she shouldn't be quite so forward as to just give him tutoring lessons for nothing. Even if she wants to. "That sounds like a horrible teacher," she says. "I... honestly could probably use the extra cash," she says, slowly, as though considering it. "I could probably find some time to tutor you, if you wanted, and wanted to pay for it? I might need to look at my calendar, and I might need to look up what tutoring actually costs so I can charge a fair price. Since I may not have ever actually done tutoring before. But I'm sure if you send me your syllabus beforehand, I should be able to help out!"

He grins. "Sure, thanks!"

She's about to give him her email address, when the professor finally starts class. She resists the urge to write it down on a piece of paper and pass notes in class of all things. It can wait until the end. 

The teacher in this class is Professor Fisk. He hands out all the syllabi, and explains that the point of this class is to make sure that everyone has the kinds of basic writing skills that they'll need for all their college classes. They'll have a chance to practice several different kinds of academic writing, by writing a variety of short essays and research papers, among other things, and they'll learn about how to read and analyze them as well. They'll be expected to turn in about one piece of written work per week. Their first assignment, to make things easy, is going to be a two page essay on any topic they choose -- it'll be a good starting point, the professor tells them, to gauge their skill level and figure out where they need to improve. 

He then goes on, to explain the parts of an essay, and why folks write them, and their purpose in academic writing. It's pretty obvious that while the professor is reasonably enthusiastic about the topic, and happy to teach it to the students, a number of them, Karen included, don't seem to be particularly interested. She's doing her best to pay attention, though. She's not about to let one stupid writing class ruin her GPA. 

Well, this is clearly not going to be one of the fun classes.

On the other hand, at least it's not Calc. This guy is interested in his subject, which makes him vastly easier to pay attention to.

Sean still has no idea what he's going to write that essay about, but he's got a week to think about it so maybe he'll be okay. In the meantime, after class lets out, he immediately turns to exchange phone numbers and emails with Karen.

Karen is doing her best not to look overly happy to do so! She gives him her information, and takes his in return. She's also had a few moments to check her schedule, and figure out the best time. "I've got a couple hours every Wednesday evening," she tells him. "From about 4 until 7 in the evening. We might need to eat dinner at the cafeteria in the middle of that -- but it seems like it's probably the best time for me if it works for you. And it'll let us get an early start, tomorrow, if you're up for it? I'll have how much it costs ready for you then, or we can email back and forth tomorrow to settle on the price if you'd rather." She's honestly a little anxious to get started, she can't wait to help him out. And Wednesday looks like her best contiguous option by far. 

"Honestly I don't super care how much you charge, like, I assume you're not going to ask ten times the going rate, so whatever. Wednesdays four to seven is fine by me. Right after class, even."

Karen grins. "Well, that works out great then!" She says. "And I'll still make sure I charge you a fair price. Even if you can pay me whatever. It wouldn't be fair to you otherwise." She smiles. "I do actually have a study group for my own math class that's meeting pretty soon, so -- I should probably get going now, to be honest. But I'll see you tomorrow!" She gives him a smile and a wave then turns and hurries (just a little bit) out the door. She can make it to the library in time. Probably. And they probably won't mind if she's a couple minutes late, right? 

Aww, she's cute. He hopes he'll get to own her someday.

All right, class is over, time to... go for a drive. And check in on Valerie, and think about what he wants to write that damn essay about.

Valerie is playing games on her phone while listening to the stupid professor drone on about some math thing that she doesn't really give a fuck about. She's already made eyes at a couple of pimply-looking boys in the room, who are occasionally sending her longing gazes of affection and desire. Clearly, they're overwhelmed with the idea that someone like her would even think to look at boys like them. The fools. Well, at least one of them, if not both, will be more than happy to do all of her homework for her for this dumb class. All it will take is the implication that she'll be ever so grateful~ for them. She won't even have to touch them once. Weak-willed idiots. And what's she ever going to need calculus for, anyways? It doesn't matter, it's not her problem, it's those two idiots' now. In a little while, this class will be done and she'll never have to come back to it again. 

Well, Valerie has no reason to care about her classes, so sure.

He sends her a text informing her that he wants keys to her apartment so he can get into it when she's not there.

She hears the chirp of her phone that means Sean has sent her a text! And reads it. And then she immediately presses her her legs together, fantasizing about coming home one day from, whatever, finding Sean hiding behind the door or in her room or whatever, and making her suck his cock before she has a chance to realize or respond. Just waiting there, ready to take whatever he wants from her. It's a hot little fantasy. She hopes he enacts it at some point. She quickly sends him a text, telling him that she'll have them ready and waiting for him when she gets home, and then does some quick research to figure out where and how to duplicate them (they're that inexpensive? And that fast?) to make sure that she'll have them ready. She'll go to a hardware store right after class, apparently. Excellent. Valerie, still tuning the class out, decides to put the phone down for juuust a moment to think about that fantasy a little while longer. It really is a delight, thinking about how he has so much control over her life now. How he can do anything and everything to her, whenever he wants. She doesn't want to fantasize for too long, though. She does need to keep these two idiot boys interested so she can give them some personal attention after class, and set up their first (and last, but they don't need to know that) "tutoring" meeting. 

Does seducing nerds really work that well for her? At some point in her life she has to have met someone with a spine, right? Maybe they all just avoided her on sight. Until Sean. And, well, he knows how that worked out for her.

Whatever. He goes for another drive, this time definitely not hunting. He just wants to turn off his brain for a while and move, and not deal with the existence of things like words and math and school.

A few hours later, feeling much improved, he checks on Valerie again.

Valerie is out on the town, starting to eat a fancy meal (Indian food, from a very highly rated restaurant) with several of her friends. They were already complimenting the food, and thanking her profusely, which only made her grin wider. All the easier to make them love and feel compelled to help her. It wasn't her usual tactic to make minions, but, well. She'd been talking about the lovely food she ate all the time back at home, proving just how superior she was to her new "friends", and a couple of them had been looking up at her with obvious desire. Not for her, surprisingly enough, but for the food she was talking about. And, so she figured, why not give them just a taste of how she normally lived. It would make the poor peons extra grateful to her, for sure. She'll have to pay for it herself, of course -- it's not like these poor college students with their student loans and their lunch plans can afford a morsel of food like this on their best days -- but to someone like her it's just a drop in the bucket. And it was more than worth it to see those faces looking up at her with gratefulness. They;ll be hers now, forever thinking of her as a friend, willing to do all kinds of things for her. And she can pretend to play the gracious friend right now, perfectly. It's wonderful making people hers like this. And they don't even know it. 

Hmm. Maybe he'll do a little hunting, let her finish her meal with her new toys before he tells her to go home and wait for him.

Irene sighs as she lugs the heavy case behind her. Her dad hadn't shown up to pick her up after marching band practice. Again. And now she has to lug this stupid heavy trombone back to her mom's house and call him (since mom was at work late), and make her own dinner, instead of spending time with her dad like she's supposed to. Again. 

Okay, she doesn't hate the trombone, not really. Honestly, it's kind of fun, even if it's also pretty exhausting. Especially in uniform, in the summer heat. Today honestly wasn't so bad, at least. She's mostly doing it to help get into college, but she does kind of enjoy playing a musical instrument. And it is pretty fun, being the only girl trombone player at her school -- and that, too, will probably help her chances to get into school. 

And it isn't like her dad is that bad either. She wouldn't have wanted him to have visitation rights, if he wasn't. It's just that when he drinks.... well, when he drinks he can be awful. She'd thought he'd been on the wagon for a while. She guesses he's fallen off. 

Irene pauses to put the heavy instrument down, and catch her breath. Only another mile or so to go. No more than a half an hour or so. She's done this before, in much hotter weather. She'll be fine.