Professor Lucien
Ivy is packing her books neatly, her soft voice floating toward me.
“Let me go see Professor Lucien real quick,” she says to her friends. “I’ll meet you at the bleachers.”
“Okay, Ivy,” one of them chirps. “We’ll wait.”
Ivy hurries out, her double braids bouncing behind her, her steps light like she’s
Ivy hurries out, her double braids bouncing behind her, her steps light like she’s floating on some invisible compliment he hasn’t even said yet.
Kiera stretches with a sigh. “Damn. We were talking about literature, but I think they’re about to have chemistry.”