She showed up late, sort of. Technically it was late, because abnormal psychology
started at 9:25 on Tuesdays, and she stepped in the door at 9:31. But the professor had just gotten to the H s, and when he asked if she was Doris Harris, she said "yes, and who are you?"
Many of us stared, because we had not seen too many pink haired girls with Doc Martens in our psych classes. Her white T-shirt had two words in matching pink script:
I must have been staring, cause she turned toward me and asked what I was looking at.
Your navel, I confessed, since I had my guess she knew what I was looking at ( not to mention what I was thinking).
I tried to be cool:
Is that Amethyst? Were you born in February? I tried to smile, but her glare melted it.
"Let me guess, 'K?" she twirled around and sat her backpack on my desk as she slumped into the seat in front of me. "Your'r going to ask for my sign next, right? Well, I know your sign, boy, it's "Slow children at play." The class roared, I blushed and looked away and the professor tried to bring the class to order.
After class, some tall athletic type came by her desk and tried to give her a high five for her comments. She spat in his hand-"Hey, at least he tried to talk to me, get away-pahh" she said to him.
She asked me if I was taking any other psych courses and I owned up to the three I was enrolled in, and that it was my major.
"I took this cause they don't have a performance art course and I'm thinking this is the closest thing."
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I would soon enough.
end of part 1.