Mr. Arms

These stories were written by students for their JRN 101H class. They are reported stories about the lives of other students on campus.

“I'm just a girl,” she sighs.

Aubrey loves her lectures. I mean, she doesn't love the business lectures, but she loves the class – specifically the guy in her class.

She sits three seats away from the board. A thousand dreams to become a woman who dominates the business industry.

He sits across from her.

Her eyes wander, finding his.

They laugh for a split second.

Everything is glitter hearts and love letters written to her.

She creates organized folders for everything. A pen and notebook are placed on her desk constantly.

He forms a headrest for himself with his arms. He seems to not care at all.

Her face burns like molten lava, the color rushing from her cheeks to her nose.

Her notebook and pen are no longer there. He’s in love with me, I mean he’s got to be.

She asks questions in her lectures, so deep in the conversation that she loses track of time.

He smiles in her direction. Absorbed by the one in his sight.

He is totally and completely in love with me.

She walks to her next class, with time on her side. Her bed calls her name in the distance.

He runs to the same class, making it just barely.

He’s oblivious. She’s hyperaware.

She sits, her posture in line. He stretches out with no spatial awareness.

She listens. He daydreams.

She concentrates, finding the meaning of what the professor is saying.

He flexes, again. He wants to marry me, I just know it.

He is clueless about her newfound interest in the classes they take together.

She makes it back to her room and settles into her bed.

She tells her roommate all about class. But it's not about the actual class.

The cycle repeats. That is until the class now has a girlfriend.