I turn from the front door to face my new home. I’ll be here for the next four years, so I give it a good once over. The apartment isn’t very big, but I don’t want a big place anyway. This is my first time living away from my parents, and I think I’ve done quite well for myself.

A couch extends across the middle of the living room. It faces the television, which I doubt I’ll ever use. I hung a painting of a beautiful New Zealand landscape on the wall behind the sofa. My parents gave me the painting on my sixteenth birthday. A bookshelf stands in the corner, its shelves populated by physical training and martial arts books.

A number of windows look out of my apartment at the university a few miles away. I should have grills over them, seeing as my apartment rises eight floors off the ground. I figure I’ll keep the windows shut most of the time, and if I need fresh air, I can always crack them open just a little.

My mind wanders back in time, and I picture my parents waving goodbye as I drive off. The scene tugs at my heartstrings a little. They’ve been so good to me all my life, encouraging me in my pursuits, eagerly helping me with all my odd interests. I’ve never been a dresses-and-dolls kind of girl, nor did I ever really get into the bookworm side of things. A sucker for physical activity, pushing my body to the limits has been the name of the game for me.

That changed somewhat in my last couple years of high school when I had to buckle down and work for grades that would get me in the university of my choice. Sadly, I had to drop many of my physical pursuits while my grades went up. The years of forced education did nothing but encourage my distaste for it, though, and I still resent classrooms and learning.

My phone vibrates, interrupting the memories flooding my mind. I dig into my pocket and pull out the buzzing object. Seeing the number, I smile widely. It’s my mom. She worries too much about me — about everything really — but I suppose all moms do. Motherly instinct or something of that caliber.

“Hey, Mom! How are you?”

“Hello, Anna. I’m fine. Never been fitter in my life. How are you settling in?”

“It’s going well. I just got all the furniture moved in. I’ll have to stock up on more food later this week, though.”

“Okay. Make sure you don’t starve yourself. I don’t know what you’re going to do now that we’re not around. I really wish you didn’t have to move all the way out west.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” I say, smiling. “I’ll be fine. When’s Oliver arriving?”

“He’ll be there in a couple of days. You sure you’re able to look after a kitten? I mean, you’ve never been the most responsible….”

“Yep. About looking after a kitten, I mean.” I grin madly into the phone. The prospect of my first pet has me very excited. I’ve cleaned, scrubbed, and set up everything he’ll need. I even made sure to keep fragile things out of his reach. “How’s Dad?”

“Busy as ever. Even in retirement he works from dawn to dusk,” my mom says. I grin widely, imagining her shaking her head frustratedly. That’s just like Dad. Ever since he retired, Mom’s always wanted to relax, but he’s like a machine.

“Dad never changes. What’s he working as now?”

“I think he got himself signed up as a relief teacher for a biology class or something like that.”

“That was last year, Mom.”

“Oh, was it?” I hear her slap her forehead. “Hm…oh! I do believe he is working on a research project for a medical company now.”

“Really? Wow. What sort of research?”

“Oh, Anna, how would I know?” she says in ersatz annoyance, and I can just imagine her wringing her hands on the other side of the phone. “I think it’s something military.”

“Military?” I ask, alarmed. “He won’t be in danger, will he? I didn’t even know he had military connections!”

“Calm down, Annie,” she says in the same soothing voice she’s always used to calm me. “He’s working on research, and he’s not working directly for the military. I said he was working for a medical company. They needed someone with his brains.”

I laugh sheepishly. “I guess I overreacted, didn’t I?”

“That’s an understatement,” my mom says dryly. “By the way, when do you meet with your advisor? Don’t you have to do that soon? Or have you already signed up for classes?”

I glance down at my watch, determined not to have another ridiculous panic attack. My mouth drys as I register the time.

“Uh— Mom?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“I— I kinda have to go now.”

“Let me guess, you lost track of time again?”

“Mom, I really have to go now,” I say, evading the question. “Talk to you later, alright?”

“Okay,” she sighs. “Love you, Anna.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Hanging up, I shove my phone back into my pocket and dash to my bedroom to retrieve my wallet. Passing by a rectangular wall mirror on the way back, I pause to quickly fix my brown hair, then make a dash for my flats. As I slip my feet into them, my mind wanders back to my first time trying high heels.

A guy I’d known for a while had invited me out on a date, and, wanting to impress, I bought a new pair of heels. That was my first time wearing anything like that. Needless to say the night did not end well; though he was courteous enough to help me carry the shoes when I had to take them off. We didn’t have a second date. I cringe just recalling the horrible experience and promise myself never to try dating again. I’d much rather save myself from the social embarrassment Prepared to make the meeting, I head for the parking lot.

Fortunately, it does not take me long to drive to campus, and I park in front of a large, painted concrete building. Not really dispelling the concentration camp look, is it? I note humorlessly, eyeing the numerous empty parking lots with suspicion. The autumn sun glares down cooly at the trees, which have just started to color. I head in through the doors, noting the words “No Firearms” printed boldly across the glass.

Inside, a receptionist greets me with a thousand dollar smile. I tell her my name and purpose hurriedly. She looks down, keys some information into a computer, then directs me down a hall to a plush waiting room. I note with relief that I’m not too late and settle down in a comfortable armchair.

After a few minutes, someone else enters the waiting room and sits near the door. He picks up a magazine and starts reading. I eye him idly, then start a little. Walking up to his seat, I stand demandingly in front of him. He looks up with a puzzled expression. Seeing me, he discards the magazine carelessly and stands. Davey, my childhood friend pulls me into a quick bearhug, then steps back to arm’s length.

“Annie! You made it here! I knew you were coming in today, but I didn’t expect— Wow. The chances of that, huh? How have you been?”

“Thought I recognized you, Davey,” I grin. “I’ve been fine. High school sucked though, and I have my doubts about college. How about you? I see you’ve kept up the fast pace.”

Davey, who is like a big brother to me, pushes his glasses up his nose thoughtfully, looking for all the world like a dusty forty-year-old professor.“Well, technically, if you look at the speed at which I have been mastering the content here and compare it to grade school, I believe it has decreased by seventeen percent, though I might be off by two or three percent. Still, though—” Davey’s gaze shifts from the ceiling down to me. “College is not necessarily as bad as high school. It’s all about doing what you love, really. You just haven’t found what you enjoy learning yet.”

“What I enjoy learning?” I say. “Well, let’s see. Freerunning, Jiu-Jitsu, rock climbing, swimming, shooting… I don’t suppose I could learn all that here, could I?”

Davey stays noncommittally silent, so I continue. “I don’t even see the point of learning all the rubbish they teach in school. I mean, I’m never going to use any of it. I’d much rather be doing parkour, fighting, and gymnastics than wasting time solving calculus problems.”

“Come on, Annie. Surely you didn’t do that bad in school?”

I roll my eyes. “For someone so smart you have a hard time getting the point, y’know. It’s not that I’m doing bad. I get by just fine. It’s just that I hate it. All the boredom and drudgery. Sitting at a desk all day. I need some action and excitement.

“You know,” I go on. “I have no idea why I have all the financial backing and you have to work two part-time jobs just to stay in college. You deserve all the money I have. You’d be able to invent some revolutionary idea or something.”

“Since when does one invent an idea?” Davey asks with a laugh, then he processes the rest of what I said. “What have I told you about trying to pass off money on me?” he says disapprovingly, driving a hand through his curly black hair. “I’m a self-made man—”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard the whole shebang before,” I grumble. For years I’ve tried to make him accept my money, but he always refuses. It drives me mad knowing I could make his life so much easier, if he would only drop his silly ideas about fairness.

Our conversation pauses as we both sit in adjacent chairs. By the expression on his face, I can tell that Davey is just bursting to ask me something, but I pretend to be oblivious.

After a couple of minutes, Davey touches my arm, getting my attention, and says in a confidential voice. “Have you made any other friends but me?” He puts such an unmistakable emphasis on other that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Well…there’s Oliver,” I say, a small smile creeping onto my face.

“Oh, really?” Davey asks, intrigued. “Where’d you meet him?”

“Technically I haven’t met him yet,” I say, unable to hold it in any longer. “He’s my new cat. Can you believe it? I’m finally getting a pet; I’ll have him in a couple days.” The disappointment on Davey’s face is obvious, and for a moment I feel sorry for him, but only for a moment.

“You’re just the social butterfly, aren’t you?” he growls, upset at having misunderstood.

“Come on, Davey. Lighten up. I swear you could use a class on taking jokes.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says in a deliberately measured voice. “But we don’t have a joke course here. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider?” I shoot daggers at Davey as he smiles away, then stand as my advisor emerges from one of the closed doors and beckons me in.

When the ordeal is finally over, I loiter in the waiting room while Davey finishes discussing his unreasonably long list of courses with his advisor.

“Sheesh, Davey!” I exclaim when he finally comes out. “How many classes are you taking? You spent years in there!”

“Well...” He pushes his glasses up on his nose.

“No, no, you know what? Forget it,” I say hastily. “Let’s go celebrate the fact that I’ve actually arrived and am here to stay.”

The pressure of registering for classes over, I take a brighter look on my future four years of educational imprisonment, and I even manage a small internal backflip. With Davey to help me pull through the tough parts, it can’t possibly turn out that bad, and it is at least a new experience. Heaven knows I love change.