Teaching college students was decidedly not what Dr. L. Lawrence Temple had in mind when he moved to Centreville. That was before he had seen the disgraceful conditions of the lab he would be working out of, funded by the 'good people' of the Northern Scientists and Computer Programmers organization; the men's dorms at his old college had been cleaner and better organized.
To buy better equipment, he needed additional money, and the university needed a replacement teacher for its Introduction to Computer Programming course. Which was why he was now in a room half-filled with loud, distracted freshmen, nursing the beginnings of a killer migraine.
"If I could have your attention - " His voice was drowned out in the din. With a sigh, he brought out a whistle and blew a single, shrill note.
"Please take your seats," he said. There was an edge to his voice that told the students the 'please' was merely a polite nothing. "I am Dr. Temple. I will be your teacher for this semester, by which time hopefully Professor Curtis will have recovered enough to take his usual place."
Clasping his hands behind his back, Lawrence walked over to the desk. A barely-disguised sneer passed across his face as he studied the textbook provided for the class. "If you would open your copy of HTML and You to page four .. "
When she was a kid, Christine's father always made sure she arrived on time, whether it was to a birthday party, a doctor's appointment, or the first day of school. He valued punctuality as much as he valued wearing clothes - its presence was merely proper behavior, its absence a mark of mental illness, bad behavior, or stupidity.
Christine's mother had never been on time. She once said that being on time everywhere implied you had nowhere better to be and nothing better to be doing.
Crossing the campus grounds four minutes after her first class started, Christine hoped the professor saw things more like her mother.
She dug into the pocket of her teal sweater, looking for the sheet of paper that would tell her where she was supposed to be going for her first class. The only thing worse than being late into class would be walking into the wrong one.
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me. (From St. Patrick's Breastplate)
- "We Mistborn need not make sense." (BC)
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