After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)
Well, this is different.
“So let’s get started. There is no syllabus for this course. We will not be following a strict outline—that isn’t my style . . . but you’ll learn all that you need to know by the end date. Seventy-five percent of your grade will come from a journal that you’ll be required to keep. And I know you’re thinking: What does a journal have to do with religion? It doesn’t per se . . . but in a way it does. In order to study and really understand any form of spirituality, you have to be open to the idea of anything and everything. Keeping a journal will help with that, and some of the things I’ll have you write about will involve topics that people aren’t comfortable with, topics that are very controversial and uncomfortable for some. But all the same, I have high hopes that everyone will leave this class with an open mind and maybe a little knowledge.” He beams and unbuttons his jacket.
Landon and I both turn to look at each other at the same time. No syllabus? Landon mouths.
A journal? I reply silently.
Professor Soto takes a seat at the large desk in the front of the room and pulls a bottle of water from his bag. “You can talk amongst yourselves until the end of class, or you can go ahead and go for today and we’ll begin the real work tomorrow. Just sign the roster so I can see how many flakes we had that didn’t show for the first day,” he announces with a playful grin.
The class howls and cheers before departing quickly, Landon shrugs at me, and we both stand up after the room is empty. We’re the last to sign the attendance roster.
“Well, I guess this is cool. I can call Dakota for a little while between classes,” he says and packs his things.
THE REST OF THE DAY goes by quickly, and I’m eager to see Hardin. I’ve sent him a few text messages, but he has yet to respond. My feet are killing me as I make my way to the athletic building; I hadn’t realized how far of a walk it would be. The smell of sweat invades my nostrils as soon as I open the main door, and I hurry to the locker room labeled with a stick figure in a dress. The walls are lined with thin red lockers, the metal showing through the chipped paint job.
“How do we know which locker to use?” I ask a short brunette wearing a bathing suit.
“Just pick one and use the lock you brought,” she says.
“Oh . . .” Of course, I didn’t think to bring a lock.
Seeing my expression, she digs into her bag and hands me a small lock. “Here, I have an extra. The combination is on the back; I haven’t removed the sticker.”
I thank her as she walks out of the room. After I’m changed into a new pair of black yoga pants and a white T-shirt, I head out. As I walk down the hall to the yoga room, a group of lacrosse players pass by, several of them making a vulgar remark that I choose to ignore. All of them except one keeps moving.