Thursday Night
--Insert pending interaction with Molly here.--
James returns to his empty dorm once more. He connects his laptop to his peripherals and lights a candle, as is his way, then focuses his mind on what to do about Matsuoka. I still don't know why he did what he did, but as it is I see two options. One, he was simply trying to play matchmaker and I've been avoiding an amiable fellow due to my own failure to properly gauge course load. Two, he was trying to use Molly to somehow get me to do that work. James ponders the situation for a while longer before feeling comfortable acting on his current assumptions, then for several minutes more on how to handle it before reaching a course of action that yields positive results for both scenarios. If he really is kind enough to send a pretty girl to a student who neglected his class then I should get myself on his good side, and I'll do that by completing every assignment I missed and giving them to him. That should at least provide him with a good laugh. If he was trying to use her to get me to do that work then he's clever enough to be a problem and I'll get him off my back by doing what he most likely wants: completing every assignment I missed and giving them to him. Either way my situation improves, but is it worth the time?
James opens his assignment tracking text from last semester in Notepad+1. It appears that I ignored about 20% of the out-of-class work for the course. By credit guidelines that should take the average student about 18 hours. 8 hours for sleep and 3 hours for my class tomorrow leaves 13 hours, minus an hour or two for sundries leaves 11-12 hours. I should be fine. James leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling, thinking about how he had wished for more homework, probably for the first time in his life, just a few hours ago. Funny how these things work out.
Saturday - 10:00 AM
This is miserable, as always. James squints against the light from his bedroom window. He begrudgingly keeps it covered with only a thin curtain because sunlight is the only thing that can reliably wake him. Just another reason to hate it. Normally he sleeps in on weekends but he was only able to schedule the minimum number of credits this semester and has slowly begun to fall asleep earlier because he has nothing else to do. Guess there's no choice. I'm not getting back to sleep now. James eventually musters the courage to make the cold journey from his warm bed to a hot shower.
James finishes preparing himself for the world and looks through the contents of the black folder on his desk one last time. He had finished all of the work earlier than he expected last night, especially considering the class ended over six months ago. Those lectures stuck far better than I thought. Matsuoka really is a good teacher. I can't wait to see his reaction when I turn in homework from last semester. Every assignment is in his own format of lined paper on the top with an entry for each problem. That entry either contains an answer in the form of math, formulas, or otherwise difficult to type answers or it directs the reader to the printed sheet which contains the written answers. A marriage, so to speak, of the freedom of handwriting and the legibility and ease of editing inherent to computers. He developed the format for himself, but more than one of his instructors has mentioned that they like it despite sometimes needing to flip between pages -- something about using a consistent formatting and handwritten answers being difficult to read. The best part, though, is that every single assignment he missed is present and properly titled / headed, as if it were legitimate work being turned in normally. James takes a moment to appreciate how comically far in the past all of the due dates are and slides the folder into his bag to ensure he doesn't forget it on Monday. James lifts his bag, which is somewhat heavy even without his books and laptop, by its thick strap and slings it onto his back before he heads to Mochavine for a pick-me-up.
As the coffee shop comes into view James witnesses a young man give his jacket to a redhead before the latter sprints away and the former walks on leisurely. How cute. They must be a couple. The entire event is over long before James reaches the door, at which point he notices how incredibly packed it is. Did I miss some sort of announcement? Being in the dark about a social event is typical for James. I guess I can try somewhere else. James moves off to the side so he isn't standing in the middle of the view from the Mochavine windows and pulls out his phone to search for a coffee shop nearby. He quickly finds one that seems promising. The Shining Kettle, eh? I suppose I'll try it.
James turns to leave when he notices an unmistakable head of silver hair within the cafe. The same one that had hijacked his past two days. Looks like I won't have to wait until Monday after all. Plus maybe I can ask him what he was trying to do and not need to worry about two possible motivations at once. James begins to shift toward the door, but before he takes a step he notices that there is someone sharing a table with the professor. For most people James would have a difficult time identifying them through glass, but this one has a marker as unique as his hoodie and hair color. It's red scarf girl. She goes to the Academy. What's with Matsuoka and meeting pretty female students outside of classes? I wonder if he's trying play matchmaker for her, too? James thinks about his situation for a moment. Even assuming the worst of his motivation on Thursday there's no way he could have it out for me enough to do that twice in such rapid succession, so she should be safe even if he sees me. James looks back toward the professor and considers his move. The two seem like they're having a conversation and it would be rude to interrupt. I suppose I can wait for a few minutes to see how this plays out. If nothing happens there's always that other cafe. Curiosity getting the best of him James leans against the far end of the front wall of the cafe, as if waiting for someone or looking up directions. Thinking back to the five instances of the police asking him questions just because he looked suspicious he pulls down his hood. There's plenty of reds and oranges around that he might have a chance of blending in better like that, anyway. He inconspicuously faces his phone, but remains wary of movement from the pair through the window.