EDIT 25 DEC 2018: Nothing new, just fixed some wording issues. 

To clear some things up, I don't actually know how the fuck university works... I know the basics but yeah. So here are some things to note. SKIP IF YOU DON'T CARE (IN A NUTSHELL, DON'T QUESTION THE SHIT I MAKE UP ABOUT UNI IN THIS BOOK)

-I will probably make up a few things that aren't true to how university really works, just go with it okay? I don't plan to get any of my stories published since I just write for fun and the competition is tough so how factually or realistic I write doesn't matter thank god.

-I will just refer to all university teachers as professors - this does not imply that they have a certain academic qualification or anything, it's just a title.

-For the sake of this story, professors in Harrow University stay AKA sleep on campus, like students

-I know university is a lot more lax than school but I have intentionally made Harrow University (the university in this book) strict because as you will find out as you read on below, they accept students with shitty grades and try to keep them in line so they come out with good qualifications and are set up for a good life. I don't recommend anyone slacks off in exams and hopes that they get accepted into a uni like this though xD Frankly, I don't think many, or any, exist. Who knows though.

-Don't think anything that I write in this story is how university really works. Chances are, real life is the complete, polar opposite but just ENJOY THE FACKING STORY OKAY BYE

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●qυorra neverѕea ●

You know what's funny about being enough?

No idea. I'll let you know when I feel it.

Working hard for countless years and then being barely accepted into the shittiest university in the country doesn't really feel like a pat on the back. But it's going to have to do until I figure the hell out how I can inject intellectual, natural talent into my veins so all my effort doesn't go to waste.

I lug my bags down the unfamiliar, dull hallway of Harrow University, every step heavier than the last as dread and weariness consume me. Rubbing at my eyes, I find myself at a smooth, warm-brown door with H2 painted on the front. For being the shittiest university in the country in terms of grades, this place has pretty nice facilities, I think to myself as I remember the modern looking communal rooms and kitchen I passed on the way up here.

Swiping my student card over the block next to the handle, a clicking noise greets my ears as I enter the room, immediately taken aback by its quite-reasonable size. The walls are a boring beige shade that is just waiting to be plastered and covered by posters and schedules. The floor is carpeted with a clean, dull, blue colour and as I walk further into the room and remove my shoes, I spot a bathroom around the corner. Two queen sized beds are displayed at the back of the room, both almost touching opposite walls with a fair amount of space between them.

(A/N enjoy the following shitty drawing I made in my iPad notes... It's surprisingly hard to write neatly... And there was no beige colour... Needless to say - not the scale.)

I wander up to the one on the left, running my palm over the snow white covers and surprised yet again by the soft linen. A light brown dresser stands to my right, some piece of fabric poking out the upper, unclosed drawer.

"What on earth..." I murmur to myself, eyes scanning the room until my eyes land on the second bed, the covers slighty mussed up.

Do I have a roommate? I don't remember being told that at the front desk... I shrug, going back to the door to retrieve my bags before tapping on the light switch and setting my bags down closer to the bed.

My watch beeps incessantly, alerting my that's it's turned to four in the afternoon. I dig around in the front pocket of my backpack before pulling out my phone. Biting my lip, I second guess my intention to text my parents. They've never been the most encouraging or supportive parents, and their disappointment in my lack of success isn't exactly hidden, but they did ask me to text them when I arrive at my room.

I shake my head, deciding to let them worry for a while longer as I sink into the bed I'll be sleeping in for the next few years. I remove the crumpled schedule from my pocket that I was given, and see that I have a couple lectures tomorrow, and one today - an English one.

With a sigh at the mention of one of my weakest classes, I drag myself towards the bathroom to take a hot, long shower and to drown away my dread. Why on earth am I majoring in a subject that I'm so awful at that I had to cheat to get a C? Because it seemed easy? Easy, my ass...

I emerge from the shower half an hour later, clean shaven, hair washed, and wrapped in a fluffy, crimson towel. My soaked, dark blonde hair drips water onto the carpeted floor around me as I head towards my bags to get changed.

Finding an oversized shirt and cotton shorts, I dry myself off before dressing in undergarments and slipping into my comfy clothes. The silence in the room is soon becoming too much to bear. I exhale heavily, glancing around the room as I pat down my hair before leaving it to air dry. My old home with my parents was never quite silent. But then again, with three other siblings, can you ever expect it to be? This level of quiet is just... unnerving.

Well, Harrow University isn't as run down and crappy as I originally thought. Maybe I'll enjoy it here... Not.

Classes are going to be awful...

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I subconsciously shake my feet under the table, anxiously watching as the teacher distributes the test results individually. Other students seem to be at ease, probably confident in their outstanding scores, but I'm rather the opposite.

"Excellent work, Fallon. Asher, you could do with some work but it's an improvement."

She shuffles down the aisles, handing out papers left and right, "Scott, good job."

Fear builds up in my chest as she approaches me. Two months. Two months of work and revision and early studying for this huge test. Come on, Quorra. You got this. This can't have gone wrong. I think I did alright.

The teacher comes to a halt in front of me as I slowly lift my wobbly gaze to hers. Her eyes are sharp as she hands me my test, lips turned down as she glances at the score. She says nothing.

I just want sixty percent. Sixty. Come on. I take the paper from her and try to block out her disapproving gaze as she continues. My eyes meet the circled, red score of the paper.

Engraved into the paper so harshly, as if written with angry disappointment, is the number 54.

Something stabs me in the chest and crawls through every bone in my body. Pressure builds behind my eyes and I turn the paper face down onto the desk and clench my fists together to stop the angry and frustrated tears from falling. My throat feels like it closes up.

Two months. Why do I even try?

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I lay, wide awake in my bed and staring at the mundane ceiling with nothing but utter boredom in desperation to waste away the hours. Time to myself in the silence of this rooms leads to my thoughts running free and that's dangerous. I tend to overthink. A lot.

But one thought is really nagging me. I feel like I'm forgetting something...

Oh shit. Sitting up, I scramble to the dresser and quickly grab my schedule from the top, smoothing out the creases as my eyes widen. Oh shit. Oh shitey shit shit shite. My english lecture started twenty minutes ago.

Late to my first lecture. Brilliant. Panicking, I almost trip as I strip my clothes as if they're poison and frantically search through my suitcase for suitable clothes.

Oh god. This is not the time to be stuck in a moral dilemma about fucking clothing. I hurriedly settle on a too-small, white shirt that I convinced myself I could pull off, and a pair of torn, tight jeans. I grab the hoodie I wore when I first arrived and violently step into a pair of laced shoes as I hightail it out the door, almost hit my funny bone on the doorframe, hurry back in to grab my student card and phone, and sprint down the corridor, hoping that mindless wandering will get me to my lecture room.

A few confusing minutes later, I burst into room B18 with a sense of accomplishment at finding my way around the elaborate labyrinth of hallways and a stomach full of nerves. Immediately, a deep shade settles on my cheek as around fifty pairs of eyes slowly glance to me, and the one professor at the front of the room turns around.

I stutter over my words as I try to find my voice in the midst of my humiliation, "J-uh I'm-uh, I-I forgot, no, I mean I-uh... sorry."

"Uh?" the professor adds, crossing his arms over his chest before addressing the rest of the class, "Review the notes you've taken for the next few minutes while I deal with our late student."

I flush with colour as some of the others chuckle and a low hum of chatter resonates in the large, colosseum-like room as he strides towards me with a gaze like steel. I wait silently, not able to help it as I notice how handsome he looks for a teacher... Get it together, Quo. His dark brown hair is swept out of his forehead with his fingers as he stops in front of me, unimpressed.

"Miss...?" he gestures for me to introduce myself.

"Quorra Neversea," I hold back my stutter and nervously tuck a rebellious flyaway behind my ear.

He raises an eyebrow at me as I note that his jawline is sharp enough to cut diamond and probably my neck too, "And why are you half an hour late to your first lecture of your first year? While many students slack off throughout the years and start to not attend lectures, it is crucial in your first year to attend as many as possible, Miss Neversea. Especially in this university, it would be best for all students to attend all their lectures to ensure they are given the best chance of obtaining whatever desired level of education they wish for and are set up for an easy, successful life."

Are all universities this formal and strict or just this shitty one? I bow my head, finding that staring into his dark eyes is distracting, "Sorry, I lost track of time... Mr... I don't... know your name..."

Should I have added the 'Mr'? How on earth does university even work? Oh god. I'm so screwed.

If I didn't imagine it, the smallest of smirks falls onto his full lips, though it is masked by his hand.

"Miss Neversea, are you going to be late to another lecture?" he asks, my name leaving his lips sending a shudder down my back.

"N-no," I shake my head, my dark blonde hair falling around me onto my shoulders as I long to be out of his piercing gaze and quickly add, "Mr."

"Good, go take a seat next to Mr Lincoln," he says as I nod and hurry to get away from his gaze, "Oh, and Miss Neversea, you shall address me as Sir. Not Mr. You talk up to me, not down. And if you haven't noticed yet, this is a university, not a primary school."

He must take enjoyment in my embarrassment because all the blood in my body rushes to my face and settles. I scramble to fall into my seat next to a guy with short, blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Hey, I'm Grant," he smiles at me as I nod and try to get over my humiliation.

I tuck in my chair and notice that everyone has notebooks and textbooks out. Oh shite, I don't own any of that crap. As the still-unnamed professor walks back to the front of the room, I shake Grant's hand, "Quorra," I introduce.

My curiosity gets the best of me as I tap his shoulder, "Hey, um, do you know why this university is so..."

"Uptight? Treats us like children? Sleek looking yet intellectually the shittiest place in the country? Strict compared to other universities?" he fills in as I scratch the back of my neck.

"... different?" I finish, wincing as he grins and answers while the teacher restarts the lecture, "I'll tell you what they told me at the briefing yesterday. They said they want the best for us and since our previous grades won't exactly attract a good job, we need to be disciplined so we realise the extent of how our actions affect our future lives. In simpler words, we need to be treated like children so we get our degrees and don't have shitty lives."

"Mr Lincoln, that a strike for swearing and a strike for talking over me," a sharp voice comes from the front as I redirect my attention and roll my eyes, "And Miss Neversea, that's a strike for rudeness."

I gape at him as he raises an eyebrow, daring me to challenge him, "I'll see you both after class."