"Welcome back," Mitch O'Connell greets her with a toothy smile, but she silently glares at him. "And you're dressed like a – somewhat – proper lady. Hopefully, the other students will feel inspired to do the same."

"Why am I here," she asks him, her arms folded and her body leaning against her chair. He blinks back and looks down at the paper on his desk as if her question reminded him.

"I spoke with the arresting officers and Frank Muller, and had them drop the charges against you and your band of Black Panthers," he says, and she rolls her eyes onto the window to his left. "It didn't take much to get them to agree. Frank must've been feeling gracious."

"Thank God for Frank." Judith flashes her top row of teeth at him, and he furrows his brows at her forced smile.

"Yeah," he drones with discomfort. "Anyway, I'll tell you like I told them, you three can stay on one condition: keep your noses clean and your heads down. Any more talk of rioting, and you'll be behind bars faster than you can scream Attica."

"Who?" He stares at her, unsure if she's joking.

"The riot that happened eight years ago in New York," he explains with a questioning undertone, and she looks from her left to her right, then at him again. "Just stay out of trouble. Also, I went ahead and changed your schedule."

"You changed my schedule?" Judith leans forward in her chair, and Mitch lifts a stapled stack of papers from his desk drawer. He licks his thumb, then flips to the next page. He rips it from the rest and extends it to her.

"Yes, I noticed that you and your friends have too much free time in between classes." She takes her new schedule and looks it over as he returns the rest to his drawer. "I'm hoping that my method of adding more classes will keep you kids out of trouble."

"Math and literature," Judith reads, then catches his eyes. He leans back and interlocks his fingers over his beer belly. "This says I'm taking Math and Literature classes."

"I know. I was the one who had it written on the school's typewriter," Mitch smugly informs her. Judith rereads her schedule. "If I'm correct, you have a course with Professor Chandler soon, so I wouldn't dally in my office if I were you."

"Sir, I have to catch the Palmetto Breeze at a certain time. I can't go to any of these extra classes." She sets the paper on his desk.

"Well, then I'll just have to inform your mother that you declined my offer to be back on campus." Judith shrugs nonchalantly. They stare at each other for a moment, and as he rolls his eyes, he exhales his annoyance. "Okay, alright, how's about I get you a dorm room?"

"What?" She creases the skin above her nose bridge.

"I can head downstairs when you leave and grab a residential request form, and with your mother on the line, the three of us can get you approved today." Judith stares at him, waiting for him to laugh so she can, but he leans forward with sweat gliding off his temples, and her stomach churns.

Yeah, he's up to something because this is too good of an offer.

"I'll think about it. Can I go," she asks, and he nods, then reclines in his rolling chair.

Mitch watches Judith stand and lift her bag off the floor by her feet. She heaves it over her shoulders, takes her schedule, and leaves his office. When the tall door clicks shut, and she continues down the hall, she allows her inner voice to distract her.

I can't believe I'm back at this stupid school, and I still don't understand why. Shit. Maybe I should've asked.

She stops at the top of the stairs and stares down the bright corridor.

No. It's fine, keep walking.

She descends the stairs, her right hand trailing down the spiral rails and her eyes scanning the lobby of other students.

Through the mass, she only recognizes a few Hollywood characters: Red Foxx from Sanford and Son, JJ from Good Times, and Farrah Fawcett from her skateboarding scene in Charlie's Angels.

Judith exits the building, and with the sun beaming down on her, she eyes the paper in her left hand.

***

Professor Chandler's dressed in a grey button-up, and the legs of his dusty overalls cover his shoes. On his desk is an earth-brown wool hat that Judith recognizes as the one her newspaper boy wears regardless of the weather.

"How about the effects of beauty," Professor Chandler asks with air quotes. "On women's health. Who here remembers when corsets were common?"

Judith glances around the room of older men and women and counts three hands raised.

"Did any of you know that in the late seventeen hundreds, it was discovered that corsets constrict the user's internal organs," he asks, looking around at his large class of middle-aged and elderly students. Some murmur doubtfully, but she remains silent. "Well, most of you know that we have an upcoming trip to the Mortuary school in Hartsville. If you're interested, the sign-up sheet's on my desk. I look forward to showcasing the other side of medicine."

Judith peers over her shoulder when she hears papers shuffling. Two of her classmates begin stuffing their notes into their book bags, causing a domino effect on the rest of the class.

"Miss. Jefferson, could you stay back for a bit? I have a question I've been meaning to ask." She nods, and as her classmates leave their seats, she stands from hers and tosses her bag over her shoulders. She strolls through the crowd until she reaches her teacher, and they watch the others leave the room.

"What is it," Judith asks him, and she watches him return to his desk.

Reclining in the rolling chair with his arm propped on the armrests, he looks at her and says with a smile, "I heard about that protest you and a few others had outside."

Judith rolls her eyes and sighs.

"Listen, I'm not in the mood for a lecture," she wearily tells him, and he lifts his hands in surrender.

"I've given my fair share for today, I assure you. Pull up a chair." She glances at him and then shuffles to the theater. She carries the nearest seat to her teacher, and he waits for her to sit across from him. She sits on the edge with her bookbag attached to her. "What's wrong?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." She repeatedly darts her eyes off of him.

"Okay, that's fine." Professor Chandler nods and taps his right hand's middle finger against the edge of his armrest. "Well, now that you're a student again, will you sign up for the trip to Hartsville?"

Judith glances down her nose at the paper of names on his desk, a black pen pressing it in place.

"Ironically, I already have plans to see a dead person on Saturday," she rushes the words from her mouth, and the light in her eyes dims when she realizes what she said. He narrows his, and she elaborates, "My Dad – died."

She says it in the form of a question as if she finally realizes it. Her teary eyes glaze onto the paper and the top of her throat tightens.

Professor Chandler sits on the edge of his seat. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do?"

Judith's shoulders jerk forward as she chokes on a sob. With her right hand over her mouth, she jumps to her feet and sprints out of the lecture hall. She continues out of the building and makes her way to the student lounge.

She notices Eric sitting alone at their usual table, hovering over a notebook with his jaw and temple held in his left hand's thumb and middle fingers.

She walks toward him, sniffling with her heart thumping against her crossed arms, and when she stands beside him, he peeks at her out of his peripheral. Seeing her in such disarray, he furrows his brows and straightens his posture.

"Hi," she breathlessly greets him, and he looks around, then at her.

"Hi," he responds with a questioning tone. Judith wipes her face and sniffles.

Right, we haven't spoken directly. Wait – have we spoken at all?

"What's wrong," he finally asks.

"Nothing. Where's Jerome?" He scoffs and lowers his hazel brown eyes onto his notes. His right arm is drawn around the book as if he's hiding what's written, and his thumb is against the edge of the top of the page.

"Probably in his dorm studying like everyone else," Eric answers sarcastically. "If you don't know, the finishing exam's on the fifth of next month."

And I probably won't be here for it.

"Thank you." Judith exits the student lounge and walks along the path to the dorms.

She slows her pace when she spots Juniper walking into the sorority house; Zeta Kappa Delta.

I'll talk to her later.

She treks across the grass of students sitting and sharing notes, some in costumes that she recognizes, others in pajamas, and what she assumes to be regular clothes.

She reaches the Psi Phi building, and without hesitation, she pushes the left door open. A surge of laughter erupts from the living room, voices brash and soft.

Judith steps into the foyer and looks around at the men passing her in both directions. She peeks into the living room and notices an ebony-toned woman with her hair in a wavy bun sitting between Cyrus and a blond male.

"Should you be here?" She whips her head to her right and standing just a few inches taller than her is a coconut brown man in a t-shirt and jeans.

"I'm looking for Jerome," she tells him, and though those in the living room overpower her voice, he hears her.

"Follow me," he says, nodding his head at the stairs before guiding her to them. They ascend to the next floor, and a pale guy with a fiery red bowl cut steps out of the room to their right.

"Oh, CJ, I've been looking for you everywhere," he begins, and Judy stares at the braces on his teeth. "Do you have the notes for Professor Williams' class?"

"Yeah, just let me walk her upstairs, and I'll get them to you," he rushes the words out, now walking faster.

"Good looking out!" CJ and Judith climb the next flight of stairs, and he walks her to the last door on the left.

"Thank you," she says when they stop in front of it, and he nods with a slight grin.

She watches him return down the hall before turning to Jerome's door. She turns the knob and presses forward. The musky smell of trees and burnt leather welcome her into the clean room.

"Jerome," she calls out as she hesitantly steps over the threshold. Judith hears the shower shut off, and she walks toward his bed.

His under blanket and comforter are tucked across his pillow, and the sunlight from the window gives it a surreal appearance, like something from a magazine.

She stands beside it and stares at her painting on the wall. The mixtures of brown and blue, her gentle brush strokes convey her angst through the images of a raging volcano and a tornado.

He kept it.

She turns her head to the sound of a door clicking open, and when Jerome steps out of the bathroom, she faces him.

"Jesus." With a white towel wrapped around his square-shaped hips, he grasps the tucked end as he flinches at the sight of her. "How'd you get in here? When'd you get back?"

"Someone named CJ let me in, and this is my first day back," she says, glancing at his body before veering her wide eyes onto the window.

"Oh," Jerome trails off. He takes a deep breath. "Well, you need to leave. Our housefather is strict about women in our dorms."

"There's a girl downstairs, so I don't think he'd have time to worry. Anyway, I – I need to talk to you." He sighs, steps in front of his dresser, and retrieves his university sweatshirt.

Khalíd bursts through the door, and he scowls at Judy. He looks at Jerome and groans in repulsion as he looks away.

"Put a sock or something on the door next time," he says with his brows drawn in. Jerome and Judy glance at him, then at each other.

"Relax, we're not doing anything." Jerome slips the sweatshirt over his head and torso.

"Yeah, okay," Khalíd sarcastically says as he walks to their nightstand. He rummages through the drawers. "You and Manny are disgusting. He kicked that Puerto Rican dude out of their room, and he's in there right now shagging that white girl we saw yesterday."

Oh my god, just leave already.

"Mary," Jerome asks. Khalíd shakes his head no, and Jerome steps into a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs. Judith sits on the edge of his bed, her bag weighing her down. "Who?"

"The girl with the spot over her eye that he said looks like a Dalmatian." Jerome sniggers, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and Judith shoots him a dark look.

Is he serious?

"Hey, can you leave," she asks Khalíd, and they look at her. He straightens his posture with a dark yellow condom wrapper between his index and middle finger, staring at her for a moment.

Her eyes follow him out of the room, and she sighs with relief when the door slams shut.

"Why would you do that?" She meets Jerome's gaze when he asks.