Finding A Place

Chapter 2

We were three weeks into college. The first week was orientation. Boring, for the most part, as I had suspected. All kinds of blathering about 'diversity' and all that stuff. My high school talked about 'diversity' too. It meant, "All colors and races are treated with respect-but we all kick the s**t out of the geek." Then there was the 's****l harassment' seminar. Back in high school, the girls considered it 's****l harassment' if I said hello.

Classes, however, had started well, surprisingly enough. I was taking a variety. Stanford required general-type courses, like a humanities course and a writing course. Despite being a computer geek, I had always done well in that sort of thing-especially writing. I worked hard at that. Hey, I wanted to go into computer research. I wanted to help develop the next generation of computer applications. Being able to write up research findings was a plus. So, I did well in the writing courses. I was also taking calculus-and math is one of my strengths.

What surprised me were my classmates. I didn't get scorned. I wrote a paper for the writing course that led to a lively discussion in class-and the feedback I got from my classmates was great. No scorn, no derision, just opinions founded on respect. It was pretty awesome.

What happened the first Monday of the third week of classes was pretty neat, too.

It was in Calculus. We were doing some problems, and I was doing fine with them. I heard a sigh to my right, and turned.

It was a blonde girl I had seen in the class. Didn't know her, but I had noticed her a bit. She was obviously having difficulty with the material.

After class, she stopped me. "Hey. You're good at this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, it's my strength."

"I thought so. Listen, I know this is presumptuous of me, but I need help. I'm a pre-med who has to take this stuff, but Calculus throws me. And I know you are getting it, and I don't know who else to ask."

"I'd be glad to." I stuck out my hand. "Brendan Carruthers."

"Sheila Mitchell," she smiled, shaking my hand. "Oh, Brendan, thank you. I'll be eternally grateful."

"No problem. When do you want to do it?"

"Sure." I gave her my dorm and room number, and we made plans for her to come up about seven.

Jake had some football thing going on, so I was alone when she showed up. "Brendan, I can't thank you enough. I'm doing fine in my other classes, but this is really losing me."

"I'm glad to do it." And I was. I didn't mind helping people at all with classwork. I found it flattering.

We pulled up a chair, and I talked her through some of the stuff we had been doing. As she worked on it, I took a look at her. She was wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Her legs were long, muscular, and very tanned. Her arms looked like they had prominent muscles, too. I could tell she was broad-shouldered. Her face? I think most people would describe it as "cute". She had long, straight blonde hair, a cute turned-up nose, and freckles, visible even with her tan. What I liked were her eyes-they were deep blue and seemed to sparkle.

After a while, she seemed to be picking things up a bit better. I suggested a little break. "You want something to drink?" I asked.

"Love it. Do you have any diet coke?"

"No, but my roomie does," I laughed. "He's cool about stuff like that, I'll just have to owe him one." I grabbed one for her and took a coke for myself. "I don't drink diet coke, I have enough problems keeping any weight on as it is."

She giggled. "Where are you from?" she asked. "I know it's not California, you have an accent," she giggled.

"Chicago. And you?"

"San Diego."

"Ah. That explains the tan."

She giggled. "Well, that and the fact that I spend way too much time in swimming pools, many of them outdoors. I'm a competitive swimmer."

"Oh, you swim for the team here?" I asked.

"Not this year. Next year I will be, but I'm concentrating on some international meets this year. And Nationals next spring-and, hopefully, the Olympics next summer."

"Is that realistic? I mean, do you think you have a shot?"

"Oh, yeah. I won one gold and two silver medals at the world championships this past summer."

"Wow. I'm impressed." She just grinned. "I noticed you were pretty muscular."

"Yeah. You have to be. The backstroke is my primary stroke, and that takes strength, especially in the legs. And, believe me, when I get to the Olympics, I guarantee there will be a couple of people in the pool with me that are on steroids. Since I have no desire to f**k up my body like that, I have to be an animal in the weight room instead.

"Very smart," I said. "I knew a couple of football players in high school who everyone assumed were on 'roids. And they were bigger assholes than the other football players. Which is saying a lot." She giggled. "I have to ask you, though-you said you were pre-med?" She nodded. " And high-level swimming? You must have no time."

"I manage it pretty well," she smiled. "Though I'm not out at parties four nights a week, I can tell you."

"I can imagine," I laughed.

"Pre-med gets harder as you go along. I'm just taking basic courses now. Which is a good thing-I'd hate to be trying to fight my way through some of the junior-level biology courses in an Olympic year. The timing worked out well."

"Except for having to take calculus," I grinned.

"Yeah, except for that," she grinned back. "I'm breezing through Biology, and my humanities-type courses aren't bad, but calc is killing me."

"Well, we can't have that," I smiled. "I have to help you, so your mind is at ease, so I can watch on TV as that American flag goes up a few times next summer."

"Good plan" she grinned.