This is a compellation of Sandy and Kirsten moments arranged in chronological order.
Sandy's pencil scribbled furiously as he listened to his Business Ethics professor ramble on about macro economics. Life at Berkley was nothing like back home; if he listened hard enough he could still hear his mom cursing at him and dropping references from the Old Testament.
"Mr. Cohen?" Professor Kimmins cleared his throat and looked at Sandy expectantly.
Sandy snapped back to reality, "Um…"
"Yes, that's what I thought." Professor Kimmins responded sharply, "Hopefully you'll be a little more attentive on Tuesday for the final."
Sandy nodded slowly, and a few of his peers chuckled quietly.
Through her slight giggling, a young beautiful girl, sitting only three chairs to the right of Sandy raised her hand.
"Yes, Ms. Nichol?"
"A bull vs. bear market."
The professor nodded, "good."
The girl smiled to herself, and then turned and gave a little smile to Sandy.
Sandy rolled his eyes, while Kirsten Nichol was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in the school; she was also the most spoiled. If there was one kind of people that Sandy hated, she would be their leader. Born rich, life was handed to her on a silver platter, and she could do exactly as she pleased.
When class ended, Sandy was about to leave but Dr. Kimmins called him over, Professor Kimmins lectured Sandy on the importance of today's lesson, and Sandy nodded politely, but his attention was on Kirsten Nichol, who was struggling to carry all of her books. She nearly made it out the door when they slipped through her arms and clattered to the floor. Kirsten looked up at Sandy, who had been watching her intently. He quickly turned his attention back to the professor.
"So, do we have an understanding?"
"Yes sir." Sandy turned to leave, and then bent down to help Kirsten gather her stuff.
"Geez, taking enough classes?" Sandy asked, a litter harsher than he had meant.
"Oh my God yes." Kirsten responded immediately
Sandy smiled slightly at her flustered response.
"I'm Kirsten by the way."
Sandy nodded, "Yeah I know who you are. It's kind of hard not to around here."
Kirsten blushed, this wasn't the first time her reputation preceded her. She ignored Sandy's comment, and went back to small talk. "So, what do you think of class?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Sandy asked referring to the incident in class.
Kirsten blushed again, something about him made her nervous. "Don't worry about Kimmins; he just can't believe that people wouldn't want to listen to him."
The two stood up and Sandy looked at her, "I wasn't worried."
"Oh." Kirsten responded quietly.
"Neither should you" Sandy said quietly, as he handed her her books.
"What?" Kirsten asked sharply.
"Nothing."
"No, if you have a problem with me, at least let me know about it."
Sandy shook his head, "I just don't know why you even bother, you could not come to class and still get A's."
Kirsten opened her mouth, "What is that supposed to mean!"
Sandy rolled his eyes, "It's no coincidence that we have the Nichol Library and Nichol dorms on campus."
Now Kirsten shook her head, "Unbelievable." She muttered. "Follow me." She demanded.
"What?" Sandy asked perplexed, "Where?"
"Just follow me!" Kirsten spat angrily.
Sandy was intrigued enough to listen, so they walked side by side, both smoldering, but neither speaking. They continued this way for about ten minutes before Sandy broke the silence. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see." Kirsten responded coldly, "Come on, we're almost there."
Sandy looked around them. They had left campus, and the area was getting dingier and dingier.
Kirsten stopped abruptly in the parking lock of a boarded up liquor store. The parking lot was deserted except for an old station wagon which had weeds growing under its hood, and a rusty mail truck without wheels.
"Oh no…" Sandy said slowly, "This is it…my psychic said the end would come soon. I just can't believe my demise will fall to the hands of a wasp!"
Even through her anger, Kirsten cracked a smile at that, but not wanting Sandy to see her smile, she recovered quickly to her rage. She pointed to the mail truck. "Open it." She demanded.
"What? Why?"
"Just open it!"
"Okay…but if something jumps out and murders me, I sincerely hope the guilt keeps you up every night."
Sandy approached the back door to the truck and twisted the handle slowly. He stared into the truck in disbelief. He now stood in a tiny, make-shift apartment. An old desk was pushed in the corner, stacked high with books and loose sheets of paper. A lumpy mattress was on the floor, made up with a pillow and blanket. A mini refrigerator was plugged in, and next to it was a hot plate with a pot on it. One wall of the mail truck was covered with pictures. These pictures displayed a different world; fancy dresses and limousines stared back, bringing an eerie feeling of deep contradiction.
Sandy stood in disbelief. He turned to Kirsten and didn't say anything.
"You haven't seen the best part yet." She said walking past him. She opened up the curtain to the front of the truck; there, stacked on the seats and dashboard were hundreds of packages of Ramen Noodles.
Sandy laughed when he saw that. "You've got to be kidding me. You live here? I mean…YOU live here?"
"That's right." Kirsten confirmed, "So who's the pretentious one now?"
Sandy was still stunned, "But what about your family?"
Kirsten nodded, "Yeah, I could have lived in a three bedroom suite by myself if I wanted to…but I don't want that! I refuse to be one of those people who gladly takes hand outs."
"I-I had no idea!" Sandy stammered, walking over to her side.
"Nobody does." Kirsten said softly, "Everybody thinks that just because they know my father's politics and principles," she scoffed, "or lack there of, they know me. I want to be Kirsten Nichol, not Caleb Nichol's daughter. Okay?"
"Okay." Sandy said gently, "I'm sorry."
Kirsten sighed, "It's fine, you're not the only person who does this. I just don't know what people want from me. I mean…what do you want from me?"
Sandy smiled, "How about dinner Friday night?"