NoV: Ok, chapter two time!

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After speech ended, Finny and I went our separate ways, vowing that no matter what, we would meet on row G of the parking lot at 3:15.

My English and calculus classes went as normal, with me randomly making notes and doodles on my paper. The fifty-minute classes seemed like fifty hours, thanks to my drolly-minded professors. My English composition professor was a grad student named Jason who was working toward his degree. I didn't understand why this qualified him to teach other people. My calculus professor seemed to be an eighty-year-old German man who knew way too much about math. I just wanted to get through the classes without dying of boredom.

My favorite class (without Phineas) was psychology. I didn't know until I started taking it that I was very interested in how the mind works. I was thinking about making it my major.

After calculus finally ended, I walked over to Buford Hall where I had psychology. It was a huge class of about four hundred students, so they had to seat us in an auditorium. I always sat at the far left, second row so I could see and hear, but still leave quickly when the class ended.

As the room quickly filled up, a girl sat down next to me. She had very curly brown hair and was very pretty. I might have dated her if not for Finny, and my……orientation. Her name was Tabitha, but I had to call her "Tibby." She had been sitting by me since the first day and we had worked on two or three papers together.

"Hey," she said, bubbling into her seat.

"Hey," I replied. "What's new?"

"Nothing," she automatically answered. "Well, actually this morning, my roommate caught our apartment on fire."

"Jeez," I remarked. "Did you put it out?"

"No," she joked, rolling her eyes. "It's still burning."

"Sorry, that was a stupid question," I said. "Did you lose anything?"

She sighed. "Yeah, my English paper. My roommate was trying to make noodles—for breakfast—on the stovetop, a few napkins were nearby, went ablaze and set the whole counter on fire. I told her to remind me to kill her when I get home."

"Well, don't forget," I insisted.

Our professor, Dr. Ramm, entered and began her lecture. We discussed the theory of anchors, an emotional tool. If I understand the concept correctly, an anchor occurs when you perform an action toward another person that triggers a sense-memory and emotional response. Say you had a friend whom you comforted when they started to cry. While you talked them through their problem, you placed your hand sympathetically on their shoulder. If they were a very emotional person, say they cried a few more times over the next few weeks for other reasons and you put your hand on their shoulder to comfort them each time. A few days later, you see them again, having a good day. You place your hand on their shoulder to greet them and they start to cry. That's a negative anchor.

The class ended and Tibby put her hand on my shoulder. "See you Monday," she said with a grin.

Finally the day was over and I achingly made my way to the parking deck on the south end of the school. I took the elevator up to good old row G and searched the perimeter for Phineas. There he was, dark sunglasses, sleeves rolled up, cowlicked hair, leaning against his favorite new toy: a brand-new mammoth-sized black truck. There had been no hope for the red car after the accident, so Mommy Adora took him to a car lot and let him have his pick. He chose a truck so if he wasn't paying attention, he could run over a curb without hurting the body of the vehicle. This was a keen innovation of his because Candidaes U. was downtown and filled with curbs.