Chapter Two – A Chance Meeting

"Linda, come on! You've been holed up in there all evening doing who knows what," Fran, Linda's roommate, called from across the hall. "Get your head out of the books and live a little, why don't you?"

Linda sat at the desk in their dorm room, rereading the letter that was sitting on the floor when they got back earlier from class.

"I appreciate the offer, Fran," Linda said as she laid the letter down. "But I really am busy."

Fran scoffed, fluffing her large mane of bright-red hair. "Suit yourself, then." She fixed her breasts to look fuller and Linda rolled her eyes; Fran would probably have been more comfortable going out naked than wearing her extremely conservative dress, but for the sake of the hormones of the guys all around them, she put with the bright yellow dress that brought out the flaming color of her bright red hair. "You're really missing out on life, you know."

"I'm sure I'll live," Linda said dryly, opening her textbook to where she left off.

"Seriously." Fran's heels clicked as she walked out of the washroom and back into the room. "Come and take a break. We're just meeting up at the pub, nothing fancy." Fran stared incredulously at her friend as Linda ignored her, starting on a new set of calculations. "Linda, we're at university now!" She spread out her hands to make her point. "We can do whatever we want! We're finally on our own, away from our parents!"

"I'm still underage," Linda reminded her. "I have restrictions."

"But not as much as you had back home. And I know how much you appreciate that…" Fran gave her a knowing look and Linda's eyes drifted back to the letter. "So, who are they setting you up with this time?"

Linda sighed, leaning her head back. "An old family friend's son. He's a doctor," she tried to say brightly, but her face fell back at Fran's noise of disgust.

"They just don't know when to quit, do they?"

"They're my parents. They have every right to care about me." It was more of an automatic statement, filled with just as much emotion as talking about grass growing. Imbedded in her mind, but not quite sitting well elsewhere. It was the truth, though; Linda's parents, Ulysses and Sarah, loved their only daughter and their only wish was to see her well off, with someone of her intellectual level. They constantly set her up with some of the brightest students of her age group, convinced that she wouldn't be happy with someone an inch less than what she was capable of.

Which made her want to tear every shred of hair out of her head.

"But your parents aren't the ones that have to be married to some of these sods." Fran seemed to voicing Linda's deepest conviction. Her lips in a tense line, she started back on her calculations. "What about that boy that walked you to your class last week? Michael, was it? He's pretty smart, he's in the same classes as you."

"He's nice." Linda shrugged nonchalantly.

"But?"

"He's not my type."

"What is even a genius's type anyway?" Fran stood up and walked to the bedside table, putting on her earrings. Linda lightly clenched her fist. "I mean, seriously. I guess you have to go by a different set of code or something compared to us little people."

"I hate that word, genius," Linda muttered. "It's because I'm a 'genius' that I'm being treated as though I'm an idiot." Fran laughed from by her side.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You wouldn't understand…" Linda picked up the letter again. Peter, the doctor, was probably extremely dry and boring, like most of the men Linda had met over the years through her parents. There was no passion, no vision, no emotion with any of the brilliant minds she met; just pure intellect, which wasn't a bad thing, but when the mind became lost and aged, what else was there?

"Look, just come out with me, forget your parents." Fran snatched the letter and tossed it in the bin. "And forget your maths." She closed the textbook in front of Linda roughly. "Numbers won't buy you drinks or dinner."

Linda smirked and opened her book to the page where it was at. "You go on," she said, picking up her pencil to start on her homework again. "Have a great time, and try not to go home with anyone."

"Oh, I would never." Fran winked and walked out of the dorm room. Linda sighed and shut the textbook, her mind back on the letter in the bin. Maybe it was best that her parents were searching for a mate for her. There weren't exactly any suitors beating the dorm room door down at a chance to have a date with her in the first place. It certainly took the stress off of her to sit back while her parents brought her prospects.

At least, that's what she told herself when the pressure was overwhelming her...

The sounds of the cricket game sounded distant as Chris listened to his narrator tell the story, occasionally looking up to watch some of the guys play and back down to his paper again to write down the word he was looking for. It was a nice day outside on the grounds; cool, with a light wind that gently blew at the pages of the notebook as he wrote. After a few minutes, without warning, Michael plopped down beside him, panting and guzzling down a cup of water.

"You know," he panted shortly, dabbing his face with his shirt. "You should join us for a game or two."

"You know I would be a hindrance more than a help," Chris said dryly as he crossed out a line.

"With some practice, you could get really good, you know."

"I doubt that." Michael chuckled and rubbed his shoulder, looking over it to see Chris writing furiously.

"What are you writing now?"

"A submission for the campus magazine."

"Is that right?" Finally, Chris was going to start trying to get noticed with his writing. It was about time. "Well, that's great. What is it?"

"It's a crime story." Chris reread shortly over his last paragraph, smiling. "I've been working on it for a while now, just had to get the details right…"

"Sounds right and good, then. How's the search for a math tutor going?"

"It's not," Chris replied, finishing up a line for the murderer. A group of girls passed by them, and Michael smiled, waving at them.

"The girls here are great, don't you think?" Chris looked up at and saw the girl from his English class stopping to wave her fingers at him shyly, and he immediately looked back down.

"I guess so."

"I mean, there's so many of them. It's like…like…." Michael laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I can't think of a way to describe it."

"Just call it what it is: a jackpot."

"Exactly! So," Michael turned. "We should get ourselves a couple of dates and go out. Girls love a good poet."

"I don't write poetry for women." Which wasn't exactly the truth. Over the years, Chris wrote many different poems about the girls that he fancied, but he never let them see the light of day. He kept them in a box in his room back home, bidding his time for a day when he could show them to someone who would really appreciate his words.

"Well, I'm sure if you found a girl you really liked, you would write her poems all the time."

Chris shook his head to clear his thoughts of the box. "Maybe," he finally said, closing his notebook and resting his eyes. It was almost completely finished; after three years of designing, redesigning and rewriting almost everything, his story was almost complete and he was really submitting it for others to read. A big step, but it was time to show what he could do.

"So, how about this," Michael said, sounding as though he was trying to tread carefully. Chris opened an eye to look at him. "I have in mind a girl I would like to ask out. I'll see if she has a friend and we can have a double dates of sorts."

"Michael-"

"Come now, Chris, just this once."

Chris closed his eye again and relaxed. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea; it was just one little date, what harm could it do? "Just this once. Now, if you'll excuse me…" He got up suddenly and slung his bag over his shoulder, walking back toward the university.

"Oh, bloody hell..." Linda swore under her breath as she walked down the open corridor, balancing the newest set of textbooks for her added classes in her arms. There was going to be no such thing as a life with all the extra work that she had signed herself up for, but it wasn't as though anything exciting was happening in her life anyway, so why not take the extra time to study and get ahead? She made a mental note to write her parents and let them know of the change to her education plans-

Without any warning, something painfully collided with her and she dropped all the books, her body throbbing with the ache of the hit.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the man politely said, leaning down and starting to gather and stack her books. Irritated with not only herself, but the stupid stranger, she got down as well to pick up some of the smaller books that had tumbled away. "I can be so clumsy."

"It's fine," she muttered, trying her best to hide her annoyance with him, but as she reached out for a book, his hand landed on hers and their eyes met. It felt as though someone had stuffed cotton balls in her mouth as she stared at him. His eyes...they were a deep hazel color, with just a hint of green along the edge of the irises. She had never seen someone, especially not a man, with such a unique set of eyes. They were...almost beautiful to look at. She felt her throat close up as those eyes swept her face, seeming to take in every little detail. Clearing her throat, she felt her voice quake.

"It's completely...wholly...absolutely fine." The last word came out in a quiet breath, and she felt her cheeks blaze with embarrassment at her open and mindless gawking. She wasn't some dewy-eyed schoolgirl anymore, but a mature woman and yet, within a few seconds of meeting eyes with a, quite frankly, attractive stranger, she was a blubbering mess. He must've noticed that she was uncomfortable because he pulled his hand back, also seeming a little taken aback himself. Quickly, she gathered her books and stacked them again, pulling herself up to her feet.

The man looked at the last of her books that was in his hand and his eyebrows rose.

"Econometics," he read slowly, his brows furrowing in thought. "I'm sorry to say I've never heard of it." He set the book gently on top of the stack in her arms.

"Oh," Linda said before she could stop herself. "It's a fascinating subject. It's built on a basic understanding of linear regression and statistical theory to create econometic models and anaylze economic history, even going so far as to be used to create an economic forecast. It-" she trailed off at the man's wide-eyed expression. "It...actually, now that I think about it, it isn't all that fascinating." She felt her cheeks suddenly blaze in embarrasment, but as much as she tried to make herself stop talking, she felt like her mouth was on autopilot and completely overidding her entire nervous system. "Oh what am I saying; it would put most people in a right sleep. Regression anaylsis can be a rather dry matter to work with-"

SHUT UP LINDA!

She stopped talking, feeling incredibly humilated by her senseless babbling. As the man stared at her, looking so utterly lost, she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. He opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Well...that all sounds...interesting," he said with a slight smile. "It certainly sounds more complicated than Beowulf."

"I'm sorry, who?"

He chuckled softly and the deep rumbling sound made her hair slightly stand on end. "Never mind. Can I help you walk to where-"

"I can manage," she said before he could finish, and she took that as her cue to leave, walking past him with a whoosh. As she walked across the grounds, she finally felt her face stop burning and she sighed in relief. Thankfully, she didn't recognize him from any of her classes; hopefully, she would be rid of the embarassing memory and never see him again.