"I'm fine," you say rather stiffly, your face flushed. You scramble for your water bottle and cell phone, which thankfully hasn't cracked.
Skyler points to the dirty knee poking through the fresh hole in your jeans. "You're bleeding."
"Just a bit of a scrape," you answer. "Um…thanks, I gotta run."
As they continue on their way, Casey turns to Skyler and resumes their previous conversation. "If Darien can actually get the machinery to-"
Skyler interrupts, "He doesn't have the expertise."
"What if you were to help-?"
"I don't…"
You're curious, but by now they're too far away for you to hear any more. You can hardly reverse course and eavesdrop.
Plus you're later than ever. Damn—this is not how to impress the dean of students! You remember being told he also prizes neatness. You brush off the last of the clinging leaves while trotting toward the administration building, a study in midcentury neoclassical pomposity. The nearest set of doors is flooded with people exiting. It seems to take forever to weave through the cheery throng of undergrads. You make it inside and reach the elevators to find them both out of order. Drat! Dean Green's office is on the fifth floor. You head for the stairs and start up them.
Go easy. I spend my time on filmmaking and engineering, not at the gym.
Go faster. I'm not a gym rat, but I jog as a break from engineering and filmmaking.
Sprint. I'm in top physical condition, although my engineering and filmmaking grades have suffered.
Next