Passing college is a difficult task on its own, but imagine what it's like when your final grade rests in the hands of the worlds' favorite rock-star.
As graduation from her local community college approaches, Reese Taylors yearns for some answers...
{ time lapse } - frames are shot at a much slower rate; allows action to progress faster than it would in reality
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May
"All right, class. As of noon today, you all should've submitted your completed documentaries to the shared Google drive folder; and I will be checking timestamps in order to grade you all fairly. Going around the room are observation forms that you're all filling out as part of your final grade; you will make comments on the cinematography, the editing decisions, things you thought were done well, and suggestions to improve their future projects." Professor Qing announces to the class once the clock struck 12:30, as punctual as ever. "This is in place of our final exam and designated exam time. So, it is extremely crucial that you attend class this week, as your final grade depends on it. Don't be skipping Thursday like you're all prone to do." I tuck my phone away in my pencil pouch and wait for the observation sheet to make its way around the room.
It's been two weeks since the news of me and Lennon took the media by storm, and we broke the hearts of millions of teenage—and young adult—girls as their dream man was officially taken off the market.
I can still remember the terror in Lennon's voice when he called me about that headline. The quote was taken out of context and left out important words, like not a publicity stunt, and that he was trying his best to set everything straight. He never mentioned how Emma took the news, and I never asked.
Our contact with each other has been sparse, lessening as their US leg of the tour began at the beginning of the month. They started off in New York City, performing a few songs on Good Morning America and two sold-out shows that weekend.
I'm not sure what will happen when they make their stop at Pittsburgh at the end of the month, and I try not to think about it too much. After the image of Lennon and me leaked, I had locked myself in my bedroom and played Taylor Swift on repeat, as I sobbed into my pillow at the continuous stream of nasty comments and my name being dragged through the mud.
"No one will want to hire me," I had muttered through sobs a few weeks ago. Cora had managed to get me out of my room, but we only made it to the couch before my head was buried in her lap, and her fingers were combing through my greasy hair.
I knew it was the last thing she thought I'd confess to her—even though it's been plaguing my mind since I came to a decision about what exactly I plan to focus on—but she handled it well. "Any person in their right mind would see that all those comments about you were written out of jealousy and spite."
"Not everyone will look that hard."
"Then why would you want to work for them?" Cora had said, and the subject was dropped.
The last observation paper makes its way in front of me, snapping me from my memory. Thankfully, my peers in this class cared more about their personal space—and an empty chair beside them to place their bag—and kept to the seat they chose at the beginning of the semester. I'm not sure how celebrities handle people invading their personal space all the time, but it's really not appreciated when I'm trying to focus.
