Oh no! Miss Marcela's Political Science class was held in the audio-visual room of another building situated on the other side of the campus. How could Wanda give my pen back?
Miss Marcela was discussing the plight of our overseas workers. I wasn't listening. My mind was swirling with the thought that I might not see Wanda. It was getting cold, and the air-conditioning wasn't helping. The jacket I was wearing didn't seem to be thick enough. My palms were getting sweaty. My heart was beating faster as I looked at my watch and saw the seconds slowly tick by.
The bell rang. I grabbed my knapsack and walked quickly to the rear, towards the exit. I was the first out the door. I broke into a run towards the other end of the campus, where Wanda was waiting, and where my Cross was waiting. Will she be there? A white Nissan Sentra Series III zoomed by. Could that have been Wanda? No, it couldn't be. I kept running. I sprinted up the stairs and got to the room. No one was there. Damn, damn, damn, damn. I punched the wall. Ouch. I looked at my knuckles and rubbed the pain from them.
Then I saw the note. It was a pretty small note. A yellow Post-It on the wall near the door. It was addressed to "the guy who owns the Cross pen. You weren't here and I had to leave. I'll be in the cafeteria at noon tomorrow." There was a God! I took out my Pilot pen and dropped it in the "Plastic Only" trash can.
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