Chapter 7
Grant Writing was the worst class of all. The teacher was not much older than Dane but looked more run-down than Sean. His slideshow had no pictures and too much text, and his voice was arguably drier than the content. Dane fell asleep. Twice. By the end he was so sluggish it was difficult to drag his ass out of the room, and he nearly ran into the Willowdude-obsessed student from the other day in the hallway.
“What?” asked Dane, probably pissier than necessary, but the guy was eyeing him suspiciously. He hadn’t been in the class, which meant he’d been waiting for Dane outside it.
“Did Jake get to you?”
“No,” said Dane. He started walking down the hallway, vaguely annoyed. The f**k did college students have to be so paranoid about, anyway? “The hell are you talking about?”
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