THE TIME AFTER my pleasant weekend spent in Sinclair’s apartment passes quickly and uneventfully. My project for Professor Hall’s class gets finished and turned in three hours before the deadline. It probably would have been turned in a lot sooner but my anxiety leaks through in almost all corners of my life, including something as minor as turning in a project. I had checked and rechecked, added, and deleted until I had come up with something Fara had deemed passable. Fara Earthly’s standards for passable are usually pretty impossible to reach, and only after I had reached that impossible standard did I turn my assignment in.
When I’m not drowning in the loads of work the professors of RLU are throwing at me, I’m reading the new book from the client Fara had thrown my way. It’s a romance
