CHAPTER 27
Boston University
Fall 1989
MARK MY WORDS, without knowledge you’re all bound for the welfare line or the penitentiary,” said Mr. Giencanna, the instructor for the Introduction to Philosophy class. Nobody was trying to hear him, and he proceeded with the daily roll call.
“Mr. Jason Abbott?” Mr. Giencanna called out, fixing his glasses on his hawklike nose.
“Here,” a young man in the rear spoke up.
“Casey Bernard?”
“Right here,” said another male’s voice.
“Miss Natalie Farmer?”
This time there was no reply.
“Natalie Farmer?” he repeated.
A young man wearing a blue and gray varsity jacket nudged Natalie, who was sitting at her desk, dozing off.
“What?” she said sleepily, and with an attitude.
He nodded toward their instructor. “Roll call. That’s what.”
“I’m here, Mr. Giencanna, sir,” Natalie said, wiping around her mouth.
“Stay with us, please, Miss Farmer,” said Mr. Giencanna. Although he phrased it like a request, Natalie knew by his stern tone and the piercing look in his eyes that it was, without a doubt, an order.
Mr. Giencanna cleared his throat and continued. “Miss Julacia Johnson?”
Once again there was no reply. The classroom was silent as everyone looked around to see if there was another nodding student somewhere. Everyone appeared to be wide awake.
“Perhaps we have another sleeping beauty amongst us,” Mr. Giencanna said sarcastically. “Is there a Miss Julacia Johnson present?”
Still there was no reply.
“Julacia Johnson?” he repeated, very much irritated this time. The silence remained.
“Present,” Laci huffed, as she rushed into the classroom with books in hand. The class fell silent to the remarkable presence before them. There Laci stood, just as beautiful as ever. Her shiny Shirley Temple curls, full of body, fell slightly across the left side of her forehead, tickling her eyebrow. Her moody brown eyes sparked with a hunger for knowledge.
“Sorry I’m late,” Laci said out of breath as she looked down at her Movado watch, the same one her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. “But I’m here. I made it!”
“And who are you, sir?” Mr. Giencanna looked past her.
“Ah . . . I’m Din—I mean, Daryl . . . Daryl Highsmith. I’m not on the list, sir; I just got accepted last week.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Vickie Stringer for editorial guidance and support.
Triple Crown Publications.
Kwan Foye, Robert Little, Chloé A. Hillard for allowing my story a chance to be told. There is no way this book could be possible without your support and effort to start my career.
To all the bookstores and distributors and of course, readers.
Thank you!
Lisa Lennox
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