.. though I must admit I wasn't fully ready to do what must be done, "Sir," I started.He cut me off though, "I don't care why it is you're applying. I'm sure you have your own sad little pity story like all the others of why you should deserve the scholarship and to be my assistant. It really doesn't matter though, does it?" He laughs a little. I'm fully reminded why none of us students like him as a teacher-- his condescending, elitist attitude doesn't help him relate to students at all. Then again, he probably wasn't worried about that. He continues, "If you're going to be my assistant, I might as well see what I'm getting for my money."I closed my eyes. Crap! Steffi had warned me about this. His wife had passed away 11 years before. Since then, he's had a bit of a reputation for liking to look at the pretty girls in his class. I swear one time he was looking up my skirt when I sat in the front row and he sat at his desk lecturing. Turns out, he liked pretty assistants too, because. I darted through the door and down the long, thankfully empty corridor to the EXIT sign that led to the elevators.I ran, dodging people, unable to look behind me as I dashed for the half-filled elevator, just barely making it. I pushed the button for level one, even though it was already lit and waited impatiently for the doors to close.It seemed to take forever to hit the first floor and I elbowed my way out of the now-crowded box and through the waiting crowd, walking fast as I passed the security desk, then breaking into a run to cross the large lobby as quickly as possible and get outside.Luck was with me as there was a line of cabs parked at the curb; jumping into the nearest one, I startled the driver, though my destination seemed to startle her more."That's way out on the north side of town," she stated, though she reacted quickly enough when I handed her a few twenties.I ducked down, just in case they'd already discovered me gone. I couldn't allow myself the luxury of grief,.
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