You set yourself up for a normal day of classes, taking a couple hits right before leaving your dorm. Upon arriving to lecture, you go about your usual routine of questioning some peers, inquiring if they can smell your weed. You usually bring up other topics, too, but for some reason they seem annoyed that you ask them this question everyday. Weird.

However, when you ask Jared, the guy you asked for homework last night and left you on read, he says something you weren’t quite expecting.

“Dude, stop asking. Yes, the professor can tell, every day. They know it’s yours. Like, yes, they know everyone else does it, but they don’t care. They’re going to call out to you and only you on it. They’re literally going to kick you out of class. No, I’m not joking. I know every other time it’s been fine, but this time it won’t be. And once they say it, everyone is going to know that you specifically are high. It doesn’t matter if you sit in the back, once you sit down, everyone is going to crane their heads to look at you at the same time.”

Panic sets in. Jared has just dropped a bomb that would put the Cold War arsenals of the US and USSR to shame. You start scrambling and hyperventilating. It can’t be that loud, right? You leave your things and head to the bathroom, frantically asking everyone you see on the way if they perhaps have spare eye drops, including your discussion TA. Their eyes shoot daggers at you (for exactly 37 seconds, you counted) before they go back to their work. Shit. 

In the bathroom, you turn on the faucet to splash your face, but the pressure is too high and your shirt gets wet. It doesn’t matter. Lecture started 2 minutes ago and all of your things are in there. Surrounded by everyone who knows that you, specifically, are high. 

Upon walking back in, the professor stops mid-sentence and stares directly at you. Time stops, but not in a romantic way. They look at you, call out your full name (how did they know your exact hyphenated middle name?), and ask you to leave class for being “too high.” Everyone turns at once and looks at you. They laugh, and you’re reminded of that one time you pissed your pants in front of your third grade class. Quick piss check? Nothing there. Close one, though. You grab your things, cover yourself with your backpack (because obviously they can’t see you if you can’t see them), and run out.

You run out of the building, definitely not drawing any attention to yourself. Can they expel you for this? Oh fuck. They definitely can. Should you go back to lecture? No, you’ll have another piss incident. In the process of racking your brain for answers to  these hard hitting questions, the entirety of your lecture has passed. You need to go back to talk to your professor, but as you walk into the building, you need to re-photoshop your overdue badge because now they’re checking. After that’s done, you walk to the professor’s office, but you stop right outside. You smell something… familiar. No. Fucking. Way. They’re lighting up in there. You walk in, not sure of what you’re about to experience, but knowing damn well that you won’t remember it.

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