Read Finding Dell for Free Online

how walking across campus on a hot, windy day made you feel tired. I was too anxious to see Will to let it slow me down.
    The architecture hall was curiously the least structurally impressive on campus. The wide bricks were the color of mustard. Although the building had the low, squat appearance of 1960s construction, sometime in the last five decades twin turrets had been added, turning it into a laughable castle.
    Wooden benches dotted the bluegrass in front of the building. I took a seat at one that was shadowed by a turret and scanned the benches for a glimpse of Will. The warm wind tousled my hair and lulled me into lengthy daydreams about our second reunion, when he’d explain the misunderstandings of the girl at the party and moving off-campus. The scattered students dissolved until we were alone, Will walking toward me with a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, his hair wind-swept, until he broke into a smile that electrified his eyes. He reached me and blocked out the sun; a shiver ran through me at the temperature change on my warm skin. Then the sun slid behind a cloud and I realized I was daydreaming and alone.
    The clock tower punctuated the end of the Wild Mare Woods with a jarring break in a stretch of trees. Like a steeple, it tore at the bright blue sky and reminded me I was running late after skipping lunch to lurk by the architecture hall.
    Inside the communications building, a maze of low-ceilinged hallways were lined with vibrant and sometimes controversial print advertisements and still photos from student-made movies. Clever one-liners dotting the ads served as attempts at copy-writing.
    Professor Sylvie Morrow had a reputation. She looked like she might be better fit buying scratch tickets in bulk at the gasstation and shouting at morning game shows while sweating in a hot trailer, but she was one of the most experienced graphic design professors in the program.
    With fingers so short they looked cut off at the knuckle, she whipped her long braid from the center of her spine to dangle over a shoulder. She then tugged on the tail of her hair hard enough to pull on her thick neck, and paced the room with a crooked neck and a contemplative gaze.
    At first glance, Sylvie Morrow elicited snickers from the boys, the young ones who’d drop out of the program within months anyway. But those who were serious about learning the principles of the craft sat in silence, watching her pace the room. She brought her braid to her mouth to chew on while she waited for the muffled chime of the clock tower to signal the top of the hour.
    While Professor Morrow handed out copies of the syllabus and pointed out the spatial balance on the page, I read quickly through the semester’s assignments. In a few weeks she would introduce a project in which we’d have to work with partners. Immediately I thought of Bernie, who sat across the room with her willowy legs crossed twice, as only the skinniest girls can do. Her lanky frame folded in on itself like a flamingo, but she still looked graceful, even behind her glasses that magnified her eyes and gave her a false aura of naïveté.
    I offered a close-mouthed smile to Bernie, hoping she might reciprocate. It would be nice to study with someone in the dorm for a change, rather than listening to Natalie, an equine science major, prattle on about horse breeds or the condition of their stables.
    But Bernie studied the page as Professor Morrow talked about light mixture estimation. She traced her long fingers along the negative space on the syllabus and didn’t catch my eye.
    When Professor Morrow dismissed class, I folded the syllabus and tucked it into my bag next to the papers from Levi’s morning lab. I pushed up from my desk and followed Bernie down the hall.
    “Bernie?” I called. I cringed at the hesitation in my voice.
    She cocked her neck and waited for me at the door, her hand resting on the handle.
    “Dell Hewitt,” I said, pointing to my chest. “We live in