Read One Hot Fall Term (Yardley College Chronicles Book1) for Free Online

They line the lanes in majestic columns, surround the buildings, and stand in solitary splendor in stretches of open parks and grass-covered quads. Most of the trees glow gold, covered in the yellowing leaves of September, but there are vibrant splashes of red and orange from the maples, stunning in contrast to the dark green firs. There is a crisp bite to the air, though the afternoon sun is bright and hot.
    A breeze comes and sends leaves swirling around all the buildings: the ivy-clad stone ones, the modern ones of brick and glass, and the white clapboard steeple of a New England church. The steeple stands far taller than the old-fashioned stone buildings, pure and white against the backdrop of mountains.
    I printed out the information I need to get to registration. I just want to get this over with and be on my own again. “It’s a building called the O’Connell Building, on Campus Drive,” I tell my stepfather.
    A wooden sign announces we’ve reached it. The building is made of two structures joined together. One half is century old, with stone, ivy, and a slate roof; the other is gleaming blue-green glass. The modern part seems to be exploding out of the old part.
    I send my dad in search of coffee while I register.
    Inside the new part of the building, I sit at a desk while a woman with cropped black hair taps away at a computer keyboard, verifying my information. Her nametag reads Ava Rundell. Sunlight pours in the windows of the offices behind her. I get glimpses of red and gold trees and the blue-green horizon of the White Mountains.
    “The five year Bachelor of Architecture program,” she says, and I assume the computer has pulled up my information. “Most of your courses are already scheduled. About 80% of your schedule is comprised of core courses, which include your studio courses. You do have two electives each term, but we provide a suggested list. There are only five elective courses that will fit into your schedule. If you let me know which you prefer now, I can register you.”
    I could have done this online at home, but I couldn’t make up my mind. Now I see the list of five courses. So I won’t be taking Literature or Fiction Writing or Art. My choices are Marketing, Economics, History of Modern Art, a Writing Program, and Psychology. The rest of my schedule for the entire school year is already set out. The bulk of it is called Studio 101.
    This is my dream and I feel a flare of excitement, but it’s muted. I need to put away the sadness and the empty feeling in my heart. I’ll make this work with Ryan, I promise.
    “I’d like to do the writing program. I saw online that you have a Studio Art program. I was hoping to—”
    “We don’t allow Architecture students to take the art courses, since you will already be spending the bulk of your semester in Architecture Studio,” Ms. Rundell declares. “Those are limited to Fine Arts majors.”
    I nod. My heart sinks though. I was hoping to be able to keep up my art. I tell her I’ll take marketing. She prints everything out.
    I meet my father who is standing outside holding two large coffees. “I have to go to the teller now to pay.” I have his check in my wallet but he insists in going with me. Once I’ve handed over the check I discover I do need him. There are other fees I didn’t know about—another couple of hundred dollars. I’m choking with surprise. Dad calmly puts it on his credit card.
    Then we head to the residences, but on the way I make my father drive past the School of Architecture building. It stands in the middle of a cluster of new glass-clad structures. One is my building, the School of Architecture building, one of the others is the School of Engineering, and the rest house the science labs. I quickly discover the pretty buildings on the campus—the ivy-covered stone ones and the ones that look like clapboard houses with gingerbread trim—are the arts buildings.
    I wish I was going to the old-fashioned buildings.