Robyn Wiseman

The Little Black Book

I stumbled out of the life sciences building, shielding my face as the bright sunlight overwhelmed my weak, fluorescent-lighting adjusted eyes. I reached into the bag I had slung over my shoulder to grab my phone when some impatient student barreled into me from behind. The contents of my bag and I lurched toward the 3 steps at the entrance to the building. I flailed unceremoniously for the railing but missed. I landed hard on my hands and knees which were left exposed by the summery floral dress my roommate had talked me into wearing that morning. I jumped up quickly, cheeks burning from the eyes I could feel on me, and my head cracked into someone. I whipped around to see a guy rubbing his jaw. A handsome guy, a handsome guy who I had probably just flashed my underwear to and then concussed.