idea is solid. As soon as I graduate, I am taking it to a company that can put it to work. One day, I’m going to laugh my ass off atop my piles of millions. I’m going to come back here as an alum and make sure I point out that the asshole tried to keep me down.”
He laughed. “Gee, tell me how you really feel.”
“I’ll see you later. Good luck with the girl.”
“I don’t need any luck,” he shouted as he walked away.
I headed for class. It was my only class for the day. I had a feeling I was going to need a stiff drink afterward. I was so looking forward to the end of the semester. I was done with school. Getting my engineering degree had been a long, hard process. I told myself it was better than the alternative. At least for me. I was not military material. My dad insisted I was. I wasn’t. I knew myself better than he did, whether he believed that or not.
I pulled open the door and walked down the hall filled with posters about graduation, classes for next year, and so on. I ignored them all. I had short-timer syndrome. I was so close to being finished. I popped into the restroom before going to class. I was early.
I pushed up my sunglasses and took a look in the mirror. One of the reasons the old goat didn’t like me was he felt I didn’t take life seriously enough. Maybe I didn’t. I thought judging a book by its cover was wrong. My hair was too long. I liked the shaggy look. I supposed I probably looked like one of the millions of surfers that hung out at the beach with light brown hair that hung in light layers just above my shoulders.
I dressed like a surfer, I supposed. It was my senior year of college. The dress standard depleted with each passing term. I was lucky to find clean clothes, or mostly clean. I didn’t give a shit whether I matched or if they were wrinkled.
I smirked as I used my fingers to comb my hair down. I could admit my lack of concern for my image was a direct insult to my dad and family that had sticks way too high up their asses. I was the proverbial black sheep and I didn’t care.
Putting off the inevitable wasn’t going to make it go away. I left the bathroom and walked the few feet down the hall to the class. I actually felt nervous. I shouldn’t feel nervous. If my professor was worth a shit, he would see I was onto something. Instead, the guy hated me. I was convinced he was intimidated by me. He didn’t want me to be successful.
“Mr. Holland,” the professor greeted me with a stern look on his face. “Are you here to turn in the final?”
I nodded and opened the messenger bag. I pulled out the black binder that contained the paper that would be the final piece of work turned in. “It’s right here.”
“I hope you changed course,” he murmured as he took it from me.
“I didn’t,” I said defiantly.
He scowled at me and flipped it open. The first page of the report was a mock-up of the ship I engineered. “I told you at the beginning this was not an acceptable project.”
“And I’m telling you the research is sound.”
“This shit will never work,” he snapped and tossed the binder on his desk without bothering to look at the research.
I looked behind me. There were a few students already seated. They were trying to hide their laughs. I was not the guy that was ever going to win Most Popular. I didn’t care. I trusted my work. I knew what I had, even if none of them could see it.
“It will work,” I argued. “You just need to look at the research.”
He shook his head. “It’s assholes like you that think you are going to change the world because you are smarter than anyone else. Look at history and science. You won’t. This is a failing paper.”
I wasn’t going to win him over. I knew that. He wasn’t my target audience anyway. “That’s cool. I don’t need your grade anyway.”
He glared at me. If he could have put his hands on me, I was sure he would have. He wanted to shake me.
I smirked, daring him to do it.
“Punk kids like you will destroy our world,” he said.