I swear, when the semester is over, I will use my own prompts. This one was the very devil.
Think of a chance encounter that could leave you shaken, stirred, or in deep trouble.
Molly banged the door to the toilet stall and swiftly began to relieve herself. Seeing a familiar pair of beat-up Uggs to her right, she called out , “Becca?” “Yeah, What’s up.” “I had such a night! I am so not ready for this test.” “Me neither,” Becca agreed. “God, I hate theory.” “I hate theory, I hate this class, and I hate HER.”
Becca’s toilet flushed, and then Molly’s, and she grabbed her backpack and swung the door open.
To see the professor rinsing her hands at the sink. Smiling.