Zephyr

"Sorry?"

She turned away from me, bending down to begin picking up the heavy textbooks that had fallen to the floor during her near-death experience down the aisle stairs.

As she gathered the loose papers, her test script—the pristine "A+"—slipped out from between the pages of a heavy literature volume textbook and fluttered onto the linoleum.

She bent down to grab it, but my hockey reflexes were faster. I swiped the paper off the floor before her fingers could even touch the edge.

"Hey! Give that back!" she snapped.

I ignored her, pulling the paper closer to my face as my eyes rapidly scanned the dense, meticulously written answers...