As much as Max loved photography, sitting in a room with a mansplaining stick in the mud that strokes his dick about his photography every other sentence isn't what she had in mind. And as per usual, Mr. Jefferson went on to teach about yet another highly acclaimed white guy.
Louis fucking Daguerre.
We already know the daguerreotype process. This is a career-prep course, asshole.
Max decided not to listen, like most of the class, and observed the other students. A grin tugged at Max's lips when she saw Kate reading a well-worn Sylvia Plath book that she lent her the other day. That smile dropped as fast as it rose when a paper ball hit Kate on the head. Of course, it was Victoria and her cronies. Their high self-regard and low self-esteem clash so hard, it was embarrassing. Max turned to Victoria, catching her eyes and holding onto them with a firey leer.
What happened to "Women Supporting Women", Student body candidate?
They shortly cut eye contact before the bell rang. While the sparse collective of students packed their stuff and spilled out the classroom, Max felt something bump her shoulder with a hardy push.
Max could taste the bitter snarl in Victoria's words.
Max bit back with just as much venom.
The snooty blonde and her cashmere coat scoffed and walked off, grouping back in with Taylor and Courtney on both sides of her hips. Celebrating this small victory, Max walked to her dorm with a little more pep in her step.