There was silence in the hall.
– What a circus! – I said quietly, realising what a swamp I had got myself into.
– After the meeting, everyone come to my office: there you will be given the names of your new friends. – The rector looked round the room carefully. – Anyone who does not comply with the experimental programme has every reason, to put it bluntly, to leave the university.
– But we pay for our studies! Why should we have to fulfil our teachers' duties? It's not fair! – shouted someone from the back row in a disgruntled tone. He was immediately supported by a rumble of voices.
– This experimental programme will only last for a few months. But of course, if you think that your money gives you the right to disobey the programme at Charles University, you can always transfer," the rector replied and switched off the microphone.
These words had a deafening effect: there was a dead silence in the hall.
The rector, probably satisfied with the result of his speech, left the hall. As soon as he disappeared into the corridor, the hall seemed to explode: students were loudly indignant and complained to each other about the blatant injustice. Everyone was displeased. But I kept silent, hiding my discontent deep in my soul.
I walked to the rector's office with a terrible mood. Now I would have to run around with some stupid child. At this moment, the thought of expulsion did not scare me. On the contrary, even attracted.
Honestly standing in a long queue and listening to the whining and complaints of students about their bitter fate, I barely noticeably chuckled at this human stupidity: there is no point in complaining. Complaining won't change anything. All the senior students, including me, stood with sour faces in the queue for the hated name.
Finally, I entered the office.
– Why are you all so sour? – the secretary asked me.
– I think you can see why," I replied dryly.
– This time the rector put on a show worthy of television. I don't know about you, but I'm having fun. It's a real lottery.
– I've noticed. A bloody cruel lottery.
– You gonna pull it yourself?
– I don't want to get my hands dirty.
– No way! This is your destiny! Pull it yourself. Just a moment. – The secretary stuck her hand into a glass round vase on the table, filled with small white sheets, and stirred the white pile thoroughly. – Now you can pull.
I indifferently snatched one of the sheets out of the whole nasty pile, but I didn't bother to look at what name was on it. What did it matter? I hated it already.
– So… Cedric Morgan… – The secretary snatched the sheet from my hands, looked at the name, wrote it into the computer, and handed it to me.
Quickly leaving the university, I sat down on one of the benches in the courtyard. Should I read it or wait? Shit, I couldn't escape fate.
I opened the sheet: there in large black letters was printed the hated name: Viper Vladinovich.
Viper. Stupid name. Who was it: a guy or a girl?
Below it was the date and time of our meeting: tomorrow at 17: 00, library, table No. 8.
Such haste made me wrinkle my nose in annoyance. Suddenly I heard someone's footsteps and turned around: it was Royce, walking briskly toward me. Just what I needed. What a day, huh? Did someone upstairs decide to dump a bucket of bad luck on my head?!
– Hi," Royce said, sitting down next to me on the bench.
