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“Oh shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Laura asks. She dances impatiently around me, trying to see what I’m looking at. “Becca, I’m going to kill you if—”
She stops when I turn the phone around, so she can see. Her eyes widen as she bursts out laughing at the sight of me sitting in my professor’s lap, flashing a whole lot of cheek, with my lips glued to his.
Beneath it, I’d written;
How to guarantee yourself a pass: show your professor how to work a pussy…
“Oh, Becs, you didn’t. See?” Laura lets out a gleeful laugh. “This is why I need to check my Facebook more.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean so that you could hunt me down and warn me about this.”
I log out of her account and into mine, so I can quickly delete the offending photo and double check there aren’t any more. I can’t believe this. I don’t even remember kissing him. God, I don’t remember much at all.
What if this is the least of my worries?
What if someone sees this and I get kicked out of my course, or something? I’ve all but admitted that I was kissing him to pass the class. I’ve cast doubt over all my results with this one little photo. I walk back over to the couch and throw myself down, covering my face with a cushion.
Fuck today.
“How did this happen? And what was your professor doing at that club?” Laura shakes her head. “Do I even want to know the answer to that?”
“He’s Jake’s cousin,” I explain.
“Jake’s cousin is your professor?” she squeals. “And you kissed him?”
“Apparently kissing him wasn’t enough. I had to make sure the whole world knew about it, too. This is bad,” I groan, cradling my head in my hands.
“Sure, it’s embarrassing, but is it really that big a deal?” she asks. “I mean, it’s not like your twelve and he’s taking advantage of you. You’re twenty-seven. He’d be hard-pressed to find a student older than you. You’re not exactly young and innocent—”
“Are you trying to improve the situation, or make it worse?” I fire back.
“You know what I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“I do, but it’s not the fact that I kissed him that I’m freaking out about,” I mumble.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s that I don’t remember anything after that kiss, Loz. I’m worried about what else I might have done.”
“Oh…”
“Right.”
“Some of the shit you’ve got up to over the years…”
“And that was sober Becca,” I add. I rub my head and try to think, but everything is just too hazy. “Imagine the trouble drunk Becca would get herself into.”
“How much did you have to drink, exactly?” Laura asks. She shakes her head. “I can’t even imagine you drunk. I don’t think I can even remember the last time you drank more than a couple of wines. Are you sure your drink wasn’t spiked?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
She laughs and shakes her head.
“Okay, so when’s your next class?”
“Monday,” I say.
I feel sick just at the thought of facing him. How am I going to approach this? If I remembered what happened, then I could deal with it rationally, but having no memory at all?
“Here is what you’re going to do,” Laura says. “You’re going to walk in there and act completely normal. Well, as normal as you usually are,” she jokes. “Walk in there, act like nothing happened and see what he does. I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing,” she adds.
I nod slowly. She’s right. If I’m confident that nothing happened, then maybe I can bluff my way through this. God knows I’ve bluffed my way through bigger messes than this.After Laura leaves, I head to the bathroom to take a shower and find my phone on the floor of the toilet. I pick it up and examine the few missed calls from Mom, and a text from Jake. I click on the text.
Jake: Can’t call. Lost phone privileges for a week thx to you. How are you feeling?I grin and text him back.
Me: Doesn’t phone privileges include texts?I’m surprised when he replies right away. I wonder if the lost privileges are universal or just Becca related?
Jake: Probably, but she can’t get to me when I’m on the toilet.
Me: I really didn’t need to know that.
Jake: Then you shouldn’t have asked. So…big night, huh? Don’t beat yourself up too much. Everyone will forget about it soon.I stare at the message.
Me: What the hell does that mean? The photo?I wait a few minutes, and when I don’t get a reply, I try calling. I cringe when Brooke answers.
“Hey Brooke,” I say, doing my best to sound friendly. “Is Jake there?”
“Sorry, Rebecca, he’s…indisposed. Maybe try next week?”
She hangs up on me before I can respond.
Sighing, I give up and park my ass on the couch. There are many things I should be doing to make the most of my Saturday afternoon, but the most I’m willing to commit to is an afternoon binge watching Game of Thrones on Netflix.
