Now I truly didn’t have an excuse to avoid Fremont Street. Maybe Jessica was right. Maybe it was a good idea to check out the other teachers. Mingle. Even if I hated that part.
“Ah. Are you going to bring a ruler this time?” I asked. She laughed.
“Probably. How they learn to dance like that, I will never know. Anyway, tell me about your teacher from hell. What’s going on?”
So, I unloaded on her. How Dr. Evans had given me an impossible amount of work, and how even after getting the argument right, he used it against me, making me look like a fool, acting smug as if it was a game to him. I was fuming at the ears, my cheeks red again. “But it seemed like he was doing it to mess with me, you know? He made it personal.”
“How so?”
“He addressed me, like we were the only ones in the discussion, the only ones in the room.” The way my skin warmed under his gaze came rushing back. “He did it to prove me wrong. Nothing more. He isthatkind of person, you know? Everyone is always wrong.”
“Yikes,” she said. “Can you switch out?”
“Well, he’s my partner for the Crossing Collaborations Contest. That student/teacher project I was telling you about. So no,” I sighed. “I’m stuck.”
“Once the project is over, screw it,” she said, but for some reason, my brain heardscrew him, and I imagined Dr. Evans in the dungeon again, but this time his shirt was off, revealing washboard abs and the masculine hair on his chest, his arm winding back with tough biceps, ready to spank me. Again.
This was not okay. “Once the project is over,” I repeated. I had to stop this. But until then, that didn’t mean I had to put up with his bullshit for the rest of the semester like it was nothing.
I headed to the Department of Humanities, making plans with Mom for the following weekend. Right as I hung up, I opened the door to the lobby of the Liberal Arts and Culture Building and saw Hazel sitting at a round table, earbuds blaring, the tinny sound echoing through the open space.
I tapped her shoulder and she removed the buds. “Oh hey!” she said, turning off the music. “Did you end up going to the Afterglow?”
I nodded. “Thanks for the information. I didn’t realize they’d have a password.”
“It adds to the mystique.” She added air quotes to the final word, as if mocking it.
But there was a mystique about it. An address without any signage, a password-protected entry. Not to mention the endless amounts of dominance and submission equipment throughout the space, and the strange people. It was almost like one big family, or a smaller world than you thought. Everyone seemed to know everyone. Like Hazel. And Dr. Evans, who they called Nate.
“I met some people there,” I said, thinking of Lily and Kiley. “They said they knew you.”
She shifted, her focus darting away. “What’d they say?”
“Nothing really.” Which was the truth. The two women had been so evasive about Hazel that it almost wasn’t worth bringing up. “If I ever go back, would you want to go together?”
“I can’t,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “It’s complicated. But thanks.”
“Complicated?” As if my own reason for first visiting the club had been simple. “How?”
“Look,” she faced me, “I want to go back. I do. I love that stuff. Dressing up. Pain. Pleasure. The spectacle of it.” The faintest hint of a smile crossed her lips, then disappeared. “But after what happened, I can’t.”
“Whatever happened, they didn’t seem to mind.” Hazel lifted her brows, skeptical of that statement. “Really. It seemed likesomepeople cared, but most didn’t. Whatever happened, it’s in the past.” That’s what Kiley had kept saying, anyway.
Hazel shrunk in the seat. “You’re awfully nice for not knowing anything about me.”
I shrugged. I had no reason to doubt Hazel. “If you want to go, then go.” It was one belief that I had decided years ago; when you want to do something, do it. There wasn’t any time to waste. You never knew when you’d have another chance.
Which was why I was going to argue with Dr. Evans about Florence Berkley. Because I wanted to. It was as simple as that.
But I also wanted to help Hazel somehow. I’d have to think of what I could do. For now, I’d have to settle for these interactions. “I’ll ask you about it again soon,” I said. “Are you waiting for Dr. Evans?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
I was fine, confident, and in control, until the elevator doors shut. Heat pricked my skin, intensifying as I drew closer to Dr. Evans’s office. A momentum, something else, pushed me forward. You can do this, I thought, don’t stop now.
“Mara,” he said, his voice low. Suddenly my mind was back in that dungeon again, with Dr. Evans hovering above me.
