When I got to the rooftop, it was empty. I sighed, not wanting to admit that I was disappointed that he wasn’t up there.
Not again. I couldn’t let my thoughts revolve around him.
But why not? We had been disqualified from the Crossing Collaborations Contest, but it had led us somewhere far better. Breaking Edge. Nate had led me there.
I dialed my mom and waited for her to pick up on the other end.
“Honey?” she asked.
“I got into Breaking Edge!” I squealed so fast my words slurred together. “I got into Breaking Edge! Dad’s dream publication!”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom said, excitement in her voice. “I didn’t know you had submitted there!”
“I didn’t either,” I said. Nate had submitted it for me. I couldn’t ignore the fact that he had disqualified us without asking my opinion first, but in the end, had it been worth it? He had gotten my work into my dream journal. Dad’s dream journal.
Dad would be high-fiving me right now.
“Your father would be so proud, honey,” Mom said, reading my mind. “He couldn’t stop talking about that journal. He must have helped nudge you in that direction.”
“Nate did too,” I said. “He’s the one who submitted it. Used his credit to get me through the gates.”
“I’m glad. Your father used to talk endlessly about how impossible it was to get more than a mass rejection from them.”
She didn’t question the fact that Nate had helped me?
“Wait. I thought you didn’t like Nate.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like Nate. I asked if you trusted him,” she chuckled. “If you trust him, then I do too.”
She said it like it was nothing. And still, it came back to that question: did I trust Nate?
After I hung up with Mom, I rushed back to the office, quickly moving past Jessica with such ferocity in my movements that she raised her hands in defense. I searched the internet for any new publications from Nate Evans, anything about sadomasochism, sacrifice, or power. But there was nothing. The last article he had published was six months old.
He hadn’t published an opposing article. He had only put my essay in the right place.
I turned around quickly and Jessica faced me too. “Dr. Smith got tenure?” Jessica nodded. “But not Dr. Evans?”
“You didn’t hear?” Jessica asked.
“Hear what?”
“Don’t tell Dr. Smith this, but he turned down tenure. That’s the only reason why she got it.”
My mind was racing in a million different directions at once. Nate Evans, the same Nate who didn’tneedto teach college, who simply did the work because he liked proving intelligent people wrong, who had pined for the associate professor position for years, had turned down the offer? What was going on?
“Where is Nate?” I asked.
“Nate?”
I shook my head, forgetting that she wouldn’t know him by that name. “Dr. Evans.”
“He didn’t tell you?” My eyes widened, wanting her to spill it already. Obviously, he hadn’t told me, or I wouldn’t be asking. “Dr. Evans quit yesterday. You’re supposed to take over his undergraduate course. The director is supposed to be sending an email about it soon. I guess he’s still grading our graduate essays, but—”
I blanked out of the rest of what she was saying, unable to get my mind off of that one fact. His closed office. The dark room. The empty rooftop.
Nate had quit.
He had never needed the job, which made it more curious that after all of these years, he had quit. As if he had finally gotten his one true goal, and after that, it didn’t matter anymore.
