CHAPTER 3
Mara
All of the nonfiction carts were finally empty, except for the books that had been checked in while I was shelving. After I organized them on a cart, I sat behind the desk. Finally, a moment to gather myself.
It had been a long week, and I still didn’t have a professor to work with for the contest. I could go cross-disciplinary, venture out into an unknown but loosely related subject, which might, in the end, give me more credibility than sticking to the humanities. But the chances of another department having all of their professors committed already, like our department, were high. The students who had already been here for a year, knew to lock professors into an agreement early. Like, a year or more ahead of schedule. Like Jessica.
Which left one professor. The only professor who refused to participate since the contest came into play.
Dr. Evans.
I figured I had one last chance to convince Dr. Evans that I was worthy of breaking his no-Crossing-Collaborations-Contest-rule. One last chance to do it right. One last opportunity to be successful. And I was desperate.
Think. Think. Think. Hazel knew him. I hadn’t seen her since the last failed attempt with Dr. Evans, but I could start with what she knew. I searched the university’s public database for Hazel. Sixty-two results for the name, though not all were active. With a quick reference to social media, I narrowed it down, and found her. I saved the number in my phone. During my fifteen-minute break, I called the number.
“Hello?” Hazel asked. She sounded nervous.
I took a deep breath. This was a weird call to make. It was one thing to call a classmate about an assignment, but another to ask about a professor’s personal life. But I had no other choice.
“Hi, Hazel. It’s Mara Slate. We met outside of Dr. Evans office.”
“Oh, hi.” The phone twisted in her palm, crackling over the connection. She was clearly calmer at hearing it was me, so I relaxed too. “What’s up?”
“You mentioned that Dr. Evans went to a club. Club Underground? Something like that?”
“Club Hades. Actually, I heard that someone bought it. It’s just The Afterglow now.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a BDSM dungeon.”
That was the part that made this conversation stranger. Sexual proclivities were the private part of a person’s personal life. And here I was, asking about Dr. Evans’s private parts.
Er, no. Private life. Privateinterests.
“Do you know when Dr. Evans goes to the club?” I asked.
“I’m guessing whenever the Afterglow has an event.” I had expected hesitation at giving the information so freely, so the complete honesty was surprising. “Why?”
I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to explain myself. “I need to convince him to do this contest with me.” I paused, then added, “For school. I figure showing up at the nightclub will catch him off guard. Show him that I’m serious.”
“Hah, really?” She cackled, and I turned bright red. What was so funny? “You’re going to blackmail him into doing a contest with you?” That wasnotwhat I planned to do, but I knew that that’s how it sounded. “And it’s not a nightclub. It’s a dungeon. They’re very different.”
I had never been to either. It wouldn’t make a difference to me. “I would never use someone’s personal interests to out someone like that,” I tried.
“Whatever. I’m not judging.” That made it even worse. “It’s just funny.”
I appreciated her help, but I also needed to end the conversation before I crawled into a hole to die. “When are the Afterglow events?” I asked.
“I think there’s a party this weekend.”
“What do I wear?”
“Uh, look up fetish wear, I guess. Black is always okay. The password is We Came For The Glow. If the bouncer asks who you’re with, use Evans’s name.”
And here was my last shot in the dark. “Will you come with me?”
“Nope,” she said quickly, then added, “I can’t. I’ve got this thing I’m going to.”
It sounded like avoidance, rather than an honest answer. “This thing?”
“Yeah. A thing. Thanks for the invitation though. Wish I could go.”
