“We weren’t in a private place,” I admit, wiping tears off my cheeks.
“I don’t give a fuck!” he exclaims, making me jump in surprise. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he continues in a much quieter voice as he sits beside me once again. “I’m not upset with you. I’m just upset that someone would do something like that to you. It’s not fair.”
“Some might say that having a relationship with someone who decides my grades isn’t exactly fair,” I mutter, feeling nothing but a dark self-loathing low in my throat.
Sam takes my hand with his. “Summer,” he says softly. “I know you. We’ve known each other for years. You would never sleep with a professor to get ahead.” He squeezes my hand to comfort me. “You don’t need to. You are an annoyingly good student who always seems to get good grades.”
I snort through my tears. “It’s called studying, Sam,” I respond half-heartedly.
“And,” he continues, ignoring my pathetic excuse for a jab. “You wouldn’t want to cut corners like that. You want to go out into the world and help kids who have few people to rely on. You know that if you were to half-ass anything or cut corners, you wouldn’t be the best psychologist that you could be. Anyone who knows you knows you would never do what they’re accusing you of.” Sam rubs soothing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. “Will you tell me what the dean said?”
It takes very little time to catch Sam up to speed with everything, but I feel like I’ve been talking for hours by the time I finish.
Sam chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls everything over.
After a few beats of silence, I decide to speak up again. “I think I have to leave him,” I say, barely above a whisper. My throat aches with the pressure of wanting to lie down and sob until I have no tears left to cry.
Sam lets out a defeated breath. “Isn’t there any other option we can visit before jumping to that? Can’t I help in some way?”
I shake my head. “The dean implied that if we were to continue, it would make everything look worse. That even though he’s no longer my professor, it still doesn’t look good.”
“Fuck that,” he scoffs. “It’s already done with. They’re regrading every assignment of yours that Professor Stirling touched. What does it matter if you two stay together now that he has nothing to do with you academically?”
“I don’t know, Sam,” I say, suddenly exhausted. My body feels heavy, and my chest aches. I have a headache from all the crying, and my eyes feel swollen and irritated. I just want to sleep. “There’s nothing that can be done about it.”
Sam must see the wave of tiredness wash over me because the next thing he says isn’t insisting that there’s some way out of this or that we can find a loophole. Instead, he says, “Summer, can I cook you some dinner before I go? You can have something to eat and then fall asleep with sweet little Milo watching reruns ofGrey’s Anatomy.”
There’s a twinge in my heart as I remember how Sam compared Asher and me to characters from that show.
Milo hasn’t left my side since I entered this sort of numb state. She meows and headbutts my side to remind me that she’s still there.
“Yeah, Sam,” I agree. “Dinner would be nice.”
“All right,” he says, clapping his hands as he rises to his feet. “Be prepared to have the best dinner I can offer from your shoebox of a kitchen. But first, how about a glass of wine?”
I spend the next few daysresearching different options and ignoring more messages from Asher.
I feel terrible. I’ve refused to go anywhere near campus. I haven’t gone to The Pour House even though Sam has begged me. But I couldn’t risk running into Asher. I wasn’t ready to see him.
But today is different. Today I walked into Dean Callahan’s office for a second time, but this time, I had a plan. I’ve already set everything up; I just needed to tell the dean what my plan is, hopefully to take any remaining heat off of Asher.
Dean Callahan didn’t seem surprised when I told him I’d be transferring. He looked almost relieved. I’m sure he’s happy not to have to replace a professor like Asher.
Even though the decision hurt, I can feel the smallest bit of happiness over the fact that I hadn’t ruined Asher’s career. That he gets to keep a job he loves so much. Isn’t that what everyone wants? To have a job they genuinely love showing up for? I’m glad I could make a choice that allows Asher to keep that.
I’m leaving the dean’s office and have made it halfway back to my car when I catch sight of Matt. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. I have to go home and finish packing—and dear lord, I have to tell mymother.
I give him a polite smile and a small wave as I pass by him.
“It was me,” Matt blurts.
I stop dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
He takes a deep breath, as if he needs to gather his courage. “I’m the one who gave those photos to the dean.”
It feels like I’ve swallowed a stone and it’s settled deep in my stomach. Disgust, anger, and embarrassment all swirl in my chest, leaving me feeling uncomfortably hot.
“Why would you do that?” I ask quietly.
