Page 57 of Within These County Lines

I shrug. “I mean, he probably wants to keep things professional at work—”

“Don’t.” Whitley glares. “Or you won’t get a dime of my research money.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re right. He’s suchhh a dick,” I say, laying on thick sarcasm.

“Better,” she says, finally cracking a smile.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, holding up a finger. Victor’s words just handed me the perfect opportunity to ask for my letter of recommendation—if he really does want to help students.

I hurry after him and catch up by the mail bin. He’s flipping through a stack of envelopes, tucking them under his arm when I approach.

“Oh, hello, Stetson,” he says, barely looking up.

“Hi, Victor,” I say, slightly out of breath. I scratch the back of my head as I try to find the right words.

He raises his eyebrows. “You got something else you want to talk about?”

I nod. “Yeah, actually. Sorry if this is too forward, but after hearing you say you like to help students . . .” I shift my weight. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

He cocks his head back. “Depends. What’s the ask?”

I swallow. “Well, I am applying to this scholarship for school with a tight deadline. As in, due in two weeks. And I need a letter of recommendation.”

“No shit?”

My face twitches. “Yeah. It’s stressful.”

He rips an envelope clean in half. “I’ve always wanted to do one of those things.”

I blink. “Really?”

He smirks. “Yeah, it sounds so official.”

“So you’d do it for me?”

He pauses, tapping his chin. My shoulders sag. A nearby printer spits out pages in rapid succession, but it still can’t keep up with my heart rate.

“Tell you what,” he says. “If you can get that green pool under control, I’ll write you a letter.”

I stare at the carpet.

“I think that’s a fair deal,” he continues, shrugging. “Since you’ve only been here a couple weeks, you have to show your worth.” He laughs like this is a joke.

“Sure . . . yeah,” I say, rubbing my neck. “You have a deal.”

“Good.” He steps forward and jabs his index finger into my shoulder—hard. I stumble back, pain radiating from his point of contact.

“I don’t want to have to go to that spooky pool myself.” He giggles more. “It gives me the creeps.”

His grin is wide, but something about it unsettles me. I retreat farther until my back presses against the wall. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I didn’t think I’d have to bargain for a recommendation letter. He already has my résumé, academic transcript, and references from my job interview. What else does he need? He’s the least serious adult I know but is the only one who takes writing a recommendation letter seriously. Go figure.

I want to scream. Just drop to my knees in the middle of this office and let out the frustration tightening my chest. But that won’t help my situation.

Instead, I shove this letter into the tentative folder in my brain, right next to going to college, leaving Penango, remaining visible, and my general future’s well-being.

27

I get to the elevator at 2:25 p.m. Xander appears at 2:59 p.m.