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“That is generally considered getting the answer wrong.”

“Harsh.” He frowns.

“College is harsh.”

The tailor slides the tape measure up the inside of Cal’s leg. All the way up to his crotch.

“Doc?”

“What?”

“You’ve gone quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About anatomy? Of course, you are.”

His grin appears simultaneously in all three mirrors.

Bastard. How does he not have more shame?

“Okay,” I say. “Name the adductor muscles.”

Cal looks down at the tape measure.

Then back at me.

I stare at him.

He loses it.

A laugh bursts out of him so suddenly the tailor stops measuring and looks up.

“Sorry,” Cal says, holding up a hand. “Academic stress.”

“Stress?” This man is insane.

“I’m under enormous pressure.”

“You’re standing in your underwear being fitted for a custom suit.”

“Exactly. Hostile learning environment.”

The tailor, who has clearly decided neither of us is worth engaging with, returns to his measurements.

I flip to the next card.

“Fine. What does the obturator nerve innervate?”

Cal’s eyebrows rise.

“Is that a real thing?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds made up.”

“You failed this class once.”