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“Oh my God,” I groaned, dropping my face into my hand. I had two choices, and that was to either ignore it and pretend it’d never happened, or tell Cole people may have been catching on to us.
I collected my things, stuffed them in my bag, and left, blocking out the whispers and giggles that followed. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on me, watching me go, and I frowned, looking at them as they covered their mouths but stared at me with bulging, all-knowing eyes.
What the hell was going on?
Did they know?
No…they couldn’t.
I burst out of the coffee shop, drawing in rapid breaths. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t go to class. And after the previous night, I couldn’t face him.
I turned and rushed back to my dorm, deciding—for the first time ever—to skip class.
28
Cole
As soon as I realized Zara wasn’t in class, I worried. I’d hurt her so bad she didn’t even want to see me. I suppose I deserved that.
I pushed through my emotions and taught my lecture the best I could, and when class was over and every student had left the room, I pulled out my phone.
I was about to pull up my text messages with Zara when I spotted Alisha Bell re-enter the room and approach my desk. Fuck. Not right now. “Miss Bell, what can I do for you?”
“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to ask how your spring break was, Professor Grant. Did you have fun?
“It was okay. I was in Florida for a few days. I certainly hope you enjoyed your time in Cancun.” I smiled politely. She had all but broadcasted to the whole class that she’d flown to Cancun with some of her friends and partied so hard she blacked out.
“Oh, I had a blast. It’s great to hear you had some time to yourself.” Alisha smiled, and I nodded and sat back in my chair, abandoning my phone to fiddle with a few ungraded papers.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, Miss Bell, I should get to work.” I gathered the papers from my desk, making a show that I had things to do that were much more important than this meaningless conversation—like texting Zara to see if she was okay.
“Of course, Professor, I’m sure you’re very busy.” Her smile was wide as she stepped away. She started to turn but stopped herself and faced me again. “Oh—one last thing. I had no idea you lived in the apartments across from mine. I was taking a run last night, you know to run off all the alcohol and booze I consumed over break, and saw you standing outside the building.”
What? I kept my expression clear, but I had a feeling she could see the panic in my eyes. “Wow. What a coincidence,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled, but it was far from friendly. “Anyway, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. I can’t wait for your next lecture.” She swayed her hips as she exited the room, and I watched her until I could no longer see. Shit. If Alisha had seen me and Zara together, I was going to have to tell Zara. I pulled my phone back out.
* * *
Me:
Saw you weren’t in class today. Everything all right?
* * *
I walked to my office while I waited for her reply—if she replied. It was a shot in the dark, but she had to know I cared about her. Of course, I hadn’t said as much, but surely she knew. When she didn’t respond after half an hour, I sent another text.
* * *
Me:
Zara, please let me know everything is okay.
* * *
It wasn’t until I’d finished grading essays and was packing my things to go that she texted me back.
* * *
Zara:
I’m fine, Cole. I’ll be in class tomorrow, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be texting.
* * *
I frowned down at her response.
* * *
Me:
I don’t want you to stop talking to me.
* * *
I took off, making my way to my car to drive home. I showered, ate dinner, and read over a few emails, and in all that time, she didn’t respond.
“Shit,” I hissed. I’d fucked this up. Bad.
29
Cole
The following morning in class, I found myself looking at every student who walked in until I saw Zara’s face. She didn’t bother looking in my direction. Instead, she found her seat and took out her supplies.
Even from where I was standing at the front of the class, I could tell she hadn’t slept. Dark circles were around her eyes and her hair was frizzier than usual, thrown up into a partly curly puff on top of her head.
When everyone was seated, I started my lecture and gave them their next essay assignment. Before spring break, we’d started reading Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, and I gave the students a refresher because most of them would have forgotten what we’d covered. I asked several questions, hoping Zara would answer, but she didn’t participate. Instead, she just used her pen to scribble or doodle on a loose sheet of paper.
