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I shake my head, realizing for the first time that Tricia is interested in me.
Jesus, am I really that dense? Or am I a little drunk and a whole lot distracted…
Emelia’s been on my mind a lot. Always, in fact.
Our exchange in my office on Tuesday didn’t go how I wanted it to. I’ve replayed every moment, tried to reason with myself about whether or not I did the right thing. When my students came up to me before my lecture and explained the picture they saw, my temper got the best of me. Accusations like that are career-ending. I couldn’t let it slide.
I understand the picture was nothing more than a bad joke. I’m sure, even if it had leaked, Dartmouth’s administration would have given me the benefit of the doubt and written it off as a lapse in judgment on the part of two students, but I can’t be certain.
At the very least, they would have had to look into it. There’s a chance they would have opened an official inquiry as a way to ensure they were seen as doing the most they could to protect a vulnerable student population, and that would have left me at the mercy of the rumor mill. Word would have spread, and accusations like that can never be completely erased from public memory.
Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.
Emelia has to know how dumb that was. She has to know I had no choice when it came to doling out her punishment. It was her friend’s first transgression, but Emelia’s third strike.
However, what Emelia doesn’t realize—and what I’m only now coming to understand—is that even if she’d done absolutely nothing, even if she sat in my lecture every day completely silent, aced every test, and wrote a perfect term paper, even if there was never any fake photo…she was always going to be the girl in the courtyard.
She was always going to be too much of a distraction, an itch I couldn’t scratch, a girl I couldn’t get out of my head.
I’ve had filthy fantasies about her in that wooden chair.
Mystudent.
So no, Tricia, I don’t have a girlfriend.
I only have Emelia.
“What about you? Are you seeing someone?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Nope. Like I said, I spend most of my time holed up in the mathematics building, and if you can believe it, the old math geezers aren’t really my type.”
“I’ll be your wingman then.”
The sting of rejection is written across her face for only the briefest moment, and then she masks it with a wink and a smile.
“You’re on.” The bartender returns with a tray of beers for us to take back to the table. “C’mon, let’s go scope out the crowd. There has to be a few good guys in here tonight, right?”
Just as we retake our seats, my phone buzzes in my pocket with an incoming email. I check it, though I shouldn’t. It’s work. It’s always work. I pen a quick reply but save it to drafts, knowing I’ll want to review it in the morning, after I’ve slept off these drinks. Catcalls near the front door of the bar draw my gaze. I look up from my phone, and my stomach plummets when I see Emelia walk in with a small group of friends.
I still can’t get over the idea that she exists outside of that bench in the courtyard. She isn’t a dream. She’s a student in a bar who I’m meant to stay away from. She shouldn’t be here. Fate’s cruel rubbing salt in my wound.
I’m not even a little relieved to see her. I know how horribly we left things on Tuesday. I know she likely wants nothing to do with me.
Good.
That’s for the best.
Her group strolls further inside, eating up the cheers and shouts from the people they pass. They’re in costume, which is why everyone is so excited. I recognize Sonya among them. She’s leading the way, working the crowd, spinning in a circle to show off her red outfit. Emelia brings up the rear with an arm wrapped protectively around her stomach as if trying to conceal some of the bare skin her getup is putting on display.
She’s wearing practically nothing, a ridiculous schoolgirl outfit, and the people she passes take full notice. A guy leans out to touch her arm, to pay her a compliment it looks like, and she offers a tight, timid smile before sidestepping out of his reach.
A primal, angry, jealous thing grows inside me, the need to shout at them to keep their lecherous gazes off her.Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking handgets swallowed down with a heavy swig of beer.
“Oh my god! That’s hilarious.” Tricia laughs. “I think those kids are all dressed up as different versions of Britney Spears. I recognize the green snake costume and the schoolgirl getup, but not the others. Maybe I’m wrong.”
I’m stuck on her word choice: kids.
Fucking hell.
