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The security guard I warned earlier in a falsely friendly voice is leaning towards Tucker.
I see the little redhead get out of the vehicle, and my hatred for her grows. I could easily follow her back to her apartment, but that would be too easy.
That bastard Tucker puts the car in reverse and drives out of the parking lot. I can’t make out his face, but I know he’s got a little smile plastered on his face. I’ve seen them, they’ve slept together. I know it’s not the first time.
The security guard returns to his watch. He walks across the parking lot and nods as he passes me.
“Thanks for the heads up, this isn’t the first time students have had a little fun in the parking lot.”
I give him a friendly smile. “No worries.”
I start to walk away as he calls out to me, “Eh? Do you live on campus?”
I don’t answer him and walk into the darkness behind a building.
No, I don’t live on campus. But I don’t need it to achieve my goals.
37. Fighting on all Fronts
Iris
The first thing I see as I enter the lecture hall is Mrs. Richards taking her place at the podium at the bottom of the stairs. She is leaning over her MacBook, a crease of concentration between her eyebrows. I stare for a second at the seats left unoccupied among the students, but I’m not ready to sit yet.
Two things haunted me this weekend. The first: I kept waking up in the middle of the night after dreaming about a certain person. Tucker seems to have bewitched my dreams, making my thoughts of him all about lust. As a result, I held back from texting him yesterday to suggest we do this again.
I decided to stop thinking about it because it was so overwhelming. The moments we shared in the car were looping in my mind. This is not good at all.
The second thing that haunted me during these last two days? Mikael Larey. I kept seeing his defeated face as the cops took him away. I kept replaying the trial in my mind. Something was wrong. So instead of finishing my psychology essay, I spent my time immersed in the notes I had taken during the trial and in the theories and analyses I had formulated in the days before.
I can’t peacefully get to my seat without thinking of this man who should be free too.
I see Tucker staring at me from his usual place. His eyes look tired and his beard is a little longer. Seeing me standing still on the steps, he frowns, probably wondering what my problem is. I look at his arm muscles molded by his black polo shirt for a second, and other, more intimate memories flood in.
Mrs. Richards pulls some papers out of her leather bag, and I stop thinking about him. I run down the stairs toward her, my heart beating rapidly.
“Hello,” I begin.
She looks up at me, seeming to recognize me after a few seconds.
“Miss Foster,” she begins, “so how did the trial go on Friday? Did you learn anything? Analyzed the different roles and occupations of the people in a courtroom?”
“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about,” I say, fiddling with the handle of my backpack. “Mikael Larey has been declared guilty.”
She taps her manicured nails on the wood of the desk before straightening up. “I know that for a fact. I’m following this case closely since one of my colleagues is in charge of Larey. What is your question? The class starts in five minutes.”
I shake my head silently. I don’t actually have a question. “I think he is not guilty and has been wrongly accused.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I stare for a second at the Rolex on her wrist. “I didn’t ask you to determine whether he was guilty or not. In your report, you were to explain to me the elements to be used in defense and accusation and your analysis of every detail of the case. I wasn’t looking for a guilty and an innocent, miss.”
“And that’s what I did in the work I sent you,” I correct her, losing patience. “But now I’m not talking about my work, but about yours. I am convinced that he is not guilty. And today he is behind bars and—”
“And these are things that happen. Look, we’ll get into that another day. I’m going to start my lecture now, so please take your seat.”
I swallow hard. How can she be so calm? As if one man’s life doesn’t matter. I can’t seem to react the way she does. Maybe I should, but it’s not in my nature.
“These things happen?” I reply, holding back a grimace. “You have to help this man. Your colleague needs to appeal and—”
Mrs. Richards sighs as she loses patience and retrieves a document from her belongings, silently dismissing me.
