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Nothing.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter under my breath as I bring my elbows to the desk so I can sink my forehead into my hands.
I’ve done exactly what IthoughtI tried to not do. Did the work for other people and forgot to submit my own. Clearly, the lack of sleep has made me misremember, and I thought one of their submissions was my own.
“You okay?” Penny whispers.
“I could have sworn I submitted it,” I respond before I remember I’m not supposed to be talking to her.
“It’s only a third of your midterm grade. Even if you get a D, you still have a presentation and the exam next week. You can still pass the class.”
This time, I stay silent. Instead, I sit back in my chair and try to catch up on what Dr. Wright has been saying. It’s not the grade—I’m just really pissed at myself for getting so distracted by Syn’s demands that I fucked this up. Which is probablyexactlywhat he set out to do.
There were plenty of people laughing at my misfortune, so I’m under no illusion that he isn’t going to hear about this.
At the end of class, I go wait by Dr. Wright’s desk as he packs up, trying not to look embarrassed as most students choose now to remember I exist and stare at me.
The professor finally picks up his bag and looks at me, arching an eyebrow. “I was being rhetorical, but if you feel you need to give me some half-baked excuse, feel free.”
Instead of waiting, he joins the thinning crowd of students leaving the room.
“Asshole.”
Honestly, I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Dr. Wright stops and turns to look at me. “My office. Now.”
To the chorus of a few jeers, I wince.
Where’s your poker face, Tori?
Wondering what else can go wrong today, but also knowingthatwas on me, I follow the professor out of class. From the way everyone seems to stop and watch me as I walk through the corridor, it feels like news has spread quickly.
I’ve never been to Dr. Wright’s office before, so I’m surprised when he leads me out of the building and to the Sterling Building across the quad. The room is exactly what I expect of a college professor at the most exclusive university in the country. Dark wood—and lots of it. Floor to ceiling shelves, a desk that looks like it was crafted before the civil war, and a separate round table with four chairs around it.
However, there’s little in the room offering a glimmer of Dr. Wright’s personality. Or maybe the lack of everything is telling enough. The bookshelves have very few books, and while some have a few ornaments or photographs on them, most are empty.
On his desk is a Mac, a docking station for his iPad and phone, a leatherbound notebook, and a very ornate name plate with Dr. Payne Wright PhD. inscribed on it.
Dr. Wright walks up to his desk, sets his bag down beside it, and then turns. Leaning against it, he folds his arms and tilts his head. “Let’s hear it then.” He sounds bored, but his eyes are cold. They’re always cold.
“I didn’t come to give you excuses,” I tell him. “I actually came to apologize. I thought I had submitted it, but I checked my emails and there was no confirmation.”
There’s a glimmer of surprise as his eyes widen slightly, and then almost instantly, they narrow. “An apology isn’t going to change the fact that fifty percent of your points have already been deducted.”
“I know.” I pull my laptop out of my bag and carefully set it on the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Submitting it now.” I navigate to the submission page and select my assignment.
Or I try.
Frowning, I open up the file browser and navigate to the folder my assignments are saved in. The one for this class is empty.
“Okay.” I breathe, trying not to panic yet. If my dumb ass has managed to delete it, then it will be in the trash.
Although there are files in there, none are my assignment.
“Do you need to enroll in an IT class?” Dr. Wright asks, dryly. “I hear the Keyingham Retirement Village holds one every other weekend.”
