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“The last guy that came in here with this question was arrested for kiddie porn a few weeks later.” The manager steps next to her, eyeing me with suspicion. “If that’s what you’re trying to do, save us the time and turn yourself in today.”
“Thank you both very much for your lack of help.” I step away from the counter. “I appreciate it.”
They laugh as I leave, and I make a mental note to go to CVS from here on out.
I’m running on fumes and my eyes are bloodshot from staying up night after night, scouring Reddit boards for all things about jail, prison, and plea deals.
Somewhere between me reading “I Slept with My Professor in High School Decades Ago: I Now Regret It,” and the questionably drafted (and of course anonymous) “If High School Students are Having Sex with Each Other, Why Can’t They Sleep With Their Teachers,” the burner phone flamed my delusions with a sudden malfunction.
Despite my attempts to rewire my brain with fear and punishment, itstill isn’t enough to keep thoughts of Genevieve at bay.
I’m finishing that two weeks notice this week. No matter what.
A garbage truck rounds the corner, and I hail the driver.
“Wait!Wait!”
“Something wrong, sir?” He steps out of the truck.
“No, I just forgot to throw this away.” I open a can and toss the prepaid phone inside.
He nods and presses a button, sending the can up in the air, emptying its contents into the truck.
Crunch! Crunch! Crunchhhh!
The satisfying sound of the compactor is music to my ears.
He drives away with my delusional problem solved.
As I walk back to campus, something hits me.
I forgot to take out the fucking SIM card…
* * *
Don’t answer her
Seriously? You MAILED ME BACK the gift I gave you without even opening it?
I’ve shown up to your office during your allotted hours all week. You haven’t been there.
It’s kind of hard to have a “mentor” when he keeps cancelling our sessions.
You’re really not talking to me anymore?
Nope.
I hit ignore on another one of Genevieve’s text messages and walk onto my porch. Today’s plan is simple: Whiskey. Writing my resignation. Waiting for my brain to get the “She’s a goddamn student” memo.
Balloons smack me in the face when I open my front door.
Confused, I swat them away and see the entire arts department is standing in my living room. Uninvited.
What the…
“Gratam nostram familiam litterariam!” They cheer in unison, dousing me with book shaped confetti.
“I think it’s safe to say he’s surprised, everyone.” Miss Shaw laughs and hands me a glass of champagne.“You’ve passed the temporary teacher mark and are officially an Exonian. Welcome to the family.”
