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“It’s come to my attention your grade is close to being under the threshold for scholarship students. This class is primary to your major. You’ll have to improve your grade to above…,” I glance back down at the paper with her name on it, “well, above a seventy-five percent average.”
“I know. I’ll study harder for the quizzes. I’m on the waitlist for a tutor. Thanks for letting me know.” Edith backs up before I can say more and leaves the classroom as I anticipated. Other students then crowd my podium and ask me several questions as I watch her slip out the door, her shoulders a bit more hunched, her ratty-looking patchwork bag slung over her shoulder.
Chapter Three
Edith
“Damn it.” I slam my books down on the table of the booth in the diner I’m meeting Aiden and Shelby at before I go to work.
“Wow. Who pissed in your Cheerios, sunshine?” Aiden looks up from the menu, trying not to crack a smile, his arm around Shelby.
“Jack Hamilton,” I say, leaning back and looking out the window into the blinding sun. I’m hoping the rays will scorch my eyeballs and I will never have to take another Statistics quiz again.
“Ooh… I know who that is!” Shelby leans over and pokes me in the boob, getting my attention.
“Hey!” I hiss. Only Shelby can get away with that. We never did the whole freshmen “experimentation” because I’m not into girls and definitely not as liberal as her. It is just Shelby being Shelby.
Aiden just looks mortified and grabs her hand in his so she can’t assault me again. “Is this, like, girl stuff? I can leave and come back later if you want,” Aiden says, looking desperate.
“Don’t be stuffy, Aiden. Mr. H. is the stuff of Edie’s wet dreams!” Shelby declares, loud enough for another table of students to look over at us.
Cue mortification. “Shhhh!” I glare at Shelby, who just smiles and shrugs before giving Aiden a peck on his cheek to let him know he can stay. “I don’t get you two, at all,” I say, taking a long drink from my glass of water.
“So…who is Mr. H.?” Aiden probes, taking a sip of his coffee, holding his pinkie out. Earlier last year, Shelby tried to instruct him on the proper way to drink coffee, but damn if he doesn’t do it just to annoy her. Some might think Aiden is batting for the other team, but Shelby and I know it was his super strict, rule-making parents that drilled these things into him. I fake the etiquette garbage because I don’t know a dessert spoon from a tea spoon.
“Mr. H. is Edith’s wet dream,” Shelby says out loud…again. My god, I want to kill this girl, best friend or not.
“Yeah, Shelby, you said that already. To everyone in here.” Aiden looks up and I can see his face has changed expression. My body tenses and I swear my hair is standing up on the back of my neck.
“Hello again, Miss Willows,” that familiar deep voice says to me. Jack Hamilton couldn’t possibly be eating at the Grease Lounge, but I should have known better. The fates had wanted to screw me over since the day I was conceived by my useless parents.
I groan, putting my head on the linoleum tabletop, hands over my face. I peek from behind my hands, seeing him standing there, a curious smile on his face. He is with Dean Andrews, the one who asked him to teach Dr. Roth’s class. He nods to my friends and continues to follow a perky waitress to a table on the far side of the dining room.
“I guess that’s Edie’s Mr. H., huh?” Aiden tactfully whispers.
“Classic. This explains why you’re the brilliant pre-med major,” I say sarcastically, motioning my hands dramatically in the air.
“Uh huh,” Shelby replies, grinning like the witch she is.
“I hate you, Shelby,” I mumble as I pick up my menu again, slinking down in my seat to see if I can peer around it and see Mr. Hamilton across the room. He’s facing me and talking animatedly with Dean Andrews. I see him smile at me and I quickly move the menu in front of me again. “I really hate you, Shells. I mean, like, end of the world kind of hate.” My face is heated and I feel a twisting flush spread from my middle to my face.
“I know. That’s why Aiden and I are buying you dinner,” she tells me, practically bouncing in her seat. She is the worst…friend…ever.
Jack
When Dean Andrews asked me to meet him for a late lunch after class, I didn’t think he would have chosen the Grease Lounge. It is a hole-in-the-wall, filled with and practically run by college students. I recalled my days as an undergrad eating here and the indigestion that would surely follow. We walk from the campus a short distance away, then wait for someone to seat us when we walk in. I notice mostly kids sitting at tables, enjoying shakes and burgers. The place hasn’t changed one bit.
“So how was class today?” Dean Andrews asks, addressing me while we waited to be seated.
“It was good. Usually I teach Calculus or Fundamentals of Math, so Statistics is a nice change. I always enjoyed that class as a student.” I lean back slightly, stretching out the kink in my neck, and look around again.
“Excellent.” He checks his phone for messages. We slowly make our way to a table, following a young waitress who is rocking out the nineteen fifties-style uniform, the top button on her dress undone, likely to earn extra tips.
As we pass by a table of three, I hear someone say, “Who is Mr. H.?”
Another voice replies, “Mr. H. is Edith’s wet dream.”
Incredible odds were being batted today, I thought and smiled because I only know of one Edith. I stand next to her table, willing her to look up. R
