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When I turned around, Emma was gone. I’d known that would happen.
The reporter remained on the street as I strode away, past all the roving eyes that trailed me. I’d had enough for the day.
Class wasn’t as enjoyable as it would have been otherwise. Predictable, given that the murderous rage inside me threatened to spill over as I tried to talk about social constructs that I hated.
As I checked my phone for any news from the reporter—any new, vile gossip—I got a text from Rory. I looked up and saw her smiling at me.
Why are you trying to make the constructs thing work? We’re here for your take, Professor.
I took a deep breath. She was right.
“Well.” I glanced around the classroom. “I can’t carry on with this crap. Here’s my take on social constructs. They were made to enforce the will of a few over the ways of many.”
From there, the classroom just grew more and more animated. From the class problem to Jim Crow laws, we explored every prejudice that bothered me and made me want to overturn the system.
By the end of the class, some of my vital life-force had returned to me. And I had Rory to thank for that.
I wanted to call her and speak with her after the bell, but she disappeared before I could reach out.
Dejected, I turned around and began packing my books. I didn’t have any more classes today. And I was exhausted. Maybe this merited going home and burying my head in a pillow.
My phone beeped once more. Rory. I looked around the classroom, but she wasn’t there.
“I’m in the cafeteria. Care for a cuppa?”
I could always do with a cuppa. I walked down to the café and found her with a turkey sandwich. I ordered another and sat down across from her.
“Thanks for looking out for me in that classroom. I was losing my shit there.”
She grinned at me. “You’re welcome. I thought you could use some help. Listen, I just got another message from Emory.”
I clenched my fists under the table. Just how bad could this day possibly get?
“What does he want now?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“He told me he needed to meet me about some gala? Happens the first week of May? What is it about?”
“It’s the founder’s day event,” I muttered. This had been long coming. “Every year, the university chooses one student as the primary representative. They get to present a paper on the uni’s history and tie it to their own vision.”
Rory’s eyes lit up. I hated that. In another world, I’d be excited for her to have the chance to take part in something like this.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
“Rory, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to attend the event. I don’t know what Abbot’s planning, but I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Why?”
“Because... the last time it happened, someone got hurt. Pretty badly.”
She nodded. “Emma Moore. When were you planning on telling me about her, by the way?”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
30
Rory
Alittle context, dating back to four nights ago. Wow, that made me sound like I was a suburban wife in a house with a white picket fence.
