Damaged

Page 8

A plan forms in my head. I need to put space between us. I need to get a different professor to work for. I need to find Strictland and ask her to assign me to someone else.
As I reach the upper landing, I see Marshal walk through the door. He gives me a look and tilts his head at Peter. “So, how is he?”
I glance back, watching him write on the dry-erase board with his back to me. When I turn to Marshal, I snap, “Why would I know?”
Marshal gives me a weird look. I push past him, banging into his shoulder because he doesn’t move and I don’t want to stay around to chat.
I need to find Strictland. Now.
_____
When I reach the offices, things appear to be back to normal. Student workers are at their desks, professors are hurrying through the space—coffee in one hand, papers in the other—on their way to teach.
I walk over to Tadwick’s office and stand in the open door way. I spent hours in there. Leaning my head to the side, I rest it against the doorjamb. My eyes scan the room looking at all Tadwick’s books, his favorite poems and literature. My gaze drifts to his pictures and some small clay thing that looks like a squashed cat. One of his girls made that for him. I remember him bringing it in and proudly showing off his future artist. He was beaming that day.
Blinking rapidly, I try to fight off the stinging that’s building behind my eyes. Life is short. I know that, but I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe I won’t see him again. It feels unreal. My mind wrestles with it and doesn’t want to accept that it’s a fact—Dr. Tadwick is dead.
A hand lands on my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. I round on the person swiftly, trying hard not to punch the crazy person. Sneaking up on me is normally a bad idea, but today, it’s a super bad idea. I’m angry. I’m shocked. I’m a million things and nothing. I want to hit something. The pain that would shoot through my hand would make it so I’d feel something familiar, something I know how to handle.
I don’t know how to handle this.
Before I smash in her face, I see Dr. Strictland. She doesn’t step back or lower her hand when I turn. She has that smile on her face, the one that isn’t really a smile. It’s a way to hide pain, a mask. “Are you all right, Sidney? I know you and Marshal must be in shock as well.”
“I’m okay,” I say, trying to force my voice to sound normal.
That’s my go-to response. I’m fine. I’m okay. Everything’s great. But nothing’s great. Everything sucks. My fake smile slips from my face. “Okay, I’m lying. I’m not okay. I didn’t expect this. I’m not sure what to do.”
Strictland looks at me with such compassion that it’s hard to maintain her gaze and not cry. “Come with me.” Lowering her hand, she turns away, and I follow her back to her office.
When I was first in here, I thought she was a deranged cat lady. There are kitty cat statues and pictures everywhere, and I mean everywhere. Little plastic kittens hang playfully from the lights, ceramic orange cats sit on her shelves, there are cross-stitched kitties on the chairs, and on her desk cat frames surround more pictures of real housecats. Seriously. It’s scary. Eventually, I found out that she had been the victim of a prank and left the cat theme in place when she realized it scared the crap out of people. She has an interesting sense of humor.
I lower myself onto a stitched kitty and lean back into the chair. Strictland walks behind her desk and sits down. “Sidney, I know today was hard for you. Have you lost anyone before, dear?”
I nod and keep my hands folded tightly in my lap. “Yes.”
She nods slowly, waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t. There are things I won’t say, secrets I won’t tell. I can’t talk about it. Not now, not ever. “Well, you can talk to a counselor about it and work through the stages of grief. It’s better that you’re not alone in this. We’re all going to miss him.” I nod. “How was the freshmen class this morning?”
I glance up at her. “They were all right. Dr. Granz continued with the lesson.” I pause and decide to just blurt it out. “Is there any way that I could get transferred to another professor?”
Strictland looks surprised. She leans forward and places her hands on top of her desk. “Why? Is something wrong? Did Dr. Granz—”
“No,” I say, quickly backtracking. “It’s just that I don’t think that I can manage to sit in Tadwick’s office every day. It’d be so much better if I could work for someone else.” I’m lying. Sort of. I don’t want to sit there with Peter every day. I don’t want to look up at him and remember his hands on me, and I sure as hell don’t want to remember him throwing me out.
Dr. Tadwick shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Sidney, but all the TA jobs have been assigned for months now. There are no other positions. You’ll have to figure out how to deal with this loss, and I’m sure Dr. Granz will be happy to help you, unless you’re resigning?” Her eyes widen as she looks at me. The last thing she wants to do is hire and train a new TA in the middle of the year.
“No, I’m not resigning. I need this job.” I look at my hands, at the way the nail polish that was so neat last night has been chipped away. Images from the previous evening flash across my mind. I see Peter’s eyes and hear his voice echo inside my head. The sensation of his hands searing my skin and his teasing kiss rushes back. I press my lips together and shut the memory out. I’m going to have to suck it up. Peter is a part of my life now, whether I want him there or not.
CHAPTER 6
I’m a nervous wreck by the time I get to lunch. Before finding my regular table with Millie and Tia, I walk into the cafeteria and grab some food. I navigate my way through hordes of students, and sit down next to Millie at a long table in front of the windows. This entire side of the cafeteria is windows. The school sunk a buttload of money into the view. There’s a lot of brick work, flowers, and super green grass. Seriously, it’s too green. I thought it was plastic at first. Everything around here is that sickly shade of yellow that comes from a general lack of water. There’s been a drought here for the past three years, and it’s easy to tell. That’s why this little garden stands out. It’s completely out of place, but it looks good when prospective students sit down.
When I sit down, Millie’s picking at a salad as though one piece of lettuce might be tastier than another. There’s no dressing on it. She eats it dry. My plate has a corndog and fries. Bad days call for foods that are bad for your butt. I dip my dog into ketchup and take a bite. I’m not that hungry, but maybe eating something will help me feel better.
Tia looks at me like I’m eating asphalt off the road with a side of squirrel. I snap, “What?”
“Nothing,” Tia responds, glancing down at her own plate.
Millie sighs and glances at me. “What’s wrong? You seem off-balance.” She stabs another piece of salad and turns the leaf over, examining it, before popping it in her mouth.
“Nothing.” Everything. “Today is just turning into crap, that’s all.” My favorite teacher died. I nearly slept with a guy last night, but he blew me off. Oh, and he’s my new boss. What a train wreck.
Tia choses that moment to say, “I heard Tadwick’s replacement already called you into his office. What’d you do?”
“Way to be tactless, Tia.” Millie scolds, shaking her head and spearing more greens onto her fork.
“Who told you that?” I ask, not caring that Tia’s blunt.
“Marshal. He was in a mood after class. He said something about how you pissed off Dr. Grant—”
“Granz,” I correct.
“Yeah, him, and how you pissed him off already. Seriously, Sidney, what’d you do?” Tia leans forward. She’s sitting across from me and hasn’t touched her food.
I shrug and paint my plate red with the half eaten corndog. Ketchup streaks across the white dish in wide arcs while I tell them, “I don’t know. Granz just seems mean. He probably wants to make a point with me or something stupid like that. You know how teachers are hard-asses on their first day.” That’s usually true. It sets the tone for the rest of the year. A professor who’s a pushover on day one, is a doormat on day two.
Millie’s eyes have been burning a hole in the side of my face. “Well, in light of today sucking, I think we should end the night with some margaritas.”
“You always want to end the night with margaritas,” I respond, still not looking at her. My ketchup resembles a disturbing Van Gogh painting. I could call it, The Missing Ear.
“Well, you’ve needed one lately. Take a hint already.” Millie’s back straightens and she looks straight ahead. Tia ducks her head and eats her food, not looking at either of us.
“Take a hint? What are you talking about?” Millie says nothing. She just looks at me like I should know, but I don’t get it. “Come on Millie, if you’ve got something to say, say it.” I’ve dropped my corndog, sensing a verbal bitch-slap coming on.
She looks as thought she’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. Instead, Millie shakes her head and says, “It’s nothing.”
“No, come on—tell me.”
“I really shouldn’t—”
“Just say it!”
“Fine!” she shouts way too loud for her little body. Blonde curls bouncing, she grips the table and yells, “Nothing makes you happy. Everything I do is wrong. Every guy is wrong. Everyone is wrong. Jeeze, Sidney! You ever stop to wonder if it’s you? I mean, when that many things are wrong, maybe you are the one who’s wrong? Maybe you are the one that doesn’t fit.”
I blink at her. This is as much of an argument as I’ve ever gotten from Millie. On another day, I could have brushed it off. On another day, I might have laughed and agreed with her—but not today.
I stand up and grab my tray. I walk away without speaking. Millie’s words cut me to the core, because out of all the things that are wrong with me, that’s the one that’s been hanging around my neck like a noose. I don’t fit anywhere. Maybe I pretend that’s okay, but it’s not. The isolation makes me crazy. I feel as if I’ve been drifting on a crappy little blow-up boat, and my best friend just popped it.