I stare at the phone long enough that the screen goes black, before pressing the side button and lighting it up again. It’s Kiernan, some blonde girl sticking her tongue out, and a decent looking boy with his arm wrapped around her neck and his lips pressed to her cheek.
I picture her grabbing her phone and her bag and storming out. She must have taken mine by mistake. Godfuckingdammit.
My knuckles crack as I squeeze the phone.
Is this her boyfriend?
“Professor?” someone asks.
“WHAT?” I snap, turning around.
It’s Shannon, and she looks flustered.She always looks fucking flustered.
I exhale long and hard, and for the first time in years I really want a cigarette.
“Sorry, Shannon.” I try to calm down. She’s a good TA, for the most part. Does what she’s told, never complains, keeps the students happy and off my back. “I’m having a . . . week.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No,” I growl.
“You sure?” She glances pointedly down at the phone in my hand, which is still showing the picture of Kiernan and her . . .whoever.
I tuck the phone back into my pocket.
“I saidno.”
“I just thought maybe I could—”
But before I can make any more fucking mistakes today, I storm out of the room.
12
Kiernan
Music is pounding, my hips swaying to the beat. Sweat is pouring down the back of my neck, and I wish someone would open a window.Maybe it’s just all the tequila shots.Whatever.
Someone’s hands are on me, their mouth on my neck, and for once I don’t give a shit.
Why not? Who fucking cares? What have I been waiting for?
I grind backwards into his hips, trying to remember who I was dancing with. They all look the same, the hockey lot.And none of them are who I want.
“Your ass is vibrating,” he yells into my ear.
I don’t know what that means. Is that likeyour ass is fire?
Jesus, I’m really wasted.
“Your phone?”
Oh.
I reach into the pocket of my jean skirt and pull it out but frown, the digits all swimming together, my vision blurry.
I decline the call and stick it back in my pocket.
“You want to get some air?”