Page 7 of Tenure

5

James

I’ve been trying not to stare at her for the entire damn lecture.

After she left the tutorial last week I went on a bit of tear. Got Shannon to reach out to the campus bookstore to have the textbook removed and contact the publisher about a new edition. Nothing I can do about the ones students have already bought, but it’s bugging me. I never thought I’d be grateful for the day that my students aren’t smart enough to understand my shit.

I think I’ve given myself arthritis from the amount of times I’ve cracked my knuckles thinking about her. A fuckingfirst year.

I couldn’t help myself and tried to pull her academic transcript, but the school didn’t have it on file. She was just listed as a continuing education student with a “special circumstances” note from the Dean of Admissions that I couldn’t see via my faculty profile.

This is the only class she’s enrolled in.

As the room empties out for joints, smokes, coffee, piss breaks, I take the opportunity to adjust my crotch. I’ve forced myself not to look at her, to keep plowing through the material at a breakneck pace, but I saw her laugh at something out of the corner of my eye and felt a fresh wave of irritation trailblaze its way up my spine.

She was clearly not paying attention, and I’d never wanted to throw something as badly as I wanted to throw her fucking phone just then.

Something to keep me awake,she said.

Little shit.

“Kiernan,” I hear myself say. She pauses, her back to me, and cocks her head. “I need to speak with you.”

“I’ll bring one back for you,” the hockey-playing mouth breather says with a shrug.

I stare at him until he leaves. Until it’s just me and her. She turns around, her expression neutral, but I can tell by her eyes that she’s pissed.

Good.

“How far ahead did you work?” I ask.

“Four more chapters,” she says without hesitating. “I didn’t find any more errors, if you were wondering.”

My jaw and my dick both clench.

“Why did you register late?”

“None of your business.”

“Why are you only enrolled part time?”

“Still none of your fucking business.”

“Why is this the only math class you’re registered for?”

“Why are you checking up on me?”

I pause, momentarily distracted by her flushed skin beneath the smattering of freckles on her nose. “Kiernan . . . most third- and fourth-year students struggle with these concepts.”

“Most students are idiots.”

I don’t disagree.

I step towards her, and her brow furrows.

“Are you a math major?” I ask.

She says nothing.

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