Page 42 of Forbidden Professor

F+.

My grade for last week’s pop quiz, written in red sharpie, and circled to emphasize just how much of a loser I am, stares up at me accusingly.

My stomach flips. My palms sweat.

Everything else sweats.

Panic rises in my throat, threatening to tumble out along with the coffee I’d had this morning. As if the day hadn’t started terribly already, what with my disastrous meeting with Carter, but now I am forced to face the fact that my father will once again threaten to cut off funding for my education, as soon as this big fat F is reported back to him.

Tears fill my eyes. I feel so hopeless. I studied so hard and thought I’d done much better than I had.

“Oh, shit,” Vi says, looking over my shoulder. “I didn’t do much better than you, for what’s it worth.” She shows me the big red D on her test and I nod.

“Hey, are you crying?” She asks.

“No,” I lie, quickly wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.

“Eve, come on, I know it’s rough. But it’ll get easier. Give yourself a little grace.”

“Tell that to my father,” I say, wryly.

“Is he really that bad?”

“Yes,” I reply, emphatically.

“Well, you’d be able to breathe a little and not be so freaked out about a simple pop quiz grade, if you didn’t have to worry about him.” I told her about my meeting with the associate dean. Vi has been enthusiastically encouraging me to apply for financial aid ever since. She nudges me gently with her elbow. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’ll go this afternoon to the financial aid office.”

“Good, because you’re running out of time,” she says. “And you don’t want to miss the window. The sooner you’re free, the better.”

“Okay, you’re right. Today,” I nod, firmly. She pats me on the back and flashes me a reassuring smile.

“I don’t think you’ll regret it,” she says.

“Thanks, Vi,” I say, putting the paper in my folder. This class is even harder than Carter’s class, and I’m glad I didn’t get this grade from him.

It’s bad enough I still have to be in his class after this morning.

Failing his class would make it so much more painful and humiliating.

“Ready for Mr. Hottie’s class?”

I moan and shake my head. “No.”

“What is with you? You refuse to acknowledge how hot he is.”

Her words sting. I want to tell her the truth, but I can’t.

“He’s fine,” I say, with a dismissive wave.

“That’s one word for it,” she winks. I hate that she’s lusting after Carter. He may not be mine, but I don’t want anyone else talking to me about him like that. Plus, all it makes me do is remember what I lost, if I ever really had it in the first place.

Because I don’t laugh at her joke, she elbows me.

“God, let’s get you some coffee, eh? And then, maybe pour a little whiskey in it?”

“No, thank you to the whiskey,” I reply. “But I’m down for coffee.”

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