Page 68 of The Chase

“Um, yeah, I’ve never been interested in modeling.” I get to my feet and gesture to the portfolio. “So do I have your approval to move forward?”

“Absolutely.” He hands the leather book back to me.

“Great. Thanks. I’ll see you in class.”

I’m relieved to leave his office, even if it means shivering my ovaries off in the cold again. Every time I start to think he’s harmless, he triggers that dreaded creep-o-meter.

Outside, I’m blasted by a gust of frigid wind.I hate you, January. Just die already.I begin my journey across campus,checking my phone as I head for the parking lot where I left my car. I find a missed call from my mom, along with a text that makes me smile.

Call your parents, Summer. I miss my girl.

My heart expands with love. Ugh, I miss them so much. I’ve barely spoken to them since the semester began. I’ve been busy, but so have they. Dad recently started jury selection for a high-profile murder trial, and Mom has been visiting Nana Celeste in Florida.

I return Mom’s call but get her voicemail. I try my dad instead.

He picks up right away. “Princess! It’s about time!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been swamped. Also, I can’t believe I caught you out of court.”

“Barely,” he admits. “I’m only available because the prosecutor requested a five-minute recess. His next witness is late.”

“That’s unacceptable!” I exclaim, only half joking. “Don’t let them get away with it, Daddy. Have them charged with contempt of court.”

He chuckles. “Not how it works, sweetheart, but thanks for the concern. How’s school going?”

“Good. I just had a meeting with my independent-study advisor. I’m designing a line of swimwear for the final show.”

“What about your other classes? How are you handling the workload?”

I give him a quick rundown of what I’m studying this term, admitting that it hasn’t been too challenging yet. “But I am writing an outline for an essay tonight. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, Princess. You’re going to kick this essay’s butt.”

He has such faith in me, it makes me want to cry. Not once, in my entire life, had my parents ever called me stupid. But I know they must’ve thought it. How could they not when I kept coming home with failed tests for them to sign? When all my written work was covered with red edits, comments scribbled all over the margins?

“But if you are having trouble, let me know. Maybe I can speak to David—”

“No,” I cut in, my tone firm. He means David Prescott, the dean. Well, I’m not having it. “Dad. You need to stop talking about me with Prescott and asking for favors. The assistant dean already hates me because he thinks I got preferential treatment—wait, forget all that,” I interrupt myself. “If you’re so eager to grant favors, I need one from you.”

He laughs. “Do I even want to know?”

“Can you find out where Hal Richmond was born?”

“Who?”

“Briar’s assistant dean. He has a British accent, and I’m convinced it’s fake.”

There’s a beat.

“Princess.” Dad sighs. “Are you torturing this poor man?”

“I’m not torturing anyone,” I protest. “I just have my suspicions and I would love you so, so much if you could verify his place of birth. It’ll take you all of five seconds, you know it will.”

His laughter rumbles in my ear. “I’ll see what I can do.”

__________

My spirits are still high when I sit down later to outline my midterm. Mom got ahold of me before dinner and we spent an hour on the phone catching up. And all three of my roommates are out for the night, so I can work in silence. With my ADHD, even the slightest distraction can set me back. I get sidetracked far too easily.

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