Page 50 of Taste of Addiction

“You cut your losses.”

Pretty sure Graham told me the same thing. “Okay."

“Want to hear a little fun fact?” he asks, and then continues on. “Women are inundating the journalism field with the number of graduates coming from top universities. They basically comprise two-thirds of the population holding the degrees. However, it is still very much a male-dominated career.”

Society too.

He taps his fingers along the polished mahogany wood. “Those women are learning very quickly that they are not cut out for this line of work and change careers almost immediately. It’s not too late to change your focus. But now you went from being in a marathon to being in a sprint. Time is ticking, Miss McFee. And right now, you are on the road to failing my course—again.”

“The journalism world could use some feminist reporters, don’t you think?” I challenge. His fun fact is something I already know. It is why I'm so driven to prove myself.

“Of course, I’m sure there’s a place for them in the workforce. But that is assuming they can put the time in at a university and actually graduate. My nine thirty should be here. I’ll let you know the final submission date via email. But let’s make this easy. If you plan to hand in anything even hinting at the topic of the druggings, expect to fail automatically. I am your advisor. Take my advice.”

Ouch. I am going to be sick. All of the good graces I have received from Dr. Williams in the past are now nonexistent. I lift myself out of the chair and stumble toward the door. I wave a quick goodbye to Beth who frowns over my departure.

I run out of the building and lean against the stone siding as I try to catch my breath. It is over. I needed this meeting to be my closure. I have no fight left to give.

Groups of students filter into the building, and I watch as they enter. I feel out of control, and the only thing that I want right now is to lick my battle wounds in isolation. I walk back to my car and slam my hand down on the steering wheel.

“Dammit!”

I hear a tapping on my window and jerk up to see Bryce standing outside. He is finally back to good health with his ankle. I roll my window down.

“Hey, Teach.”

I blink hard and squint at the sun. “Hi.”

“Rough day? What’s wrong? How was your holiday break?”

“I just have a headache,” I say softly. “Hey, do you have any leftover pain pills from your ankle accident? I just have lame OTC kind, which basically works like a Tic Tac breath mint would.”

I watch as Bryce digs in the bottom of the book bag draped over his shoulder. “You’re in luck. I barely used these things. They make me hallucinate.”

“Oh wow, that’s not good.”

“Totally not fun. Maybe if my head had a better Rolodex of images—maybe even sexy ones—I would have been more inclined to use them. You can keep them—there’s only a handful left.”

“Thank you so much.”

“See you in class?”

I sigh and look out the front of my windshield. I am not feeling like sitting through a class today. I need to go lie down. “Can you please take notes today?”

“You know I rely on you for those,” he chuckles.

“I need to skip today.”

“Oh no, do you have senioritis?”

“Is it contagious?” I ask with a forced giggle. “If so, I had to have gotten it from you.”

“Hey, if you’re going to get anything from me, it’s a good time.”

I laugh at his lighthearted sense of humor. “I’ll hopefully see you at the next class.”

Bryce backs away from the car and waves goodbye. I pop open the little orange bottle and shake two into the palm of my hand. I toss them back and wince over the pain of the dry pills making their way down my throat without the flush of a beverage.

I grab my phone and scan through the contacts list until I find Larry’s number for the Smoothie Cafe. I dial it and wait for him to answer.

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