Page 2 of A Thin Line

“You know who! Sinclair Whittier!”

I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes—and I turned around to face her, irritated that she was just as enamored of the Whittier family as every other stupid person in Winchester. “No, I haven’t.” Thank goodness. Alone, I’d give him a piece of my mind and try not to claw his eyes out. What his family had done to mine could never be forgiven.

“Oh…you’re in for a treat. He is fucking hot!”

This time, I couldn’t help the eye roll, and I turned around to leave the lab. Time was of the essence. “I’m here to get a degree, not drool over some guy.”

“I’m not looking for eye candy, either, but for his looks and cash, who could resist?”

I could.

And out of the lab I went. Jenna’s last comment didn’t deserve a retort. Taking a deep breath, I increased my pace. The WCC campus was fairly small, but it had three buildings. Although they weren’t spaced too far apart, I was wearing three-inch heels instead of my usual sensible shoes. Dr. Rakhimov had lectured me more than once over the past two weeks about dressing appropriately for the occasion, so today I wore a dress with a floral pattern, tiny, delicate flowers on soft cotton. I’d known she wouldn’t like it, but because I wore a navy-blue jacket and black heels, she refrained from saying anything. Still, the first thing I’d gotten from her that morning was a once-over followed by an arched eyebrow and her perma-frown.

Good enough for me.

Halfway to the building that housed the print shop, the concrete sidewalk highlighting the pain in my feet, I felt tempted to take off my heels. I should’ve worn loafers or sneakers throughout the day and changed to heels for the celebration, but it was too late now. Still, I could offer my feet a little relief by going barefoot—if I dared.

Grimacing, I ignored the blisters forming on the back of my feet and pressed on without taking the shoes off. It was still blazing hot out, over ninety degrees, and considering I had to walk across the asphalt parking lot to reach my destination, I didn’t want to burn the soles of my feet, either. The shoes would remain on.

Soon, I was opening the door to the main building, reminding myself that this would all be over in just a few more hours. And the rest of the summer would be—

No, it wouldn’t. There was no need fooling myself. Dr. Rakhimov would find something else to fixate on...and something else to order me around about. But I still had three weeks before fall classes began, so I’d at least for now be able to read books I wanted to instead of having to.

To the left was the print shop and I pulled on the door. Locked.

No!

I looked through the glass pane in the door to see a young man moving around and I banged on the door. When he looked up, he said, “We’re closed.”

I shouted, “It’s not five o’clock yet!”

When he shrugged, I banged again. Fear had tightened every muscle in my body—and I wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “You have programs for tonight’s event.” Still, he didn’t turn around. “Dr. Rakhimov will not be happy if I don’t deliver them to her.”

My throat already hurt from yelling, but my shoulders slackened when he turned around. Of course. The name Rakhimov struck fear into every student on campus who’d had to deal with her. This kid might have hated his job enough to want to leave work five minutes early, but if Dr. R. didn’t get her programs when she needed them, he’d be lucky to have a job when all was said and done.

“Fine,” he spat out, turning to walk toward the door. He unlocked it before heading back to the counter.

Pulling the door open, I followed him, stopping on my side of the counter. “Thank you so much.”

I could hear the snide tone, suspecting he would have liked to have told me off, but he merely asked, “What do you need?”

“You should have sixty programs for the sim lab unveiling tonight.”

“Yeah.” Picking up a stack of said programs setting farther down the counter next to other printed materials, he added, “These look right?”

I glanced at the top one. They were wrapped in plastic, and I knew it wasn’t my place to rip them open. Besides, I knew Dr. R. had already approved the proof the week before. The cover, with a picture of one of the lab stations, along with text that included today’s date in the college’s branded colors, looked right to me. “Yep.”

He picked up a clipboard from behind the counter, jotted the date and time—before five PM—and then rotated it so that it was face up for me. Pointing to a box, he handed me a pen. “Sign there.”

After scrawling my name, I whisked up the programs and walked to the door. As I stepped out, I said, “Thank you.” And I really meant it.

Finally, the guy said the word I’d expected earlier. “Whatever.”

But his attitude didn’t matter. Dr. R. was not going to have my ass in a sling…not today at least.

Because I knew that the rest of this night would rush by in a frenzy, I paused outside the science building and sat on an iron bench, enjoying the shade of the building. I hadn’t checked in with my dad since leaving the house earlier in the day and I wanted to make sure he was all right. Setting the programs on my lap, I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and called his number.

“There’s my princess.”

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