Page 7 of Tops
“Do you have your phone back?” Tanner asked, for what I assumed was the second time, based on his tone.
“What?” I said, feeling the need to blink a lot as the rest of the room came back into focus. I heard what he had said. I just needed a minute more to understand what that meant. “Yeah, Hannah gave it back to me when she got dressed.” I pulled the phone out, showing off the basic touchscreen I had for the past four years.
“Give me your number,” Tanner ordered, pulling his phone out and unlocking it with his finger. His eyes rolled as he looked at the screen before turning the phone in his hands to show me his latest text message. “And for God’s sake, please text or call your mother before I have another woman threatening to call the cops on me this evening.”
“Oh!” I had entirely forgotten about the code text I sent my mom earlier. She made sure I memorized her phone number so I could text her from any phone should I get myself in an uncomfortable situation. I grabbed my phone and opened a video chat with my mom. Even a phone call wouldn’t be enough to calm her down. She needed to see me.
She picked up immediately, her brown curly hair tied up in a bandana. Paint spatters were all over her overalls, and there was a thick streak across her cheek. She always painted when she was worried. Waiting for my all-clear would have worried her a lot.
“Hey, mom,” I said with a timid smile, feeling guilty for all the anxiety she must have had tonight. “I just got my phone back from Hannah.”
“Where’s Tanner?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. I took a deep breath, knowing there was only one way out.
I turned the screen until an image of Tanner filled the small box on the video call. He wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. He sat casually on his leather chair, looking like a stock image of a fashion model for a business magazine. His hair was still ruffled from his frustrations with Hannah earlier. If he hadn’t waved his hand in greeting, she would have accused me of holding up a picture from the internet.
“Oh, I see,” I heard my mother’s shocked tone coming from the speakers before I quickly turned the screen. I was back inside the small box. My mother’s jaw was hanging partially open, and she looked somewhat dazed.
Great. Now I would never hear the end of this.
“I’ve got to go now, mom. Hope you finish your painting.” I ended the call, not wanting to risk anything else coming out of my mother’s mouth while Tanner was in the room. I looked back up at him with an awkward, apologetic smile. “Why do you want my number?”
“I figured if your mother has my phone number, it’s only fair I have yours. And you seem to be the levelheaded one of the pair. If anything ever happens to Hannah, you can get ahold of me directly.”
Considering how my mother looked at Tanner, he could ask her for my number, and she would give it in a heartbeat. Then she would send links to wedding rings. She may have started to worry about my lack of romantic life.
“Fine,” I rolled my eyes and watched as his body tensed. Someone was controlling. I gave him my phone number, and he sent a test message to check I gave him the correct one. If he was someone that needed control all the time, I was sure my presence just fucked his whole day up.
Well, that was one way to make a first impression.
3
Meeting Professor Pain
Isatdownatmy small, round, two-seat table in front of the window with a bowl of cereal. Loud honks and shouts from people outside filtered in through the closed window as the last warming rays of autumn heated my skin. Soon it would be too cold to sit next to the window. The drafts were horrible in the winter.
One more winter and I would leave this city behind, heading for D.C. Since I was a child, my dream was to work at the Smithsonian one day. I had a couple more credits and field hours, and I would be all set. It didn’t make sense to put down roots when I hadn’t finished traveling.
I pulled up my phone to see if there were any texts from my mom about Tanner, but an email caught my attention.
Subject: Anthropology
Welcome class. I know that many of you were confused about yesterday’s lecture. As is apparent by the overwhelming lack of ability to follow directions. Anthropologists must follow the order of procedure to the letter. If you work on a case with the FBI and contaminate or lose evidence because you cannot follow guidelines, you will be fired. If not worse.
Those who failed to complete the assignment have been reassigned to a new anthropology course next semester. Those who complained about my teaching methods to the dean have also been reassigned to a new anthropology course next semester.
If you are reading this part, you are still enrolled in my class. I have agreed to donate my time on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 8-9 PM for those who remain. I will meet you in the same lecture hall class is typically held. The dean has given me a key to the building, considering the giant favor I am granting to the university.
Professor Cage
Well, fuck. Wasn’t he a ray of sunshine to wake up to in the morning? I’m sure I could call the dean and get switched to another class next semester, but that would mean extending my degree another six months. I was getting rather tired of New York.
The date and time switch for the class didn’t conflict with my schedule.Whatever. I sighed, putting my phone down to pick up my spoon before my cereal got too soggy.
Explaining to Hannah that we would have to change movie night was far more challenging than I had expected. She had stormed out of the apartment, ranting about her feelings never being considered. It wasn’t like I chose to have my anthropology class changed. She hadn’t come back home by the time I had to leave for my class.
Taking a seat on the end, I half fell into the chair. The more time I spent thinking about how stupid it was for Hannah to be mad at me for something like this, the angrier I got. The cold drizzle of rain that had started to fall when I stepped out of the door hadn’t helped the situation. I plopped my damp backpack onto the seat next to me. From the sound of the email, there would be plenty of seats to spare.
I got everything situated as I sat back, sipping my hot coffee, watching as the students quietly filed in and took a seat. Professor Cage hadn’t arrived, but the door was unlocked as promised. The room was noticeably quieter than a typical lecture hall. Only ten of us were waiting for Professor Cage to appear at eight o’clock.
