Page 43 of My Cosplay Escape
I double down on my no-speed-bump rule.
I get to class seconds before the bell rings—in my hoodie, no less—vanish during the breaks, and leave immediately when the lecture is over. I can’t even look in Adam’s direction. And rather than attend another early-morning Friday lab, I email Brenda and ask for clarification on the problem that I need to double-check.
Economics isn’t complicated.
Then an email from Dr. Burnbalm drops in my in-box.
Chapter Twelve
Dr. Burnbalm rises when I tap on his door. “Sarah, come on in. I was hoping you’d be able to stop by today. You know Brenda?” He sweeps his hand to gesture toward Brenda, one of his graduate students. She has jet-black hair and a penchant for piercings.
“Have a seat,” Dr. Burnbalm says.
I do, but I cannot squelch my nerves. Professors don’t send out personal emails inviting undergrads to office hours. Most of my professors up to this point in my academic career haven’t even been in their offices for office hours.
“How’s your semester going?” Dr. Burnbalm asks, smiling widely. “You’re an Open University student?”
“Yeah, hoping to transfer.” My hands are sweaty, and I hide them inside the sleeves of my hoodie.
“You adjusting okay? Ocean air and all that?”
“Yeah, I grew up here.” I leave out the part about how I wish I’d never left for Michigan State.
Professor Burnbalm clears his throat. “I’m going to let Brenda take the lead here since she’s head TA.”
Brenda, who seems to prefer dressing all in black and probably has been to every grunge concert in San Diego since birth, gives me a you-sad-stupid-undergrad face. “As you know, Econ 101 is graded on a curve.” She waves a hand quickly. “We’ve got a classic conflict of interest, as I’m sure you are aware of.”
I stare back. I blink. “Conflict of interest?” Is this because I failed my last econ class so spectacularly? “I know my transcript doesn’t change until I pass this class, but I’m okay with that.” I’m okay with any second chance. “I don’t plan on failing twice.”
Professor Burnbalm looks up from his computer. His glasses reflect back what looks like theMississippi Bake-Offshow’s website. “It’s not your transcript, Sarah,” he says gently. He grabs his silent phone. “I have to take this call. Excuse me, please.”
Brenda moves into Dr. Burnbalm’s chair before the door closes. “We’re talking about your relationship with Adam McKinney,” she says, not at all gently. Bluntly. Brenda is the queen of blunt.
I feel myself go bright red. Juice-fast, beets-for-breakfast bright red. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. “What relationship?” Goldfish. If the next word out of her mouth iscat, I am going to change my name, change my major, dye my hair, and run for the next three weeks straight.
“Your flirtation,” Brenda clarifies.
Shirley Temples. I blink. “My flirtation?”
“Since he is your TA and is responsible for not only assisting you in learning the material, but also helping to assess your efforts, any sort of nonprofessional relationship creates a conflict of interest for you both. In other words, you have an unfair advantage and are screwing everyone else with a crappier grade. Aren’t curves fun?” Queen of Bluntness is actually saying these words. I’m not hallucinating.
I manage to speak at last. “I thought Professor Burnbalm did the grading?”
“A class of this size?” Brenda snorts. “Get real.” She leans forward, her arms clasped comfortably on Dr. Burnbalm’s desk. “We saw all the hoodie emails.”
“Those emails were harmless.” And embarrassing.
“We’ve had a complaint from another student that you stripped in front of Adam during Friday lab hours.”
Fudge brownies. “I took off my hoodie outside after a run. I had a top on underneath. I’m sorry if removing outerwear is against the Econ 101 syllabus.” I am about to mention that this happened after lab hours ended, but I shut my mouth. This couldn’t be more humiliating. Maybe if I was wearing the catsuit.
I try hard not to lose it and burst into tears. “I’m sorry if I caused offense to Adam, or to the other TAs, or any of my fellow students.”
“That’s nice, Sarah. But it doesn’t change the conflict of interest,” Blunt Brenda says.
Oh goldfish. My heart races. “How do we fix that?”
“You could drop the class,” Brenda suggests. “Start fresh next semester.”
