Page 44 of My Cosplay Escape
My heart thuds fast inside me. I can’t drop out of school over another stupid boy. It took everything I had and then some to get back to this point. “Please, there’s got to be another option.”
“Drop the class.”
“No,” I whimper. “I can’t drop the class.”
Brenda, who seems altogether too happy with my panic-stricken face, rolls her eyes. She drums her fingers on the desk, and I feel cornered and terrified.
“Please,” I beg.
A smile surfaces on Brenda’s dark purple-stained lips. “We have openings in the Tuesday-Thursday section. I’d be your TA, and you wouldn’t be associating with Adam any further.”
I can tell I’m past beet red. I’ve drifted into pasty, almond milk territory. I swallow. “Can’t I just switch to a different TA in the Wednesday afternoon section? I can’t miss two days of work every week.” Scheduling at work is difficult enough these days with me requesting every Friday and Saturday night off. You can volunteer for the early mornings and afternoons only so often before everyone gets wise. And then jealous. Plus, I don’t know if I can financially swing another missed shift.
“Sarah…” Brenda butts into my thoughts. “I’m trying to moderate a situation that could quickly escalate into allegations of harassment—”
“Because we went for a run together after lab? Adam could have said no.”
Brenda folds her arms across her chest. “He felt he couldn’t when you brought up your late father.”
Holy fudge. I feel ill. Worse than ill. I’m scared. I didn’t trap Adam into a run, but is that how he felt? “This is a nightmare. Fine, transfer me to the Tuesday-Thursday section.” I wince. “What about Friday labs?”
“I could never tell a student they are not welcome at Friday labs. However, as head TA, I suggest that you make use of the last twenty minutes of lab hours to avoid any awkwardness.”
That’s right. Adam mentioned needing to head out early on most Fridays for a lecture or something. Still, twenty minutes isn’t going to be much help. “Are there any other lab hours?”
“No.” Brenda preens like a peacock. A goth, blunt peacock—okay, maybe peacock was the wrong analogy. But she is smug as ever.
I swallow and collect my things. “This is all a really big misunderstanding.” I am trying desperately not to cry, which means tears are brimming in my eyes and threatening to overflow down my cheeks. If I bite my tongue really hard, will the tears stay put? “I never meant to make anyone feel uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t mean—I didn’t want…” But I can’t say the words. I did mean to flirt. Idid, past tense, have intentions. Playful, harmless intentions. I should have stopped, because I was clearly headed for a speed bump. When will I grow up? “Thank you for helping me transfer sections. I’m glad I don’t have to start Econ 101 over again.”
“About that,” she says. “We feel—”
“Who is we?” I ask.
“The TAs. Dr. Burnbalm too. We feel it is important to eliminate even the hint of bias or favoritism that may have played into your assessments when Adam was your TA. It would be unfair to the other students not to. All the assignments affect the curve, after all.” Brenda shifts comfortably in the professor’s chair. “We’d like you to resubmit your course work from weeks one, two, and three. Please use different topics and essays, as we understand that Adam provided substantial feedback—”
Substantial feedback?! My legs itch for a run. My head pounds with the need of it. I have to speak quickly to avoid sobbing in front of my new TA. “Yeah. Um. Yeah. That seems fair. How long do I have to do over the first three weeks of my assignments and turn them in?”
“You can bring them to me at lab hours on Friday.”
“This Friday? Two days from now?”
Brenda smiles.
A knock at the open door is accompanied by the lean silhouette of a man in a white-T-shirt and jeans. Oh no. “Dr. Burnbalm, do you have time to look at my data sets—” Adam looks up from his stack of papers and sees me—hoodie-clad, red eyes, tear-streaked cheeks—and goes completely pale.
I shouldn’t have turned to look. I should have just cowered in my chair.
“Dr. Burnbalm headed out to take a phone call,” Brenda says. By the glint in her eyes, you’d think she was giving a victory speech.
Adam wavers for a minute before disappearing down the hall.
“Any questions, Sarah?” Brenda says dismissively.
I shake my head and swipe at the tear that slides down my cheek.
She leans back in the chair. “See you Thursday, then.”
Chapter Thirteen
