Page 22 of Vicious Games

Asher shrugs. "What? The poor guy needs some relief. He's so uptight at the moment, and he's grading papers."

"And let me guess. One of them is yours?" I ask, flat.

"Possibly. But think of it as a community service."

I shove his chest. "It's a death sentence, Asher. I could get kicked out. Imagine what your father would say about it since he's funding my god-forsaken tuition."

He steps back, turning to head towards the doorway. Pausing, he gives me a sharp look. "Then better do your best not to fuck it up."

I can't concentrate on Professor Sampson's lesson. I missed the assignment deadline but that's the least of my concerns. The biggest one right now is sitting to the side of the board, typing on his laptop.

Kev pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose further, taking notes as Professor Sampson drones on and on. By the time class finishes, I have some idea of a plan of attack. But who knows how successful it will be.

As everyone filters out, I walk down the steps towards the teacher's desk.

"Professor Sampson?" I choke out, nerves starting to get the better of me.

The old, balding man turns, giving me a cold look. He's never been the happiest of humans. If misery took the form of a creature, it would be this person right here.

"Yes, Ms. Selwood. I couldn't help but notice that your assessment was not turned in."

I clear my throat. "Yes, I was quite unwell. I was actually coming to discuss that. Perhaps I could get an extension?"

Professor Sampson scoffs, shoving some papers into his tattered, brown briefcase. "And how long would you need?"

"A week?" I ask.

Kev is standing at the desk, grabbing a pile of paperwork. He ignores me, focusing on getting his belongings packed away. Professor Sampson huffs.

"You can have three days. I suggest you use it wisely. There will be no further extensions, Ms. Selwood."

He grabs his briefcase, trudging past me. I catch a whiff of onions and resist the urge to gag. When he is out of earshot, I give a sheepish smile to Kev.

"Is he like that to you, as well?"

Kev pauses, looking up from the rim of his glasses. "He's like that with everyone."

I take a moment to survey Kev. He's only a few years older than me – maybe 25. I hope the usual case of boys will be boys fits the description but who knows. People like Kev take their job seriously.

I'm usually a forward person, just telling guys I want them. But this needs more tactic. Morally, I realize how fucked up it is and let's face it, I'm probably going to hell.

Leaning against the desk, I let out a stressed sigh. Not really that hard to do considering I am actually utterly fucking stressed. But it's not for the reasons Kev probably thinks.

"I'm so worried," I start, rubbing my forehead.

Kev puts his bag on the desk, looking over me in concern. "What about?"

"Everything. This assignment. I don't understand it, and three days is not long at all."

He hesitates, his eyes looking at the doorway. "It's not that hard. You just need to read the textbook, and answer the questions. Keep it short and sweet, to the point. He doesn't like it when people overshoot it with words."

I look at him with pleading eyes. "Do you think you might be able to help me? Just point me in the right direction? I'm really worried I'm going to fail. I've been told I may get kicked out if I do."

Kev's eyes widen in shock. "What? Why would they do that?"

"I've been having lots of trouble lately."

Been in lots of trouble, more like.

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