Page 31 of Virgin Sacrifice

Before I managed to get a grip on myself, a brief twinge of disappointment went through me when I realized it was someone else. Alister and Nixon had been conspicuously absent the last couple of days, and I was loath to admit that a part of me had started to become accustomed to catching one or both of them lurking in the background.

Aaron spoke up. “I think that if Luz doesn’t want to celebrate her birthday, then as her friends we need to respect that.” I was surprised to see him coming to my defense.

“But it’s her birthday, and it’s, like, Halloween.” Autumn pouted, unwilling to let it rest. “It’s going to be absolutely epic, and as her friends, it’s our responsibility to make sure that she has fun and makes memories.”

“She had some psycho leave a heart on her door, Autumn. I think if she says she feels safer staying in, then we should listen to her,” he pushed back.

The two of them could argue all they wanted, but ultimately, it was my decision, and right now I had to leave or I would be late for Locke’s class. Something I refused to do again.

I quietly packed up my belongings, while the two of them went back and forth, before clearing my throat.

“Gotta run to class. Talk to you guys later,” I said and spun around before anyone could say anything, ignoring their protests as I power walked out of the dining hall.

Having left early for ECON200, I was able to walk across the campus at a leisurely pace and take in all its autumnal glory.

It was mid-October, and despite the damage done by the storm earlier, the trees were peaking in their colors. The university’s oaks were especially breathtaking with their mighty crowns of orange and red setting the canopy ablaze. Acorns littered the pathways, and I took note of the last elderberries of the season still hanging ripe on the branch.

Halloween decorations had sprouted up all across the campus. The university looked exactly like one might imagine Halloween in a quaint New England town should. Neatly carved jack-o’-lanterns sat on the steps of the smaller buildings, and the lanterns that lit up the campus walkways had been decorated with ornate displays of ribbon, straw and what looked like tiny pumpkins. Silhouettes of witches and bats hung from the porches of Greek row with fake spider webs covering every nook and cranny.

There was something off-putting about the frivolity of it all, given that several women were missing. At least the university seemed to prefer more traditional Halloween decorations and had spared us from anything too gory or creepy.

Before I knew it, I was across campus and making my way inside Granger Hall. Checking my phone, I saw that I still had at least five minutes before class began.

A breath I didn’t realize I had been holding was released when I walked in and saw no one standing at the empty lectern. Realistically, I knew it was unlikely that Dominic would be teaching two weeks in a row, but that didn’t mean a girl couldn’t get her hopes up.

I chose a seat in a row a couple down from the middle, just off-center, and pulled out my spiral notebook and favorite gold mechanical pencil.

I’ll admit that in the sea of laptops favored by my classmates, the notebook stood out, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my classmates chalked it up to me being a scholarship student. But what they didn’t know was that studies have shown that people retain more information when they write it down by hand than when they type. My beautiful, refurbished MacBook Pro was saved for my trips to the library to study. Otherwise, I kept it safely locked up in my room.

Over the next five minutes, I watched as the empty hall slowly filled with students but still no Locke Blackwell. I kept checking the time on my phone and when it hit 3:00 p.m. and our professor was still nowhere to be seen, I felt a smug sense of vindication.

Even the great Locke Blackwell was late sometimes.

Another five minutes passed, and I started to wonder if he might not show up at all. I had read the student handbook from cover to cover, including all the university procedures and policies. If an instructor failed to show up within twenty minutes of the start of class it was automatically canceled.

Another five minutes passed, the noise level in the room progressively rising as the space filled with hushed voices of students wondering where the professor was. Ten more minutes and I could have an entirely Locke-free afternoon.

At 3:16, the door to the lecture hall swung open, crushing the dreams of probably most of the class, myself included, as Locke confidently strode in.

Another person might have started their lecture by apologizing, or at least acknowledging their tardiness.

Instead, without so much as a glance at the class, he went straight to the lectern and began setting up the laptop.

“Professor?” a student called out from somewhere in the small hall, only to be met with Locke’s palm raised sharply in the air in the stop gesture, effectively silencing them. The man never even looked up from his device.

After another couple of moments, slides filled the large screen behind him, and he finally stood up to acknowledge the class.

“I hope you’re all prepared for today’s lecture on contemporary drivers of macroeconomic instability and leading solutions in the current market,” he said, immediately turning to flip through the slides.

“Uh, sorry, Professor,” the same voice called out again. Looking over, I could see it was a pretty brunette I didn’t recognize. “Can we talk about what’s going to be on the midterm next week?” she went on, shamelessly batting her eyelashes at Locke.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cantwell, is it?” he replied.

“Yes, Isabella Cantwell,” she cooed as she leaned forward in her seat, granting half the class a generous view of her cleavage.

“Ah, yes, I believe we met at your grandmother’s event in the Hamptons,” he said with a charming smile. I may have been on a scholarship, but most of the students here were literally paying thousands of dollars for this class so that these two could reminisce about their social lives.

“. . . but all of that will be covered by your TAs on Thursday, Miss Cantwell.”

---