In Session

Foster returned his gaze to his menu, like I wasn’t hovering over his table completely pissed off. It was one thing to avoid a person, and another entirely to pretend they didn’t exist. I wasn’t pretending what we’d done hadn’t happened, I was just choosing it avoid it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Foster looked up at me again. “I’m on a date, Miss Starling. Did you need something?”

A date? I muttered something incoherent, then stumbled back to my seat. Of course he was on a date. I sat back in the cushy, leather booth just as the appetizers arrived.

“So?” Rachael pressed. “What did he say?”

“He’s on a date,” I replied, confusion seeping from my tongue. It made sense on just about every level for my professor, a man whose only contact with me should have been in the classroom, to be on a date with a woman who wasn’t me. But inside, where my cells were being made and my blood was pumping, it felt wrong.

I felt wrong.

I picked up a fry and chewed it with enough force to make myself feel better. I punished that fry, because I couldn’t exactly bitch to my friend that my professor was sleeping with so

meone else. I mean, he was a single, red-blooded male. He could do whatever he wanted.

I’d made it clear to him that we weren’t going to happen. So he’d listened.

“A date?” she exclaimed. “What an asshole!”

Yeah! Asshole! Wait—no, not an asshole. He was being a good guy. I shook my head, trying to get on the right track mentally. My friend meant well, but Foster was my professor. If we dated, it would be bad news for both of us.

“No,” I said, taking a fistful of fries and shoving them in to my mouth for comfort. The words that came out next were barely audible over the sound of ten fries dying inside the cavern of my mouth. “It’s good.”

“Good? He slept with you not even a week ago!”

I shrugged. “I told him to screw off. He’s screwing off.” Reaching for the entire basket of fries (screw it, I need comfort), I kept my gaze fixated on Foster. His date had returned and I decided I already hated her. She had long, luxurious, acorn-colored hair and big almond-shaped eyes. She laughed at everything he said. How was that even possible? There was no way everything he said was funny.

Absolutely fuming, I shoved another handful of fries into my mouth.

“Dude,” Rachael said.

“What?” I said through a mouthful of fried potatoes.

“You’re freaking staring is what.”

I glared at her, reaching for my soda. “Am not.”

“Are too! Just tell him you like him.”

“This isn’t high school.”

Rachael rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Well you’re acting like you’re in kindergarten. You guys had sex. He said he liked you and how do you show you like him? By being mean. Grow up, Nora.”

“Grow up? I can’t have a relationship with him! He’s my professor. That’s illegal… or something.”

“Are you sleeping with him to get a good grade?”

“Hey! I do not need to sleep with someone to get a good grade.”

Khan’s date giggled again, this time loud enough for me to hear over Rachael’s words of “wisdom”. I’d had enough. This dinner was turning in to a trip from hell. I stood up from the table and, speaking loud enough to drown out Khan’s date, said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

When I walked past their table, it took all of my energy to keep from kicking her chair.

* * *

I shut the door behind me, but when I tried to lock it, it wouldn’t stick. So much for going to the bathroom. There was no way I was peeing with the chance of an interruption. Instead, I went to the sink and stared at my face. How had I become this person? I had always been a good student. I had always been a good person. Now I was sleeping with my professor and nearly kicking helpless people’s chairs.