Maybe Swearing Will Help (SWAT Generation 2.0 3)

I barely contained the urge to roll my eyes.

I didn’t think he’d appreciate my attitude right now.

And seeing as I had to deal with this motherfucker for the next three weeks while I went through the police academy, I felt it prudent not to piss him off more than I already had.

Pushing the phone into my pocket, I crossed my arms over my chest and barely refrained from reading the text message that vibrated my watch on my wrist.

When the third and the fourth came through, I couldn’t stop myself from twisting my watch toward my face to read them.

Ford: I’ll be sure to alert the authorities.

Ford: I heard that Patman is an ass. Good luck.

Ford: Second and third that Patman is an ass. Saint just told me that he almost failed out because the instructor took an instant dislike to him. Seriously, good luck.

I felt my eyes narrow as I read those last two text messages.

I had no doubt in my mind that Patman had taken an instant disliking of me. I also had a feeling that Patman wasn’t going to be my favorite person.

I was proven right over the next hour as Patman talked about police procedures and managed to get quite a few of them wrong.

They were correct at one point in time, but now they weren’t. Laws had changed, and procedures had definitely changed.

So when we took a small quiz before lunch, and those questions popped up on the test, I chose the correct answer instead of the one he’d given and found myself making a one hundred. Where everyone in the class made sixties.

“Obviously I should have Ms. Trammel teaching the class.” Patman made a smart-ass comment when he saw my quiz grade.

I almost pointed out that maybe I should, seeing as I was likely more knowledgeable than he was at this point with my ten years of schooling, but chose to stay silent.

I had a feeling the tests he was giving were standard tests, used all over the state of Texas.

They were required by law to give them, and it was up to the personnel to teach to the tests. Obviously Patman hadn’t gotten that memo.

I was beyond thankful that lunch arrived, and I was able to eat somewhere that wasn’t the classroom. Enabling me to pull my phone out and text Ford about how right he was about Patman.

Ashe: Patman is a dick. You were right. Also, he hates me. I’ll probably lose this bet…

Ford: You’ll be fine. Just ignore his ass.

Ashe: I’ll do my best. But you know how stupid people annoy me.

Ford: I assume that you’re referring to me as stupid right now.

Ashe: Would I ever do such a thing?

I grinned and finished the rest of my salad, then checked my emails, hoping to see my final class schedule amongst them.

I was happy to see that not only had that arrived, but the grant that I’d applied for to help with tuition this semester had as well.

Though I had student loan debt, I didn’t have anywhere near as much thanks to all the scholarships, grants, and federal aid I’d been able to get.

Thanks to my father being a firefighter, my grandmother being a police officer, and my grandfather also being a firefighter, I’d been able to apply for some aid that most people didn’t have access to.

“Ass for days…” I heard one of the instructors say.

I looked up and saw Patman staring right at me, a grin on his face saying that he knew I’d heard him.

I prayed that they weren’t talking about me, but logically, I knew that they were.

There was only one other female in the class besides me, and she was tall, lanky, and had a utilitarian look about her. She definitely didn’t have ‘ass for days’ like I did.

Which pissed me off, because why the hell were they talking about my ass? How unprofessional was that?

Gritting my teeth, I pulled my phone out and texted Ford, because I knew it would make me feel better.

We still had fifteen minutes left of lunch, and I’d finished my salad within five minutes—salads weren’t enough food. Yet, I’d found that the older I got, the less my body cared about what was enough and not enough. Fried foods and white bread just weren’t going to keep me skinny anymore.

My metabolism wasn’t what it used to be.

Ashe: So…is it just me, or is it inappropriate that my instructors are talking about my ass?

Ford: Are they?

Ashe: Well…there’s one other man in here that has a bubble butt, and they didn’t strike me as the type to talk about that man’s ‘ass for days.’

Ford: You’re at the station today, right?

I frowned, wondering what that had to do with anything.

Ashe: Yes. Why?

Ford never answered, though.

With nothing better to do, I put my phone back into my pocket and crossed my arms over my chest, wondering how bad the rest of this day was going to suck.