any of the
other professors in the math department, she might have passed her second term
of Calculus. But after what she had told me, I started thinking it might be
better if she flunked now. It might shake her up a bit, fuck with her
GPA—but in the long run it was probably better for her if she took her
life back from her mother and everyone else who had told her what they thought
she should do.
On Sunday, I spent the entire
morning on the computer, but my mind was elsewhere. I picked up the tennis ball
I had been throwing to Finn earlier and bounced it savagely off the wall.
“ Fuck .”
Why the fuck couldn’t I get this
girl out of my head? I wasn’t her freshman advisor. I was her fucking Calculus
TA—who had very nearly violated her. My throat tightened. The sick part
was that she was goddamned lucky it had been me. Because I had stopped. The stalker from the library? Just
thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t caught up with him when I
had made my jaw clench. I had lost him on the second floor, and by the time I
had made it to the third floor and seen him with his hands on her … My knuckles cracked.
Reaching for my phone, I hit the
number for a girl I knew in the bursar’s office. She happened to be getting
married to Jess, a guy a year behind me in the program. Poor girl had no idea
what she was getting into by marrying a mathematics doctoral candidate.
“Brenda? Yeah, hey. How’s it
going?”
I listened for five minutes as she
related the latest in their nuptial planning.
“Is Jess around?” I asked during a
pause.
“Already on campus … on a Sunday.”
I laughed, secretly relieved.
“Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure. Name it.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Do you have remote access to the
undergrad database?”
I could hear Brenda breathing.
“This isn’t something that’s going
to get me fired, is it?”
“I just need a guy’s school
address, not his social.”
I could hear her typing.
“All right. But if anyone ever
asks me, you’re a hacker and I don’t know you.”
“I’ll owe you,” I smile.
“Yeah you will.”
I gave her as many details as I
could. Monday undergrad Creative Writing workshop. Professor Salinas. Justin … no last name. Then I tapped out a rhythm on the
table, hoping there wasn’t more than one Justin in that class. But usually the
workshops in the School of Letters & Science, or LNS as people call it,
were small.
“Here it is. Justin Garibaldi.
Local address is 312 Park Place, Apartment 4-D.”
“That’s all I need. And if you
want me to, I’ll stage an intervention if Jess talks theorems past seven
o’clock.”
She laughed, and I hung up. Then I
stared down at the name and number and tried to talk some sense into myself. No
luck. Justin Garibaldi was about to get bitch-slapped. I got up and opened the
backdoor for Finn before grabbing my jacket, backpack, and the aluminum bat
before walking out to the bike. The dickhead’s apartment was on Undergrad Lane,
which was just a row of shoddy buildings that hadn’t been updated in two
decades.
I passed by Alex Reed’s dorm
building on the way over there. In the back of my mind, I realized that I was
being a complete psychopath, but I couldn’t fucking help myself. The thought of this jackass fucking with her again was more than I
could stand. Parking the bike at the back of the complex, I walked around until
I found 4-D.
The door was cracked open, but
there were no lights on inside. I toed open the door and listened to the steady
thump of a bass. The smell in the apartment was a combination of cat piss,
vomit, stale beer, and weed. Flicking on the light switch, I started moving
toward the back of the apartment. Tacked on the walls were countless pictures
of girls on the university’s quad. I studied them until I saw one of Alex
coming out of her dorm. Pulling the picture from the wall, I pushed open the
bedroom door with the bat and walked in, turning on the overhead light
other professors in the math department, she might have passed her second term
of Calculus. But after what she had told me, I started thinking it might be
better if she flunked now. It might shake her up a bit, fuck with her
GPA—but in the long run it was probably better for her if she took her
life back from her mother and everyone else who had told her what they thought
she should do.
On Sunday, I spent the entire
morning on the computer, but my mind was elsewhere. I picked up the tennis ball
I had been throwing to Finn earlier and bounced it savagely off the wall.
“ Fuck .”
Why the fuck couldn’t I get this
girl out of my head? I wasn’t her freshman advisor. I was her fucking Calculus
TA—who had very nearly violated her. My throat tightened. The sick part
was that she was goddamned lucky it had been me. Because I had stopped. The stalker from the library? Just
thinking about what might have happened if I hadn’t caught up with him when I
had made my jaw clench. I had lost him on the second floor, and by the time I
had made it to the third floor and seen him with his hands on her … My knuckles cracked.
Reaching for my phone, I hit the
number for a girl I knew in the bursar’s office. She happened to be getting
married to Jess, a guy a year behind me in the program. Poor girl had no idea
what she was getting into by marrying a mathematics doctoral candidate.
“Brenda? Yeah, hey. How’s it
going?”
I listened for five minutes as she
related the latest in their nuptial planning.
“Is Jess around?” I asked during a
pause.
“Already on campus … on a Sunday.”
I laughed, secretly relieved.
“Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure. Name it.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Do you have remote access to the
undergrad database?”
I could hear Brenda breathing.
“This isn’t something that’s going
to get me fired, is it?”
“I just need a guy’s school
address, not his social.”
I could hear her typing.
“All right. But if anyone ever
asks me, you’re a hacker and I don’t know you.”
“I’ll owe you,” I smile.
“Yeah you will.”
I gave her as many details as I
could. Monday undergrad Creative Writing workshop. Professor Salinas. Justin … no last name. Then I tapped out a rhythm on the
table, hoping there wasn’t more than one Justin in that class. But usually the
workshops in the School of Letters & Science, or LNS as people call it,
were small.
“Here it is. Justin Garibaldi.
Local address is 312 Park Place, Apartment 4-D.”
“That’s all I need. And if you
want me to, I’ll stage an intervention if Jess talks theorems past seven
o’clock.”
She laughed, and I hung up. Then I
stared down at the name and number and tried to talk some sense into myself. No
luck. Justin Garibaldi was about to get bitch-slapped. I got up and opened the
backdoor for Finn before grabbing my jacket, backpack, and the aluminum bat
before walking out to the bike. The dickhead’s apartment was on Undergrad Lane,
which was just a row of shoddy buildings that hadn’t been updated in two
decades.
I passed by Alex Reed’s dorm
building on the way over there. In the back of my mind, I realized that I was
being a complete psychopath, but I couldn’t fucking help myself. The thought of this jackass fucking with her again was more than I
could stand. Parking the bike at the back of the complex, I walked around until
I found 4-D.
The door was cracked open, but
there were no lights on inside. I toed open the door and listened to the steady
thump of a bass. The smell in the apartment was a combination of cat piss,
vomit, stale beer, and weed. Flicking on the light switch, I started moving
toward the back of the apartment. Tacked on the walls were countless pictures
of girls on the university’s quad. I studied them until I saw one of Alex
coming out of her dorm. Pulling the picture from the wall, I pushed open the
bedroom door with the bat and walked in, turning on the overhead light
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