emotions—and everyone else’s—kept on the inside.
Peter offered a sheepish smile. “Look, I’m sorry.”
Nia shrugged. “No, I get it.” She recalled her conversation with the dean before. “It’s how we earn our free housing, right?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I didn’t mean about bringing you more work. I know we got off to a bad start.”
He glanced at the girls at the other end of the table and lowered his voice. “It’s just that I feel protective of Theo. Rumors are swirling about him. I guess the girl’s dad asked a few classmates questions, which started a whole ‘It’s Theo’s fault’ thread on Facebook. Last night, I found him throwing up in the bathroom. The kid is sick about Lauren. He thinks she killed herself because of him.”
“I wasn’t accusing him of anything.”
“I know. But I talked to him until four in the morning, and then, when I finally get him off the ledge, the police show up and intimidate him. If the school doesn’t handle this better, that kid’s going to jump out a window.”
Nia tapped the book on the table in front of her. “Well, guess that’s why we have these.”
Her pocket buzzed. She recognized the vibration as her cell’s silent ring. She reached into her sweater. Her motherhad called before to ask how she was settling in. She hadn’t had a chance to phone back.
Peter’s hand grazed her forearm. A familiar tingle tickled her spine as his fingertips brushed her skin. She didn’t want a man, but her body missed the touch of one: the thickness of a man’s fingers, the breadth of a male palm. The way a man’s hand could engulf a shoulder or a thigh or a breast.
“Shit. That wasn’t an apology as much as it was an excuse.” He again rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture made him appear shy, almost humble. “I was in attack mode this morning and I lashed out at you unfairly. I’m sorry.”
Her phone continued buzzing. Nia stopped trying to find it. “It’s okay. I’d be edgy too under the same circumstances.”
He smiled and extended his hand above the table. “I never introduced myself properly. Peter Andersen. I teach tenth- and eleventh-grade European literature. I also advise the student poetry magazine: Wallace Words .”
His boyish grin invited an answering smile. She clasped his hand.
“Nia Washington. I’m the new teaching assistant in the dance department.”
“Very nice to meet you.”
Her phone beeped a loud response, announcing a missed call. “Sorry about that.”
“No, don’t be. Feel free to get it. I have the next shift and I’m already here. No reason for you to stay too.”
“Really? Thanks.” This time she meant it. Her foot throbbed. With any luck, she’d be able to soak it while scanning her homework .
She slid out from the table and stood in the aisle. “It’s really nice of you to take over early.”
“No problem. Hope to see you around.”
“Likewise.”
Nia exited the cafeteria into bright sunshine. A wall of sticky heat greeted her. She swapped her new book from one hand to the other as she pulled off her sweater. Once free, she grabbed the phone from the pocket. Time to tell Mom about her strange first day.
A text dominated the home screen.
Missed call: Dimitri Bovt.
She froze, feeling vaguely nauseous. Was that what love became when it ended? Blind fear? Sickness?
He hadn’t left a voicemail. Why would he call after a year? What could he possibly want?
She stared at his name on the screen.
The night he’d ended things, all the lights had been on in the apartment. They were constantly penny pinching, turning off every bulb in order to save on the electricity bill. But that evening, she’d walked in to the equivalent of a theater with the house lights turned all the way up. Closing time. She should have gotten the hint.
The apartment had smelled of whisky. The physical demands of their jobs kept them from drinking much, but there’d been a brand-new bottle of
Peter offered a sheepish smile. “Look, I’m sorry.”
Nia shrugged. “No, I get it.” She recalled her conversation with the dean before. “It’s how we earn our free housing, right?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I didn’t mean about bringing you more work. I know we got off to a bad start.”
He glanced at the girls at the other end of the table and lowered his voice. “It’s just that I feel protective of Theo. Rumors are swirling about him. I guess the girl’s dad asked a few classmates questions, which started a whole ‘It’s Theo’s fault’ thread on Facebook. Last night, I found him throwing up in the bathroom. The kid is sick about Lauren. He thinks she killed herself because of him.”
“I wasn’t accusing him of anything.”
“I know. But I talked to him until four in the morning, and then, when I finally get him off the ledge, the police show up and intimidate him. If the school doesn’t handle this better, that kid’s going to jump out a window.”
Nia tapped the book on the table in front of her. “Well, guess that’s why we have these.”
Her pocket buzzed. She recognized the vibration as her cell’s silent ring. She reached into her sweater. Her motherhad called before to ask how she was settling in. She hadn’t had a chance to phone back.
Peter’s hand grazed her forearm. A familiar tingle tickled her spine as his fingertips brushed her skin. She didn’t want a man, but her body missed the touch of one: the thickness of a man’s fingers, the breadth of a male palm. The way a man’s hand could engulf a shoulder or a thigh or a breast.
“Shit. That wasn’t an apology as much as it was an excuse.” He again rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture made him appear shy, almost humble. “I was in attack mode this morning and I lashed out at you unfairly. I’m sorry.”
Her phone continued buzzing. Nia stopped trying to find it. “It’s okay. I’d be edgy too under the same circumstances.”
He smiled and extended his hand above the table. “I never introduced myself properly. Peter Andersen. I teach tenth- and eleventh-grade European literature. I also advise the student poetry magazine: Wallace Words .”
His boyish grin invited an answering smile. She clasped his hand.
“Nia Washington. I’m the new teaching assistant in the dance department.”
“Very nice to meet you.”
Her phone beeped a loud response, announcing a missed call. “Sorry about that.”
“No, don’t be. Feel free to get it. I have the next shift and I’m already here. No reason for you to stay too.”
“Really? Thanks.” This time she meant it. Her foot throbbed. With any luck, she’d be able to soak it while scanning her homework .
She slid out from the table and stood in the aisle. “It’s really nice of you to take over early.”
“No problem. Hope to see you around.”
“Likewise.”
Nia exited the cafeteria into bright sunshine. A wall of sticky heat greeted her. She swapped her new book from one hand to the other as she pulled off her sweater. Once free, she grabbed the phone from the pocket. Time to tell Mom about her strange first day.
A text dominated the home screen.
Missed call: Dimitri Bovt.
She froze, feeling vaguely nauseous. Was that what love became when it ended? Blind fear? Sickness?
He hadn’t left a voicemail. Why would he call after a year? What could he possibly want?
She stared at his name on the screen.
The night he’d ended things, all the lights had been on in the apartment. They were constantly penny pinching, turning off every bulb in order to save on the electricity bill. But that evening, she’d walked in to the equivalent of a theater with the house lights turned all the way up. Closing time. She should have gotten the hint.
The apartment had smelled of whisky. The physical demands of their jobs kept them from drinking much, but there’d been a brand-new bottle of
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