1001 Dark Nights Short Story Anthology 2020

by Fiona Archer

  From: WrenRider@FableUniversity.com

  To: BradWolf@FableUniversity.com

  Subject: Final paper, Political Science 101, questions.

  Hello, Mr. Wolf,

  This is Wren Rider from Professor Wood’s Political Science 101 virtual class. He informed me to e-mail you if I had any additional questions on my paper.

  I was approved to write about the political implications of George Orwell’s 1984, and I’ve been able to get started but stuck on a few items that the syllabus says I need to address in the final paper.

  I want to make sure that I’m correctly attributing modern political theory to the English socialist theory of the original book.

  I’ve attached a few paragraphs below, if you could please let me know if I’m on the right path or if there are any further sources you’d recommend.

  Thank you,

  Wren Rider

  * * * *

  ~Wolf~

  I read over the email once, then twice.

  Didn’t this girl get the hint from what I sent from Professor Woods?

  Who the hell was this Wren Rider anyway?

  Snatching my phone from the desk, I pulled up the school’s directory and typed in her name.

  Staring back at me was a pair of big hazel eyes, long red hair, and pouty lips forming the most perfect smirk that I could almost picture wrapped around my cock.

  Oh, hell yeah, I knew this girl.

  She’d been at a few parties at my house, always with a clingy blonde freshman, Katie maybe? Or Karen?

  She begged to get me off at a party, practically on her knees while I was at the beer pong table. I told her she’d had too much to drink, and I’d let her sleep it off in my room.

  Sleep.

  She thought I was a gentleman or something and that meant we could grab coffee the next day.

  I didn’t do clingy drunk girls.

  But her roommate, Wren, the one now looking back at me from the screen, she was something else.

  I’d seen her around campus, riding a little bicycle with a basket like some hipster fairytale princess.

  Now she was asking me for help.

  What the hell did I even tell her?

  Raking my fingers through my hair it took me about two seconds for a light bulb to ding.

  On my account, I didn’t need to be the professor. I didn’t need to be anything other than me.

  And yeah the girl was a smoke show, but not like I could sleep with a student in the class anyway (something that was clearly written in the syllabus on being a TA), so I had nothing to lose by telling her like it was.

  From: BradWolf@FableUniversity.com

  To: WrenRider@FableUniversity.com

  Subject: RE: Final paper, Political Science 101, questions.

  Wren,

  While the subject sounds interesting enough, I also just googled Political Science 101 papers ideas and yours was the first to come up.

  Not exactly original.

  As for what you’ve written?

  Yeah, you have the facts there but it also bores me to tears and I’m a freaking political science major. I’ve paged for representatives who have filibustered for hours on end.

  Congressmen Black’s day long tirade on the fruit tax was more riveting than your opening statement.

  So I implore you, since I’ll have to read your paper as well as thirty others in the class, to do something that stands out a little more and not just something you picked off a website since it sounds good for an English major.

  -Brad Wolf

  * * * *

  ~Wren~

  Brad Wolf was not a wolf.

  He was a straight-up asshole.

  The professor’s email may have been harsh, but at least he was professional.

  This?

  This was the exact guy I saw at the party with a stupid dimpled smirk and dark hair that looked like it desperately needed a cut, but also like he’d run his hand through it too many times.

  Sexy.

  I shook my head like somehow that would mentally get rid of the vision of him pushing his hair out of his eyes and the way his biceps flexed as he did it.

  Just because he was good looking didn’t mean he could treat me like I didn’t know what I was doing.

  I bit my lip as a sinking feeling caved in my chest.

  Okay, so maybe I did look up the paper topic on Google, but it was a good idea to blend my major and political science.

  Sucking in a breath, I let it out slowly, trying to shake away the squirm that was crawling through me.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to check in with my classmates to see what they were writing about.

  Clicking out of my email, I opened the virtual classroom and the chat room.

  Okay, now or never.

  I opened up a new subject line, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I mulled over what to write.

  Wolf would see this.

  So would my professor.

  My gut wanted to put down how much assholes both of them were, but luckily my brain was quicker.

  Subject: Final Paper

  Hey everyone,

  I had my final paper topic approved, but now I’m going to change it, after some semi-helpful notes.

  How are you going forward with this?

  I swore it wasn’t even a second later when a message pinged, and I almost bolted out of my chair.

  Brad Wolf responded to your comment.

  It took everything I had not to roll my eyes as my heart hammered against my chest.

  What the hell was this guy going to say now?

  Brad Wolf: Whoever gave you the semi-helpful notes was probably a smart person.

  Asshole.

  My fingers flew to the keyboard before the smarter part of my brain could catch up.

  Wren Rider: Semi. Nothing to brag about. But my topic wasn’t one I felt super passionate about, so I’m wondering what everyone else is focusing on.

  His response came back just as quick as mine.

  Brad Wolf: Why not focus on your own thing? What are YOU passionate about? What makes you want to sit down at the keyboard and write this paper, English major?

  I blinked hard as heat flooded my cheeks.

  Was I blushing? He couldn’t see me, no one could. Hell, no one probably even looked at these message boards.

  This was personal for him.

  Now it was my turn to take the big bad wolf down a few notches.

  Wren Rider: What am I passionate about? How about that I’m tired of every gate keeper being some self-assured male who only passes along the things he wants to see. How every female reporter on the news has to be made up, but if they have even a hair out of place or an extra coat of lipstick they’re going to be scrutinized? Yet a male reporter could wear the exact same suit every day and have bed head and no one is going to say a thing about how he looks? What semi-helpful advice do you have for that, Wolf?

  I blinked hard, not believing I actually hit send on that.

  My shoulders tensed.

  Shit.

  What if Woods saw this?

  What if my grade was affected for it?

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Before I could even look up a way to delete a post, the response was back from Wolf.

  Brad Wolf: Perfect. Write your heart out, Wren Rider

  * * * *

  ~Wolf~

  From: WrenRider@FableUniversity.edu

  To: ProfessorWoods@FableUniversity.edu

  Subject: Political Science 101 Final paper subject change.

  Hello Professor Woods,

  I know my last email wasn’t the most pleasant, but after talking to your TA, I’ve decided to change my paper topic, but know I need approval first.

  My new topic will be on women’s inequality in journalism and politics. For my sources I plan on using articles from CNN and books on women’s inequality that I’ve included below.

  I hope you can understand the last-minute change. I want to bring a good
final paper.

  Thank you,

  Wren Rider

  Holy shit, the girl actually had the balls to change her topic.

  I could have felt bad about it or maybe sent an email telling her that it was me and not the professor reading this.

  But of course I didn’t, because before I could even hover over the keyboard for a response, my personal email pinged.

  From: WrenRider@FableUniversity.edu

  To: BradWolf@FableUniversity.edu

  Subject: Political Science 101 Final paper subject change.

  Hello Brad or should I call you Mr. Wolf?

  I just thought you should know after our discussion in the chat, I’ve changed my paper topic and emailed the professor for approval.

  Thank you,

  Wren Rider

  * * * *

  ~Wren~

  I leaned back in my chair, a new tension gathering in my shoulders and seeping into my neck.

  I emailed the professor, so why did I feel the need to tell Wolf anything?

  Maybe because you secretly want that asshole’s approval.

  I shook the thought out of my head before opening up my e-reader to one of the books I’d checked out from the library.

  So maybe Wolf was right.

  Picking a topic I actually enjoyed did make the writing go faster.

  By the time I looked up from my Word doc, it was past midnight.

  Katie, my roommate, was still gone, so I hadn’t bothered leaving my spot in front of the computer.

  Or even checked my inbox that pinged two new emails.

  The first from the professor, but the other one had my palms sweating as I opened it.

  From: BradWolf@FableUniversity.edu

  To: WrenRider@FableUniversity.edu

  Subject: Re: Political Science 101 Final paper subject change.

  Wren,

  I’m glad you switched your paper topic, though you may have to enlighten me on how you think this is a topic worthy of a five-page paper.

  -Wolf

  My entire body went rigid as I curled my back.

  I was glad I didn’t see it earlier when it would have ruined my writing mojo, but now it had me even more fired up.

  I opened up a page from my e-reader, ready to send a snappy reply when the school’s messenger app pinged on my laptop.

  Brad Wolf: Finally, wondering when you’d get to open my email.

  Wren Rider: I was busy working on my paper, the one that was approved, thank you.

  Why were my fingers shaking?

  Definitely from anger at this dude, right?

  Yeah, that was it.

  Brad Wolf: Good to see you were actually working, though I wonder if you’ll be able to pull it off.

  Wren Rider: Seriously, you don’t even know me.

  Brad Wolf: Don’t I?

  My shoulders tensed as I tried to pry my jaw open.

  Wren Rider: No. You don’t. We’ve seen each other like what, once at a party? A party where you were hooking up with my roommate. Then you think you can just call me out in the middle of a class chat with some sexist remarks and think you know me? No. You don’t.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Goosebumps prickled my skin as the foggy haze of rage cleared.

  I couldn’t say that to the TA.

  But I just did.

  My fingers tried to work faster than my brain as I typed out my half-assed apology.

  Wren Rider: I mean, as far personal goes. Which we don’t have a personal relationship. This is about my paper and I’m sorry for taking this out of context.

  I held my breath, my lungs about to burst as I watched the tell-tale three little dots of him responding flash across the screen.

  Brad Wolf: Hm. Too bad. The Wren Rider with an attitude was a lot more fun.

  Wren Rider: It’s not an attitude. I was just trying to defend my point and I should have been a little bit more professional about it. I apologize.

  Brad Wolf: Now you’re just making it worse. I hope you have more of a backbone in your paper.

  “Everything okay?”

  I jerked out of my seat, closing the messenger app just before whirling around to face Katie, standing at my desk with her sparkly heels in her hand.

  “Hey, yeah, sorry. I was just emailing with a TA about that political science paper. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  She plopped down on her bed, her pink comforter fluffing around her small frame. “Must have been some talk. You just jumped like fifty feet.”

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I toiled with the idea of what I should tell the wide-eyed girl in front of me.

  Somehow, I ended on the truth.

  “Well, the TA is Brad Wolf.”

  She gulped. “As in the Big Bad Brad Wolf?”

  My jaw clenched as I forced my head to nod. “Yep. The very one.”

  “Good luck trying to get into that Wolf’s bed, because he truly is a dick.”

  I blinked hard, my stomach doing a flip. “What? I’m not trying to sleep with the TA.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re blushing, Wren.”

  “I am not,” I muttered, pressing my palms to my flaming cheeks.

  “Look, I’m with Ben, so there’s no hard feelings. But if you want to go after Brad, I’d recommend proceeding with caution.”

  “I have to finish this paper and email it to my professor, then I won’t ever have to talk to him again.”

  “Uh huh. We’ll see about that.”

  * * * *

  ~Wolf~

  Professor Woods hadn’t even bothered to show up to his office hours, which left me with a full inbox of final papers.

  But the only one I actually cared to read flashed across my inbox when my eyes were already bleary from reading another freshman who thought he was the great political communicator.

  From: WrenRider@FableUnviversity.edu

  To: ProfessorWoods@FableUniversity.edu

  Subject: Final Paper, Wren Rider, Political Science 101.

  Hello Professor,

  I hope this e-mail finds you well.

  Attached is my final paper. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t send this to Mr. Wolf and just to your inbox.

  Thank you for your time,

  Wren Rider.

  I opened up the Word doc, trying to unclench my jaw as I read over the first sentence.

  It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a woman who speaks up is going to be the first to be called out. As evidenced by my interaction with TA Brad Wolf when I told him the topic of my paper.

  I laughed to myself, the earlier tension in my jaw now pulsing.

  I quickly fired off an e-mail back.

  If this girl wanted to play with the big bad wolf, then it was time she did it in person.

  * * * *

  ~Wren~

  From: ProfessorWoods@FableUniversity.edu

  To: WrenRider@FableUniversity.edu

  Subject: RE: Final paper, Wren Rider, Political Science 101.

  Ms. Rider,

  Please see me in my office today between 2 and 3 to discuss your paper.

  I read over the email, once then twice. Then a third time.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was fifteen minutes until two.

  I could possibly just wait until the last possible minute of his office hours and use that time to think of a good argument for why I’d called out his TA in my paper.

  Biting on my bottom lip, I stared at the clock again. One minute had already passed.

  It was now or never, I guessed. Maybe the ride over to Grimm hall would help me think of something.

  I grabbed a red hoodie, throwing it on before I was on my bicycle and traveling down the windy path out of the dorms and toward central campus.

  The tree-lined paths used to always feel like a fairytale, but today there was something menacing about their gnarled roots and limbs that cloaked the ground below.

  Maybe I should have taken that as a bad omen and turned around, but the harder
I peddled against the wind, the more my body pushed me toward the building.

  After parking in one of the spots and locking my bike, a gust of wind picked up, whipping my hair around my face like a scratchy blanket.

  Putting my red hoodie up over my hair, I made my way into the looming building.

  The political science professor’s offices were down a long hallway. One I hadn’t traveled before and that was surprisingly empty for it being a school day. I guessed everyone else was either in class or had turned in their final assignments and gone home.

  Still didn’t make it any less ominous.

  There was a faint blue light illuminating from under the large oak door with a brass plate reading “Professor Woods.”

  Steadying my shaking hand, I put my fist up to the door, knocking slowly.

  “Come in,” a smooth voice boomed through the door.

  The professor?

  Was his voice always that raspy during video calls?

  My fight or flight risk kicked in as my pulse quickened, thumping hard beneath the thin red material of my sweatshirt.

  Slowly I inched the door open, my eyes adjusting as I took in the large oak desk flanked by bookshelves brimming with leather bound manuscripts. A window sat behind an executive chair, the blinds closed so only the shadow of a figure could be seen behind the glow of the desk lamp.

  Professor Woods was in his seventies, short, balding.

  The outline of this man was taller, broader.