by Gray Gardner
“Great,” she moaned, sitting in her chair as Dr. Davis began rattling on about Philadelphia and the exciting times of the traitors.
“Was that Dr. Thomas walking with you to class?” a girl whispered, leaning over the aisle between the desks.
“It was more like a police escort, but yes.” George sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. She really needed to get that cell phone back.
“Isn’t he like, the hottest old guy ever?”
“The hottest of the oldest,” George sarcastically agreed, thinking that the professors were probably not much older than she was. The girl continued to chatter on and on. Class couldn’t end quickly enough for George.
She slowly marched to her last class as she wondered how she could get that phone, and suddenly found herself standing completely still outside the door to the classroom. He had said that he wanted her to stay late again. What would he do? Her stomach felt fluttery. Why was she so nervous?
“It won’t be that bad,” Dr. Thomas suddenly said, standing behind her.
She leapt forward and her shoulder crashed into the wall before she quickly mumbled something and hurried into the room. She sat down in complete disgust with herself and pulled out her notebook and homework. This was just one of those shitty days.
Dr. Thomas had a few students completing equations on the board as he peered out at the class. The guys were all copying down the problems as every girl’s eyes were fixated on him. He glanced over at Jane, whose red head was bent down over her paper. He wasn’t trying to be arrogant, but he had to wonder why she wasn’t undressing him with her eyes like all of the other girls.
Class ended quickly and George struggled to get her coat on and buttoned as she tossed her backpack over her shoulder.
“Uh, Jane, a moment, please,” Dr. Thomas said, not even looking up from his desk as the other students filed out of the room.
How did he know she was trying to sneak out with them?
She held her breath and shuffled up to his desk, fixing her eyes on the floor. She was so nervous that if she looked at him she was scared she might start crying. She was revolted at this sudden onset of anxiety and wondered if she should start medicating herself.
“Jane?”
She promptly took a breath, lifted her head up and looked at him. “I’m really sorry, Dr. Thomas. I’m still trying to get used to everything here. I promise, it won’t happen again.”
He found her apology genuine and studied her as he decided what was to be done. She really did look particularly afraid that he was going to severely punish her. She’d been caught out of bed, with more than one phone, and had failed the new schoolwork initiative. He should have sent her to the dean to have her little rear paddled.
“Jane, I’m serious this time. No phones!” he loudly said, slicing his hand through the air to make his command more dramatic. She really did seem like a good kid, and he knew the rest of the faculty wouldn’t be as forgiving if they caught her.
“Yes sir. I promise.” She nodded innocently, waiting on the tips of her saddle shoes for him to release her.
He had barely dismissed her when she turned and darted out of the classroom, ramming into the doorframe, and cursing loudly on her way. She didn’t go to Penway Pond that day. In fact, the rest of the week he’d almost forgotten she was there, she was doing everything so by the book. No cell phones at midnight or behind buildings, no shady transactions, she didn’t even come to class smelling like smoke. It wasn’t until Saturday, when his patrol duty from eleven to midnight was about to begin and he was searching his office shelves for his flashlight, that he realized her cell phone was missing from his box of confiscated items.
He tried not to feel so impressed as he grabbed the flashlight and his coat and began his rounds. More pointedly, he was searching for the girl in the little skull and cross bone pajamas, talking on the cell phone.
Library Crimes and High Times
“Why are you whispering? Don’t compromise yourself.”
“I’m in the library,” George replied, sitting on her knees behind the reception counter with papers spread in front of her. “It’s the only building with a fax machine that I didn’t have to break into at this hour. Why doesn’t the fucking DOJ have everything on digital file yet?”
“Did you find anything in the lawsuit briefs?” Nelson asked, yawning. She hardly had time to go home and sleep with all of the cutbacks at the Department of Justice, so she’d sent the files to George.
“Yeah, this school is doing some major tap dancing trying to keep this death quiet. I just sent you some circled names and statements so that you can at least have an idea of how complicated this is getting.”
She heard a fax beeping and her director rustling with some papers as some ice clinked. She knew she was at home, near a warm fire, sipping a scotch as she finished the week’s work.
And George was in a poorly lit, cold, exposed brick library freezing her ass off in the middle of the night.
“The Surgeon General?” Nelson asked.
“Distinguished,” George smirked, stuffing the papers back into her backpack as a draft swept through the vaulted ceiling and across the cold marble floor where she was crouched. “All right, anything else?”
“Keep it up. This could be a long one. And bear in mind that you may just have to ingest a few…”
“Right.” George sighed, annoyed as she recalled the first time she had tried to smoke marijuana. A popping sound accompanied by a throbbing headache, she soon found out that you have to take out all of the seeds. Not a pleasant first memory, though. She popped her neck as she reassured herself that she was much more skilled at looking like a pro these days than in her rookie year. She didn’t even want to get into what happened the first time she’d tried cocaine. “Got it.”
George pressed the end button and zipped the phone up in her bag. Dr. Thomas’s office had been easy to break into, just a simple lock to pick, but she still had to laugh to herself as she searched through the box filled with dozens of iPhones. At least she wasn’t the only one trying to communicate to the outside world.
She strolled through the tall wooden shelves of books in the deserted library and found a little nook in the corner where she grabbed a Jane Austen book off of the shelf and leaned back against the cold wall. She had some free time before she had to start the rest of her homework, and if she went back to her dorm the other girls would surely notice that she wasn’t drooling over Justin Bieber on SNL.
Conrad Thomas had spent the evening in the city at his agent’s house, charming everyone at the dinner party, discussing ideas for his next book, and fending off the two single ladies on either side of him at the long dining room table. Not that he minded since he’d certainly enjoyed his minor fame, but they were a little clingy and definitely not his type. He always knew a woman wasn’t his type when he asked what her favorite book was and she replied either with the name of a gossip magazine or snapped her fingers as she tried recalling the name of the most recent chick lit author. They’d usually run their fingers through is curly dark blonde hair, making it all the harder to resist them, but for the most part he did. There were plenty of good looking women who read about more things than baby bumps.
He wanted substance. And a challenge. Actually, he longed for it.
When he’d returned to his office after dinner and a lot of wine, he’d unbuttoned the top button of his blue shirt, pulled his shirt tail out from his khaki slacks, and replaced his dress shoes with Merrill’s. When he’d found his flashlight to make his rounds and discovered Jane George’s cell phone was missing, he threw a navy crew neck sweater on and began his search. He hadn’t even made it through the student parking lot yet when he saw the light on in the library. Only one student in her right mind would be in the library after 11:30 on a Saturday night.
George looked up from her novel as she heard the doors quietly click open and close. Who else in their right mind would be in the library at midnight on a Saturday? She set her book dow
n and leaned around the corner of the shelves, her pistol in her bag in case it came to that, and her bag in her hands as she slinked through the stacks. Someone walked past her and right into the nook where she’d just been. Was she being watched? She stepped soundlessly back to where she’d been sitting and tried to see who was there. If she’d been compromised, she’d have to neutralize whoever this was.
She slowly lifted the strap of her backpack towards the person’s head as he knelt down over the book she’d been reading. Suddenly his head turned and he jumped to his feet, throwing his arm around and sending her sailing backwards, causing an entire shelf of the Bronte sister’s books to crash down on top of her.
First she was startled, then she got angry.
She furiously batted the hand away that was trying to help her up and out of the mess of books and finally got to her feet on her own.
“Dr. Thomas?” she squealed, panting heavily as she unstably stumbled out of the book pile.
“Jane, are you all right?” he asked, not sure if he should try and assist her as she slid over the hardback books sprayed all over the wood floor and carpet runner.
“What are you doing here? You scared me!” She huffed, grabbing a wooden shelf with one hand for support, and rubbed her forehead with the other. She was so glad she hadn’t tried to strangle him. But what in the hell was he doing there?
“I might ask you the same question,” he replied, folding his arms across his navy sweater as he tried to figure it out. “Just doing a little leisure reading?”
He nodded at the Jane Austen book still on the floor in the nook as George stood up straight and took a breath.
“Is that a crime?”
“No,” he shook his head, giving her a reproachful look. “No, sitting in the library alone late on a Saturday night reading historical literature for fun is not a crime. Now, breaking and entering—that’s a crime.”
She casually nodded her head in agreement, then tried to grab her bag as he snatched it up first. Oh God, her pistol was in there. Why had she brought it? She grabbed for the bag as he turned and easily blocked her. He thankfully only unzipped the front pocket and pulled out her phone, waving it with a flick of his hand. She closed her eyes and frowned in defeat as he waited for some asinine explanation.
She simply stood there, no defense and no pleading, just her pajamas and a cute face.
“How did you break into my office?” he asked, placing the phone in his pocket, shifting her bag to his other hand, and grabbing a hand full of her pajamas.
She quickly staggered and tried to keep up as he gripped her shirt and pulled her along behind him in the dim lighting from the desk lamps. She didn’t mind this time, since Nelson had assured her that a new phone was arriving Monday morning, but now she was afraid of what her professor would do since she’d been caught. Would he find the files in her bag?
“Well?” he asked, opening the doors and pulling her out into the chilly night. They didn’t head for her dorm. They were heading for the administration building.
“W-well,” she stuttered, her feet slapping on the cold brick walkway. “Technically, I didn’t break into your office.”
“Technically, how did you get inside then?” he asked, getting angry.
They turned a corner and walked through an open arcade flanked with arches, his office at the very end.
“Your door wasn’t locked.”
“I always lock my door,” he contradicted her.
“Yes, but, the janitor was there and I just told him that I was your assistant and needed to retrieve something for you out of your desk.”
He stopped and yanked her back, staring curiously at her. The gas lamps perched on the walls set them in soft yellowy lighting, but she could still see the anger in his face.
“Orlando, the janitor?” he said, with an incredulous tone.
“Y-yes,” she began, wondering why he was looking at her like that.
“You speak Portuguese?” he asked, raising his brow.
Shit. She scratched her head and looked down at her feet. “Well, no, I mean… it’s a lot like Spanish.”
“Uh-huh,” he mockingly replied, continuing his stride and dragging her behind him. Why didn’t he believe her? It was entirely possible she did speak Portuguese. Possible but not probable that she could carry on a conversation with an elderly Brazilian, though.
When they finally reached his door, she was sweating through her top as he dug his keys out of his pocket and let them both inside. She’d been in much worse situations than this before. Her life had been in much greater peril before. So why was she sweating this one?
“I’m going to have to call your parents,” he stated, flipping on the light and sitting her in a red diamond-patterned, wing-backed chair in front of his large dark oak desk. He stood authoritatively behind it as he watched her expression change from worry to panic. Now he had her. Now she would start telling the truth and he would finally get some answers.
She started shaking her head as she looked up at him. No, this was not part of the plan. How could she talk herself out of this one? He was so persistent. “You, you can’t call my parents.”
“Why not?” he asked, turning on his computer so that he could retrieve her records and find her home phone number. Then he remembered the cell phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and swiped it open, finding the contacts list completely blank. He frowned at her. No kid on the planet ignored speed dial. “Why is this blank?”
She rolled her eyes and leaned forward in the chair, gripping the desk’s edge with her small hands. Make it good. “It’s brand new, Dr. Thomas. That’s why I need it!”
He didn’t really believe her, but when he punched the buttons and got the call log, one number repeated itself all down the screen.
“Not your parents’ number?” he asked, turning the phone and showing her the number.
She shook her head and looked down at the floor. Good God, how was she going to get out of this? Typically, in a hostage situation she would subdue her attacker with physical force and break through the window. Somehow, that didn’t seem plausible here.
He clicked the mouse on his computer and pulled up her file. The only thing listed was a transcript from her previous school. No notes from preceding professors, no phone numbers for references, not even her home address. Where were her grades mailed, then?
“Why isn’t there any contact info here for your mom and dad?” he asked, folding one arm over his chest and resting his chin on his other hand as he stared at the computer. He was thinking too much about it. She had to distract him and get him on another track. God, it was so much easier when she could just crack the butt of her pistol across their faces and leave with her mark.
It wasn’t supposed to come to this. She wasn’t supposed to have professors trying to reach her parents at midnight. She exhaled and put her head in her hands. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
“My parents are dead,” she softly said, repulsed by herself as she said it. Her friends Burton and Darby really did have dead parents, and she had no idea how that felt. Regardless, she couldn’t very well have Dr. Thomas calling her real parents, tucked nicely in their beds a thousand miles away. She slowly looked up to give an explanation and found him kneeling next to her. She tried not to look startled at how close he was to her. He smelled good. His eyes were dark brown and turned down on either side, making him look perpetually happy and kind.
“Jane, I had no idea,” he said, those happy and kind eyes looking very concerned. That was it. He was a good person who was just concerned about her. Oh God, she hated lying to good people.
She nodded. “I… I don’t like telling people because then they look at me like you are right now.”
“Of course,” he agreed, quickly standing and leaning against the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry, you just took me by surprise. Who takes care of you, then?”
“M-my Aunt Katrina,” she stammered, knowing that Director Nelson was going to murder her
when Dr. Thomas called her.
“Is that who you’re calling during all hours of the night?” he asked, frowning.
“Uh-huh,” she concurred, a little too enthusiastically. “She uh, lives overseas and I don’t get cell service in my dorm and I know we aren’t supposed to have phones but it’s the only way we can communicate.”
“This number on your phone is local,” he stated, looking at it.
Crap.
“Well, yeah, Dr. Thomas. She has a cell phone. She lives in DC most of the time, but she’s been traveling for work—a lot. That’s why I had to go to boarding school.” She looked down at her hands in her lap and tried her best to look sad. He wasn’t dumb. Would he even buy any of this?
He studied her for a moment, then pushed off of the desk and paced.
“Jane, you can’t keep breaking the rules, especially after you’re told not to and you promise to behave. I understand you’ve had a hard life. Much harder than most of the other students, but rules are supposed to be followed for good reason. Can you understand that?”
“Yes sir,” she nodded, wondering if she could render him unconscious by smothering him with the gray linen throw pillow on the loveseat by the window.
“I don’t want you to have to go the Dean tomorrow.”
“Please, no please!” she begged, knowing her career could very well be over if she had to call Director Nelson and explain that she was about to get paddled.
“But this can’t go unpunished. You broke into my office,” he sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at her.
“I’ll do better,” she quietly replied, hoping he was buying her remorse. Of course she wouldn’t do better. Well, maybe do better not to get caught.
He went to his coat rack. “Come on,” he said, holding a wool coat open like he wanted her to put it on. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
Was that it? She didn’t dare ask. She leapt to her feet and slid into the coat, thanking him and grabbing her backpack up in the long sleeves as he led her out and locked the door behind him. He really was a nice guy. He seemed to really care about his students.