“Alberts.”
“Here.”
“Bennet.”
“Yo.”
He keeps going with: Blythe. Donato. Ethers.
He gets further down the list. Closer to discovering who I am.
“Farrington.”
“Right here, handsome.” Freaking Vienna wastes no time making her intentions known.
The sounds of scoffing echo through the room. Most of the students are not amused by her games.
But her remark forces the good professor’s eyes upward.
“It’sDr. O’Rourke,” he says with lethal control.
Her face falls at the rebuke.
I smirk, looking away from her to find his eyes have landed right back on me. He looks down to read the next name, his fingers freezing on the list.
The class rustles, pens tapping, laptops clacking. My palms sweat, and I wipe them on my jeans.
“Ford,” he says with a twitch in his left eye.
The room stays silent, and all movement stops.
Someone nudges me. “Hey, that’s you, right?”
“Present,” I manage, though it comes out strangled.
The professor’s eyes lift slowly at my voice. We lock gazes. His anger is smoldering, the way I stare at ice cream when I’m on a diet. But his scowl feels dangerously close to him thinking my presence is an intentional betrayal, like I had something to do with it.
His grip tightens on the attendance sheet. The paper crinkles, but he looks away to finish the list mechanically. It’s like he’s not here anymore. He’s battling some internal war and losing.
Cormac finishes the attendance, saying that starting next class, a sign-in sheet will be on his desk, and we are responsible for our own attendance.
No sign-in, no credit. That’s common.
He moves on, talking about class expectations, weekly quizzes, the lab, and the clinical case studies we’ll have to solve. I should be taking notes, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I open the screen to read a message from the management company for the furnished studio downtown I applied for.
Your rental application has been approved.
“No phones, Miss Ford,” barks my professor.
“Yes…Sir.” I emphasize and watch his face flush to match mine.
I’m relieved I have a place to live and can’t wait to sign the application. But I also fear the aftermath that waits for me in eighty-five minutes.
When Dr. O’Rourke wraps up the class, the male students surge for the exit, while Vienna and her minions troupe to the podium. I try to escape with the guys, blend into the flow of baseball-capped bodies to vanish from this burning humiliation.
I almost make it.Almost.