Dear Professor(74)

“I know you, and you’re not tired,” he persisted. “Come get coffee. Let’s talk.”

I could feel Jordan’s eyes on me as I averted my own. “It’s the week,” I said quietly. “I just want to be alone, Jake.”

He took a step toward me and cupped my chin. “Coffee? You don’t have to talk. Just know I’m there.”

“Okay. I guess.”

Jake wrapped his arm around my shoulders and squeezed as he led me out of the room. Jordan’s eyes got hotter and hotter, but today, the dull ache was prevalent in my heart. It was always the same—four days before the day. It’s like I finally accepted that it was coming.

Jake led me toward the cafeteria. While he heaped his tray with food, I grabbed a chocolate muffin and a bottle of water. He barely gave me a second glance as I swiped my card and took it to a spare table.

“Dinner tonight?” he said as soon as he sat down.

I shook my head.

“Come on, Darce. He wouldn’t want this.”

“I know that, but I spend the rest of my year doing that. I’m allowed this week, okay?” I picked at the chocolatey richness of my muffin. “Seven days a year won’t kill me.”

“Hmmm.” He dipped a fry into his ketchup and held it out to me. “Wanna fry?”
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“No,” I replied. I fought my smile, but it didn’t work. Jake’s infectious grin was just too much.

“Boo, you whore.”

“Who made you watch Mean Girls?”

“My sister,” he grumbled. “She came over this weekend.”

My laugh was quiet. I knew his sister—she was crazy. She also had an unhealthy inspiration to be Regina George. I thought she already was, although I’d never tell Jake that.

“Ouch. I can feel that. How many times?” I asked.

“You don’t want that answered.”

“Bitch, please. I grew up aspiring to be a Mean Girl. I know every word by heart. You can’t scare me.”

“Six times.”

“Ouch. That’s heavy. Do you have a pink shirt yet?”

“Why? Because it’s Wednesday?” He drawled.

Our eyes met for a moment before I burst into giggles.

“No,” I said. “You can’t sit with… Ah, shit. That doesn’t work when I’m alone.”

Jake dropped his burger and planted his face in his hand. “No,” he said through his laughter. “Nah, Darce, it doesn’t.”

“Shit!” I buried my face in my arms on the table and laughed.

“Miss Hamilton, Mr. Haas.”

The sound of his voice had me sitting upright like a rocket. My spine froze into a ninety-degree position, and Jake looked as though he were scoping the room for his closest and-or easiest exit.

“Yes, sir?” I met Professor Keaton’s eyes.

“You left class before I could ask you to see me at four p.m.”

“I’ll be in class then, Professor.”

“I know.” His eyes searched my face. “I’d appreciate you stopping by when you’re done. I’ll be in my office. Grading papers.” His eyes cut to Jake for a moment, who wisely looked at his lunch.

“Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” He held my gaze for a moment, his stare intense and unbreakable, before turning his attention to Jake. “Mr. Haas, I do hope this assignment was better than the last.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake mumbled, playing with his food. “I tried.”

I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my laughter.

“We’ll see.” Professor Keaton’s attention flicked to me, and he winked so quickly that I would have sworn I’d imagined it. “Miss Hamilton.” If he were a Victorian gentleman, he’d have tipped his hat—his manners were so perfect.

He disappeared out of the hall as quickly as he’d arrived, and I looked back at my chocolate muffin.

“He’s a slave driver,” Jake muttered.

I nodded, knowing that it was both the truth and a lie… And knowing that, when Jordan had said “office,” he’d really meant “home.”





“The victim had gunpowder residue on their hands.”

I raised my eyebrows, and my papers crackled as I rearranged them. “That doesn’t mean the victim fired the killing shot. The gun could have been shot from their hand after their murder.”

“Prove that happened.”

“Prove it didn’t.”

Jordan hesitated for a moment then grabbed some sheets of paper. “The placement of the gun was synonymous with a suicide shot.”

“The victim had two gunshot wounds, and the head shot is predicted to be earlier the stomach shot. Please enlighten me as to how the victim could have possibly shot himself in the stomach after he’d blown half of his brain out.”#p#分页标题#e#