Hard(25)

Come see the amazing brother-fucker. Gaze upon the most regretted life decision since the twerking Miley Cyrus!

I kept my head down and blouse buttoned, trying to look as non-sexual deviant-y as possible. Of course, that meant every hound from the dining hall to the education building tried their luck. But baby didn’t sound as good coming from the twiggy idiots playing ultimate Frisbee in the middle of the admissions hall. I ducked below a wobbly pass and burst into my advisor’s office.

Professor Sweeten was anything but sweet. She graded on favorites, changed editions of the textbook every year so the incoming students couldn’t buy used books, and hated anyone who ever disagreed with her opinions. Granting her tenure was like giving the devil the keys to the church and wondering why the collection plate was empty. And cracked. And covered in sulfur.

“Good afternoon, Professor Sweeten.” I gave her my best smile. “Thank you for meeting with me. How are you—”

“What do you want?”

She couldn’t even bother to raise her wrinkled head to look me in the eye. She hacked—a smoker’s wheeze that sounded like it might have hurt, bless her shriveled heart.

“Um…I emailed earlier this week and asked if it were possible to change assignments for my student teaching position in the fall—”

“Oh, you.” She pushed the plastic frame of her glasses low on her nose and glanced at me. “I remember you. May Franklin.”

“Shay.”

“Right. You listen to me young lady. In any other circumstances with any other students, the answer would be a crystal clear N-O. Is that understood? You are assigned where you’re assigned. If you were a real teacher, this would be your job. You would be expected to move if you wanted to earn your salary and put food on your table. That’s what being an adult means.”

Oh, she was lucky I wore my heels or I would have thrown down right in her office.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I don’t care who your father is. Was.”

That made two of us. “What does he have to do with this?”

Professor Sweeten scoffed. “Hard to deny a student’s request when her father donated enough money to build a new wing for the library. You can have your reassignment. The best charter school in Buckhead is a dream job to those who earn the opportunity. Fortunately, with just the click of a pen, it’s yours. Congratulations.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pay attention, Miss Franklin. You may think you can waltz in here and buy your way into whatever position you want, but that’s not how my class works.”

She was kidding. She had to be. Anger prickled at my temples, but the indignation hadn’t hit my mouth yet.

Yet.

Professor Sweeten tossed the reassignment form to me. “By the end of this semester, you’ll be lucky if you can afford a passing grade.”

I folded the paper and tucked it neatly into my purse. “With all due respect, ma’am, you haven’t seen the size of my bank account.”

I didn’t let her speak and slammed the door behind me. Her bookshelves rattled, and I could only hope I entombed her with her educational ethics books.

How dare she?

How dare anyone insinuate that I was buying my way through school?

So my father bought my car. So he paid outright for my tuition. So he ensured I had enough for books and the best meal plans and other amenities.

I sunk into the leather interior of my Mercedes. The HD display lit up under my fingertips.

The car had air-conditioned seats.

I banged my head against the wheel. I knew what it looked like, but I wasn’t buying my way through life. I worked my butt off!

Still, it was going to be hard to convince anyone while I sipped a mai tai from the comforts of a resort-styled infinity pool overlooking my tennis courts and gardens. Not impossible, but the golden spoon in my mouth garbled my defense.

Damn it.

At least I had the reassignment, though a two-hour commute would have been Momma’s way of telling me to take my lumps before the lord himself started flipping tables in my kitchen.

I couldn’t worry about the gig or Professor Sweeten. I still had enough time this afternoon to wrestle with Dad’s investment portfolio. The stocks transferred smoothly but the retirement funds needed a bit of finagling. I had no idea what I was doing with any of it.

Suddenly, lounging in the pool all afternoon didn’t sound so bad. If Zach didn’t steal it. The man was a literal seal and spent most of his time swimming laps. If he could keep to one side of the resort-styled pool, he might have been good company. As much as it pained me to say it, he had been fun so far.

Zach could reach the top shelves in the kitchen for the popcorn. And he didn’t mind binge watching entire seasons of shows at once on Netflix. He also killed a house centipede for me, which should have canonized him as a goddamned saint.