Page 15 of Solo

I’m about to expel the largest, longest sigh of relief when he steals all the oxygen from my lungs.

“Of course, if you’d refrained from giving him an earful in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

And just like that, my tiny drop of relief is replaced by a wave of discomfort so overwhelming that I know I have to get out of this room before things get ugly. Uglier.

I have to stop and swallow, fighting back a sudden, unexpected wave of nausea. Oh God. I’ve got to get out of here, and fast.

“Okay, you’re right, Dr. Markham. I apologize. You’re right, I never should have said anything to him and I’m sorry that he did that to you. May I please be excused? I’m really not feeling very well.”

He gives a half snort, half laugh.

“Miss Brenner, if you think you’re going to get out of your assignment by playing sick—” he starts to caution but I have to cut him off.

“I understand. May I please be excused?” I whisper.

“You don’t have any questions about your project?” he asks.

“No, thank you,” I mutter distractedly, wiping the sweat that’s starting to form on my brow.

“All right, Miss Brenner. Go,” he says, holding my paper out for me to take. I grab it and my bag, and then make a run for the door.

In less than sixty seconds, I’m down the hall and retching in the ladies’ room. When there’s nothing left to come up, I sit on the cold tile floor with my back against the stall and I breathe until the urge to cry leaves me.

Chapter Six

Drew

I love my Thursday afternoons because I love order and organization. And my Thursdays are all about the order and the organization. After a few obligatory office hours, I’ve got the time to concentrate on my lesson plans and wade through the ever-growing piles of paperwork on my desk. I’m just about through with this week’s mountain of minutia when there’s a knock on my office door. Surprising, since everyone knows better than to bother me in my office on a Thursday.

“Come in,” I call out from my desk, not bothering to get up.

When the door opens, I’m greeted by a tall blond guy, probably a little older than me. I’m certain I’ve never met him before, but there’s something that’s vaguely familiar about him.

“Excuse me, Dr. Markham? May I have a moment of your time?”

“Uh, sure, I guess. Come in.”

“Okay if I sit for a minute?” he asks with a pleasant enough grin and I nod toward the chair in front of me.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure I’ve seen you before but I can’t place you. Are you a Shepherd professor?”

“No, I’m not. My name is Kevin Kilpatrick, I’m a reporter for the D.C. Courier.”

That’s where I know him from. But not from his byline. I just saw his name and picture in an email being circulated by campus security. He’s one of the press members who’ve been banned from campus. But I don’t tell him that, because I’m curious to see where this is going. I put the assignments I’m grading aside and fold my hands on my desk. He’s got my full attention now.

“Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mr. Kilpatrick?”

He pulls a small notebook and pen out of his pocket, flipping pages as he’s speaking.

“I’m hoping you can give me some insight into one of your students. Katherine Brenner?”

Seriously? Does he think I’m a fucking idiot? I stare at him, unwilling to respond to such an asinine request. Finally, he gets the idea and continues anyway.

“Yeah, so, maybe your thoughts on her as a student, the influence her father has at this university, how the other faculty and students feel about her. That sort of thing.”

I tilt my head to the left just a hair, taking him in from a different angle, just to fuck with him. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Mr. Kilpatrick,” I say at last, “surely you know that I’m not permitted to comment on any student at Shepherd University. So why are you here?”