CHAPTER 9
Mara
Before I left the office for a short shift at the library, Jessica motioned for me to come to her desk. “Mara,” she said. I crossed over to her.
“Yeah?”
“Has Dr. Evans ever mentioned another woman to you?”
I wrinkled my brow. He had mentioned that girlfriend from years ago, but that didn’t seem like what Jessica was talking about. And why would I tell anyone about his personal information? Why would I tellher? She was my friend, but that washisbusiness.
“Why do you ask?”
“Dr. Smith mentioned something. Something about a woman coming in all bruised and battered. Screaming his name. He goes to Club Hades, right?”
I blinked. What the hell was she talking about? “You mean the Afterglow?”
“Right,” Jessica said. “Does Dr. Evans seem like he would hurt someone?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know much about his past, but he didn’t seem like someone who would hurt someone like that. Not without consent, anyway.
“Do you think Dr. Evans is using you?” she asked.
All of this seemed so out of the blue. What had Dr. Smith told Jessica about Nate? Jessica wasn’t actually accusing Dr. Evans of anything, but asking me if I would accuse him. Clearly, she had something in mind. Or Dr. Smith did.
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just get this strange feeling. Dr. Smith implied that he might be using you for tenure or something. She feels bad about it.” Jessica glanced around, eyeing the other humanities doctoral students, their backs to us. “Since you’re one of the most promising students in the program, she thinks he’s using your clout to help secure his contract.”
To be called the most promising student was amusing. None of the professors, Dr. Smith included, had been willing to work with me a few weeks earlier. “Isn’t that what Dr. Smith is doing too?” I asked. “Isn’t she using you, then? She’s up for tenure too, right?”
“I thought the same thing, honestly.” She leaned back in her chair. “But Dr. Smith seemed to imply that this was different. Like he was going to do his classic switcheroo and yank the rug out from under you. Tosaythat he was doing the Crossing Collaborations Contest, then, at the last minute, remove your entry and produce his opposing essay for publication. To leave you torn up from it. Maybe even physically.”
After getting to know him, hearing the reasoning why, I got the feeling that Nate was changing his mind on writing opposing essays against his students’ ideas. He knew that it was a habit, nothing more.
“He won’t,” I said. “I’m the first person he’s done the contest with, right? He wouldn’t finally commit to it and then go against it. And,” I shook my head, as if it were a joke, “he’s not going to beat me up. That’s silly.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jessica said. She took a deep breath, then pretended like nothing was wrong. “Did you guys decide on a thesis yet?”
Not exactly. I had a few working angles and had even narrowed it down. But we still had to make that decision together, even if he was letting me take the reins. “Almost,” I said.
“Good.” Jessica tipped her chair back. “Dr. Smith is vicious. And Dr. Evans is too. With them both up for tenure, it’s no wonder that she’s trying to put rumors in my head.”
To be meddling into personal drama like that, seemed a little overboard, a childish way to secure your career, but then again, I didn’t know Dr. Smith well. And I knew it was nearly impossible to get a contract like that these days, especially in the liberal arts and humanities. Interest in the subject was dwindling as it was.
“Dr. Smith wants you to win,” I said to Jessica. “If you win, that will help her get tenure.”
“You’re right. Same with you,” Jessica said. “Dr. Evans must think highly of you to finally agree to the contest.”
We said our goodbyes, then I grabbed my bag and walked to the library. After I checked in the books and organized them to the appropriate carts, I pushed a full nonfiction cart over to the elevator. Taking it up two floors, to the tall aisles in the back. With my bag hanging on the cart’s handle and earbuds in my ear, I listened to an audiobook and shelved. It was my favorite genre to shelve; you learned what kinds of things were important to students.
“Hey,” a high-pitched woman’s voice said. Orange hair stuck out of a ball cap, sky blue eyes beaming at me. “I heard you worked here.”
I blinked. “Kiley,” I said. It was the first time I had seen her outside of the Afterglow. “What are you doing here? How did you—” and then I caught her name tag, with her campus bar code and photo,Head Manager of the Department of Genealogical Serviceswritten at the bottom. “You work here?”
“Newly, yes.”
“Do you go to the university?” Then I hit my forehead. Dumb question. Managing librarians already had their degrees.
