My phone rings, and Chancellor Mehcad’s voice greets me as soon as I say hello.
“Magnus, the board is calling an emergency meeting for this evening. You need to be there. Whoever made that photo sent it to the Board of Trustees.”
“I expected them to taunt me longer before pulling the trigger on that image,” I grunt, genuinely surprised. “I’ll be ready to address them, but I’m not going to bend because of an asshole who wants to control me. I’m going to make sure the board understands what they’re going to lose if they choose to victim-blame.”
Mehcad breathes a chuckle and sighs. “I wouldn’t expect anything like a reasonable response from you, my friend.”
I may have underestimated how Mehcad sees our relationship. I take a moment to switch him from amicable mentor to friend in my mind, and then I smile like there isn’t a blaze on the horizon of my career. “I’m too young to be a reasonable threat unless my finger is on the nuclear button, you know this.”
“I do. I’ll see you tonight.”
“We’ll be there,” I agree and end the call.
The phone still hasn’t moved, so I pack up my stuff, turning to head back into the building. It’s a medium sized building, and it won’t take more than fifteen minutes to do a quick check for suspicious people. I take two steps toward the door and stutter. Taped to the door is a cheap phone. I press a button; it lights up with the fake picture of me and the chancellor.
Frustratingly, the person is smart enough to get rid of their compromised phone.
I pull up a text thread with Trent, guarding the phone and directing students through the other door as I message him.
Me:Are you currently unoccupied?
He doesn’t have class, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a study group or something equally important.
Trent:I’m studying.
Me:I need a Ziploc bag and some latex gloves at the north entrance to Harding Hall.
Trent:Why?
Me:Our stalker left me a gift.
Trent:OMW.
My next call goes to the department head for the school of criminology.
“O’Brian here,” the director says by way of greeting.
“This is Magnus Lancaster. I’m calling because I was wondering if you have any students available to do a study on a found phone for me? It’s a prepaid phone, but one of your students might find something interesting. It does have porn on it, so if that’s an issue, you’ll need to warn them.”
“Best call Amelie Alves; she’s responsible for the lab. She would know who’s looking for work.”
“Thank you, Dr. O’Brian.”
“You’re welcome. Would it be inappropriate to ask something about your sociology research?”
I can’t help the smirk that hits my lips. “Only if it’s rude.”
“It’s not illegal,” he grunts. “I was just going to say that my wife and girlfriend are fans, and they’ve decided to participate in your study, and they wanted me to participate, but I didn’t know if that would be appropriate.”
“I don’t mind if you participate,” I say and immediately blush. It’s the same feeling as when Connie Ying admitted to subscribing. “As long as you’re aware that you have to live with the fact that you’ll have seen my penis and my o-face, which I’m told is pretty good, even though I don’t know why it would matter what face I make when I orgasm—” and now I’m just talking too much.
I pointedly shut my mouth.
“Yeah, I’ve heard. If you don’t mind, then I’ll let my girls know.”
I thank him and end the call, then dial the switchboard to connect me to Amelie Alves.
She answers after a few rings. “Criminology lab.”
