“Miss Sanchez, how much is the operating systems exam worth toward your final GPA?” he asks, and that settles it. I hate this man.
What he’s doing right now is blackmail. He knows I need a perfect score in this course to keep my scholarship. The university covers part of my tuition, but only as long as my grades in required courses stay above average. Other students could afford to pay another semester’s tuition if it came to that. I can’t. And if I don’t finish this program, every hour I worked, every sacrificetíoFelipe made, was for nothing.
So I swallow every word I want to throw at him and drop my eyes back to my notes.
With his smile still in place, he moves on with the lecture, and even though my face is burning, I don’t dare shift a single inch.
Twelve more minutes and this will be over.
I keep writing, copying down everything he’s saying about permissions across different operating systems, trying so hard to swallow the knot in my throat. I hate injustice. I hate that I have to keep my head down. That I can’t afford to do anything else because losing this isn’t an option.
This is the only thing I’m good at. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have anything except this: my results, my grades, my diploma. My brain is the one thing I’ve ever been able to count on. If I lose this too, what exactly am I left with?
When only a few minutes are left, he circles back to me, and as if to test me, he reaches for another clip in my hair.
For a second, I see my parents’ watching this, the quiet disappointment written across their faces. I see Julia’s eyes burning with the kind of anger I don’t have the luxury of feeling myself, while I let this asshole do whatever he wants with me for a piece of paper.
Just ignore him.
I can’t.
But before I can open my mouth, a voice cuts through from the back of the room.
“That’s enough. You’re all dismissed.”
An inferno ignites in my chest.
Professor Vaughn stands at the back of the lecture hall, fury barely leashed beneath his expression, and I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. I know he doesn’t have a soft spot for me, but between him and Professor Javier, there’s no contest.
The room empties fast. I watch him descend the steps, row by row, until he reaches mine. His eyes find me, and my cheekscatch fire. The anger on his face is silent, unmistakable, and I know it’s not directed at me. It’s for me.
“With what right do you dismiss my entire class, Silas?” Javier asks, but Professor Vaughn tilts his head back slightly, like he’s giving himself exactly three seconds to keep his composure.
Ten seconds later, he’s at the podium, both hands braced flat against the wood, and he says, “Look in her direction one more time. Touch her one more time. So much as think about her hair, and I will personally make sure the dean hears exactly what your intentions are with your female students and how you use this course’s grading weight to make them tolerate your behavior.”
Professor Javier’s eyes bulge with barely suppressed rage, but he can’t deny a single word, because all of it is true.
“This isn’t your first strike, Javier. Now, the hair clips, please.”
My pulse has spiked and a strange warmth spreads across my skin because it feels damn good to have someone like Silas Vaughn step up for you. Not because he’s fighting a battle, but because he’s simply laying out the consequences you will face if you don’t do as you’re told. Because he radiates authority, and you’d have to be genuinely stupid to ignore his warnings.
With a trembling hand, Professor Javier reaches into his pocket, pulls out one clip, and drops it into Professor Vaughn’s palm.
Without taking his eyes off him, Professor Vaughn asks, “Amalia, how many clips were there?”
“Two.” I wish my voice didn’t sound quite so confident when I say it.
I’ll probably regret that boldness, but right now I feel like I have a shield standing in front of me and I want to use it.
Professor Vaughn’s hand closes around Professor Javier’s, and even though I can’t see exactly what he does, I hear a crack and a sharp whimper from my operating systems professor.
Did he…? Did he just break the man’s fingers?
“Take it, take it!” Professor Javier says in a strangled, high-pitched voice.
What the Euler?!
Professor Vaughn glances toward the corner of the desk where a bottle of disinfectant spray sits. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open as I watch him carry my clips over to the spray, sanitize them thoroughly, and only then bring them back to my desk and set them on top of my notebook.
