Page 36 of The Stalker Snafu

Being financially responsible for oneself is exhausting.

Would it be irresponsible to buy a lottery ticket? You never know…

Emma

I’d messed up.

The next few days dragged on, and I barely saw more than a glimpse of Noah. He didn’t stick around after Music Theory on Monday for our usual meeting about the duet project—which had turned into chatting over coffee and sharing kisses—then he was nowhere to be seen for class on Wednesday. I was set on cornering him at our History of Opera class this evening to clear up the whole friend thing, but then Professor Whidden had to go and fracture her hip, so she canceled class.

Was the universe determined to sabotage me?

Things only got worse Thursday afternoon in my and Teresa’s dorm. She was working on her Criminal Justice homework while I spent hours staring at my phone and giving myself a pep talk to try calling Noah… again.

He hadn’t been responsive to texts.

I rubbed at the spot on my forehead that Julian had glued back together. The bandages had come off a couple days ago for good, and the glue was finally dissolving. It was almost like it’d never happened, if I didn’t keep finding bits of glue flaking off.

And like Julian had said, there wasn’t a scar to be seen.

Bummer.

“Just call him, Emma,” Teresa urged impatiently from her bed, not even bothering to look up from her case study.

I jerked out of my staring contest with my phone long enough to send her an unimpressed glance. “I was just about to. Don’t rush me.”

“You’ve been just about to call him for almost two hours now,” Teresa said as she flipped through her notebook. “Suck it up and do it. Get it over with.”

I frowned and fell back against my mountain of pillows, avoiding Mr. Elephant’s judging gaze from his spot atop them. “It’s not that easy. I hurt Noah’s feelings, and I’ll just make things worse if I try explaining again.”

“Then don’t explain,” Teresa said like it was obvious. “Just tell him you messed up and you’re sorry. Tell him you’ll make it up to him.”

My frown deepened, and I fiddled with my phone case before it burst to life in my hand—vibrating with an incoming call. Startled, I fumbled with it before hastily accepting. “Hello? Noah?”

“Not quite.” A clipped, older voice spoke through the phone, and the blood in my veins froze when I recognized it. “This is Professor Slade from Music Theory at Westcroft University. I’m calling for Emma Fox.”

I gaped at Teresa—silently thanking any god who would listen that at least it wasn’t my mother calling—and it took three attempts before my vocal cords remembered how to work. “Professor Slade. Of course. Hello. This is she. Emma, I mean. Me. Hey—What’s up?”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to make it stop talking and cringed back into my mountain of pillows.

Slade wasn’t fazed. “Miss Fox, I’m calling regarding your mother’s inquiries, and I must ask. Are you unhappy with how I’ve structured the piano program at Westcroft?”

My heart stopped beating.

“What? No, of course not.” I wondered what exactly my mother had said in her emails and chats with his assistant. “I love everything about the program. I’m learning so much. You’re awesome.”

Teresa looked over at that one, brow quirked, and I died a little inside.

“Then I hope you understand an independent study with me cannot be bought,” Slade said with a bite to his tone. “They must be earned, and frankly I’m insulted the effort was made to bribe me in the first place.”

I was going to kill that woman.

“Oh geez, please don’t listen to anything my mother said to you,” I blurted. “I promise I would never try to pay you off. I’m broke, so that’s really just a moot point. Please don’t⁠—”

“I did consider the possibility you weren’t involved,” Slade cut me off, sounding tired. “You would’ve bribed me much sooner for your failing grade.”

I grimaced, not loving the reminder. I didn’t need my mother reminded of it either; she hadn’t brought it up since I aced the midterm. “Any chance you didn’t mention that little nugget of information to my mother?”

“I don’t discuss my students’ performance with their parents, Miss Fox, and I find it inappropriate for parents to even inquire. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an adult in charge of your own education.”