Stumbling into the bathroom to run a brush through my hair, I gaped at the green dyed locks from the paint last night that didn’t come out during the shower we’d taken together. Shaking my head, I threw it back into a messy bun and called it good.
It was when I reached for my bag on the kitchen counter that I saw the piece of paper with words scribbled on them next to it.
Left for work. Took the dog home.
Throat thickening, I ran the pad of my thumb over the last word. The light feeling in my chest made me breathe easier as I tucked the note into the front pocket of my jeans and threw the bag over my shoulder.
It didn’t take long for me to get to campus, where I managed to slide into the last seat of the lecture hall with a look of disapproval from the professor. Sinking down, I grabbed a pen and barely had time to catch my breath from speed walking before a packet was dropped in front of me.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Saint James,” Professor Ribbons said dryly. The elderly woman never liked me, but it’d gotten worse after things with my father hit the news. To her, I was as guilty as he was by association.
I murmured an apology and watched her white brow arch in disbelief. Staring down at the questions, I waited until she was walking back to the front of the room before expelling a breath and getting to work. I was halfway through when I realized I didn’t study enough and could only hope I got a passing grade that didn’t tank my overall class average too badly. I’d struggled as it was catching up in this class because political science wasn’t an interest of mine, even though it probably should have been with the amount of times I’d heard my father talking about the subject matter over the years. It came with his role as governor, I supposed. That lack of interest didn’t help Ribbons’ expectations of me though. And flashbacks of last night, of that blissful ache nestled between my legs, certainly distracted me from the paper I should have focused on.
People left the room one by one until it was just me remaining, and my leg bounced when I felt piercing eyes on me for the better part of the period. I wanted to ask why she was staring, why she hated me when she didn’t know me beyond being one of her students. But part of me knew. People like Professor Ribbons thrived on the rich getting what they deserved. She’d gone on a thirty-minute rant once during the beginning of the semester on how politicians used their money and power to get away with anything. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I expected given her role as the political science department head—she studied politics and political scandals for years. If I didn’t need the elective, I would have avoided her and her reputation at all costs given who I was related to, but I had no choice by the time class signups were available. Evidently, I didn’t have the money or power to get out of it. Not anymore.
Relief filled me when I answered the final question and closed the packet. Stuffing my pen in the side pocket of my bag, I stood and walked the test up to her desk where she watched me carefully. “Finally finished?”
Teeth grinding, I nodded.
“Did you study for this?”
“Yes.” I paused. “Not as much as I would have liked.”
She looked at me with bored eyes.
“Can I ask you something, professor?” I was surprised by my own inquiry, but not as much as she was considering I tended to avoid any conversation with her if I could help it. When she didn’t answer, I went ahead and continued. “What did I ever do to you? Not my father. Not my family. But me.”
She blinked slowly, her body leaning back in her chair as she tilted her head. I didn’t like being studied, it made me uncomfortable, and she knew that. “You don’t try.”
My lips parted at the unexpected answer. “What?”
She repeated herself and added, “I’ve taught many people like you, Adele. Some of them worse, some of them far better. But you always folded into yourself when things got tough.”
“That isn’t true.”
“No?” She stood, flattening her hands down the purple blouse she wore. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt given the circumstances, which I’m certainly not known to do, but I thought I saw potential in you. However, I realized you were no different than others raised privileged. People go through far worse things and still make it out on the top, so coddling you helps nobody.”
“I lost my father. And—”
“Excuses.”
Anger bubbled inside me. “I keep to myself because it’s better that way, not because I don’t care or don’t try. All due respect, but you have no right to judge me as anything more than a pupil to educate.”
Clearly, it was the wrong thing to say because her lips tugged into a cocky smile. “Let me educate you then, my dear. Malik versus State. Heard of it?”
Of course, I had. George Malik was the state comptroller before my father took term as governor. They’d known each other for years, but my father insisted he didn’t know what Malik was doing with funds. I believed him. I still did. And sure, maybe that made me naive, but he was still my father no matter what happened.
“I have,” I answered carefully.
“Then I’m sure you know that Malik took more than just the funds he was responsible for. There was a very long list of those he hurt along the way. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Even the court system said his crimes were true, but where is he now, Adele?”
I wasn’t sure where he was because I hadn’t wanted to follow the story when it was all over the news. My father would sometimes mention it, but it was rare. Instead, we focused on each other. How our days were. How classes were going. If business was successful. I loved my father, but things between us, regardless of how close we were once, were restricted. Looking back now, it made me wonder if I was subconsciously preparing myself for the inevitable. He’d been too invested in the Malik case when he did bring it up, like he knew more than most people. There were answers I didn’t want, things I couldn’t allow myself to know because it changed how I’d feel about the man I looked up to my entire life.
“According to social media, he’s in Fiji with his wife celebrating their thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. Sweet, isn’t it?” The tone in her voice told me it was the opposite of that. “I find it strange that somebody who was so blatantly guilty could be out celebrating of his own free will. Don’t you??
??
Trick question. “Does it matter what I think about it, Professor Ribbons? You’ve made up your mind about it already.”