dozen or so texts, I furrowed my brow, thoroughly confused. The messages were all similar, asking about my schedule or when I had an available time slot. Time for what? Who were these people?
They had to be wrong numbers, but why were there so many? Another one came in while I was scanning through the others, so I replied, asking who it was. A few seconds later, I got a reply, saying his name was Aaron. That wasn’t exactly helpful information—I didn’t know an Aaron—but maybe I could get to the bottom of this.
Me: Sorry, not sure what this is about.
Aaron: Is this Corban Nash?
Me: Yes. Where’d you get my number?
Aaron: Your flier.
Me: What flier?
Aaron: The one posted outside the English department. Don’t you offer free tutoring?
My brow furrowed as I stared down at my phone. A flier? Free tutoring? What was he talking about?
Oh my god. Hazel. This was retaliation for putting her lunch in the freezer. I was sure of it.
I tossed my phone on my desk and went out to find the English department. It was across the courtyard from the psych building and sure enough, tacked up among the other notices fluttering in the breeze was a flier that read, Free tutoring, math, science, literature, foreign languages, contact Corban Nash. Most of the little tabs with my phone number had been ripped off already.
Grinding my teeth together, I ripped down the flier, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it in a nearby trashcan.
Judging by the number of texts I’d already gotten, there had to be more of these around campus. I found another one outside the math department, and two more just inside the main campus cafeteria. I checked outside every building, speed walking past students and staff, my head down, my fists clenched.
After taking down what I hoped were the rest of the fake fliers, I went back to the psych building. Furious. Fuming. Grinding my teeth and ready to snap like a dry twig.
I stopped in the doorway of Hazel’s office and held up one of the fliers. “What is this?”
She calmly looked up from her laptop and blinked once, her eyes bright behind her dark-rimmed glasses. “I don’t know. I can’t read it from here.”
“I know you did this.” I shook the flier, making the paper crinkle. “My phone’s blowing up with texts.”
Her lip twitched like she was trying not to smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Growling with frustration, I crumpled the paper. “I’ve been all over campus tearing them down. This was really unnecessary.”
She turned her attention back to her laptop, her fingers clicking on the keys as she spoke. Her voice was infuriatingly monotone. “So was freezing my lunch.”
“It couldn’t have been in there long enough to actually freeze.”
Her eyes snapped back to me. “So you did do it.”
Damn it.
“You know what? You’re not a swan. You’re a crow.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“Crows have been shown to hold grudges and to exhibit retaliatory behavior. They also remember human faces, but that’s beside the point because you’re a human and we all know humans can remember faces.”
“Unless a subject has prosopagnosia. Then they can’t recognize faces.”
I rolled my eyes. “Obviously in cases of prosopagnosia the subject is essentially face-blind. But I don’t know if that has any impact on revenge-seeking behavior.”
“That’s an interesting question.” She leaned back a little and tapped her lips with her finger. “My understanding of the disorder is that other brain functions remain intact. So it stands to reason that if a prosopagnosiac felt the need to exact revenge, their inability to recognize the face of their target wouldn’t negate the revenge-seeking impulse.”
“But that assumes their face-blindness doesn’t impact their perceived needs. A person with a brain disorder that inhibits their ability to recognize facial features is likely to be focused on other things.”
“Such as learning alternative cues for recognition and coping with the social impact of their condition.”
“Which could push their desire for revenge out of their needs hierarchy, rendering it unimportant to them.”
Wait, were we agreeing on something? We stared at each other for a few seconds. I couldn’t read her expression, but the way she pursed her lips drew my attention to her mouth. Which made me think about kissing her.
Which made me wonder if she’d ever thought about kissing me.
Which reminded me that she hated me.
And had posted fliers with my phone number all over campus.
And I was mad.
I held up the piece of paper. “I’m