not used to being called out, particularly by someone who probably had several pounds on him.
While we were blocking the sidewalk, students streamed past us in every direction, mostly ignoring the encounter. But Senna watched, her eyes wide.
“Do it,” I growled.
He looked around. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled in her general direction.
“Louder,” I said, squeezing his arm tighter. “And look at her.”
He looked from me to Senna, and sucked in his breath. “I’m… sorry.”
I let go of him with a little push. “Don’t talk to a woman like that again, you shithead.”
He looked at the two of us, and disappeared into the throng of students.
Senna stood there with her mouth open. She was astounded. Hell, I was surprised. I had no idea what had come over me. I usually stayed out of student interactions, no matter how ugly or inappropriate they were.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said stiffly.
I walked alongside her. “I know.”
Chapter 18
PROFESSOR BENJAMIN ADLER
Senna and I walked into class together, both late, which didn’t seem to attract the attention of anyone, particularly since the football jerk was right on our heels. He walked into class like he was a star, high-fiving everyone he knew, like they were his subjects.
Dick.
And, of course, because it was just the kind of day I was having, he grabbed the seat right next to Senna.
I started my lecture wishing I could be anywhere else, trying to keep my shit mood in check. I didn’t need to take my anger out on the wrong people.
With the exception of Ty, that was.
Senna faced forward in her seat, taking notes, and referring to the book we were discussing. But Ty, who was not even pretending to pay attention, kept leaning across the aisle to talk to her.
She ignored him, of course. But it was clear he was bothering her. The other students around them tittered, not wanting to tell a star athlete to shut the hell up so they could learn something.
So I decided to do it.
“Ty, can you read to us from the personal essay you brought today?”
Momentary confusion crossed his face, as he clearly had no idea not only what the assignment had been, but also probably didn’t even know what a personal essay was.
His bewilderment was replaced by a cocky grin. He sat back in his desk and threw his hands up. “Sorry, Prof. I got nothing.”
He looked around, chuckling, proud of his smart-ass answer. Several students followed his lead.
But I was not in the mood.
“Ty, why do you bother coming to class if you’re not going to do the work?” I asked.
The room went dead quiet, and Ty’s face turned pink then red.
I got him.
He pressed his lips together and said nothing, turning in his seat and facing the front of the classroom.
We worked our way through the class until it was Senna’s turn.
“What have you got for us, Senna?” I asked, motioning for her to stand up like I had all the students do when it was their turn to read.
She smiled slightly and pushed herself to her feet. This wasn’t an easy assignment, first writing something personal, and then having to share it. But I’d had my students do it since I’d started teaching. It hadn’t killed anyone yet.
She cleared her throat and looked around the room. A couple of the guys nudged each other.
Boneheads.
“Um. Okay. Here goes. The Day My Father Was Murdered…” she began.
“My dad was a good guy. An excellent guy, really. The best dad I ever could have hoped for. But I lost him when I was only ten years old.”
She hesitated, then took a deep breath.
“We lived next door to some people my mother always referred to as trashy. My dad never called them names, but instead recognized that maybe they hadn’t had as many opportunities as our little family had. He was always nice to them, even when they were inconsiderate of us.
“One night, when I was in bed, I could hear shouting coming from their house, keeping me awake. Their baby was crying, too. So I went downstairs to where my parents were watching TV and told them. My dad said he’d have a talk with them. And he never came home.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Senna’s voice caught momentarily. She finished the story of her father, and there was a brief silence.
While she’d told me her story the night I’d kissed her, I’d never had a student share something like that in class. To hear