I shrugged aside the unwelcome thoughts as I grabbed my messenger bag and took the steps from my fourth floor walk-up to the street.

The apartment would be a royal pain in the ass in the winter, when the steps were covered in ice and the railing too frozen to hold comfortably. But it was mine: all mine. No annoying roommates to accuse of stealing my clothes or to argue with over groceries. Sure, I was broke most of the time and my fridge was so empty that nothing ever had the opportunity to go moldy. These were the things people took for granted: that they had so much food that some of it grew mold from being uneaten.

With the change I’d scrounged up in my couch cushions, I splurged on a coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to the T, relishing in its commercialism and honesty, something that the college cafe snubbed its nose at. They could keep their French Vanilla and Pumpkin Spice fraps with extra pumps of garbage and a swirled mess of heart attack whipped cream; give me a black coffee with a hint of burnt beans and I was happy.

When I arrived on campus, I was ten minutes early for class. It was kind of my thing, being early. Early for class, for interviews, for meetings. Years of having a father who was late for everything important, or worse—absent, had conditioned me to prove myself accountable.

I slid into the seat I’d occupied on Monday, placing my books and pen just so, as the classroom started filling up. The guy who’d sat next to me Monday resumed his place beside me and I leaned my body away just enough to make it clear that I was in no way interested in engaging in conversation.

When the door opened and Nathan walked in, it was as if my body responded to static electricity, all the hair standing up on end.

It wasn’t fair that I’d put so much effort into how I looked and he put what was obviously very little and still looked good enough to eat.

He wore dark gray slacks with a midnight blue dress shirt tucked in. The belt was black and his shoes were a dark gray and his hair—his fucking hair—looked as if he’d just been thoroughly mauled.

He didn’t look at me, not once. Not as he meticulously placed his books and folders and pens on his desk, straightening all of them. Not as he looked around the room and asked discussion questions on our assignment that week. Not even as I’d shrugged off the leather jacket, exposing more of the fishnet tank, crossing my legs in the process.

Not once, for the entire class.

I was baffled. I didn’t know what game he was playing. Was he ignoring me on purpose, hoping to get a rise out of me? If so, he’d succeeded. Was he completely uninterested in me? Whatever self-conscious thoughts I’d had earlier, I knew he wasn’t uninterested. I’d seen his arousal plain as day, tenting the front of his pants on Monday.

After class, Nathan had packed up his things and walked directly out the door, not hesitating even a second. As I roughly shoved my own books into my bag, the student next to me leaned over, giving me a hearty dose of aftershave to inhale, and said, “You going to the party this weekend?”

I glanced over at him, taking in his features for the first time. Short blonde hair, beady black eyes, and sweat forming tiny trails of wet along his face. “No,” I answered, not caring to find out which party he was referring to.

Hours later, as I sat at my desk and stared at my computer screen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nathan was ignoring me on purpose. But why? Did he think it would lessen my attraction to him? Given my history, it should have. I was used to being wanted. And Nathan didn’t seem to want me.

I told myself it wasn’t a big deal, that I could always revisit the bar we’d met at the Friday before and catch someone new. But I didn’t want someone new. I wanted him.

I knew, even as I typed it, that it was a really, really bad idea. But because I couldn’t come up with the exact reasons why it was a bad idea, I composed the email anyway.

From: Adele Morello

Date: Friday, September 18, 2015 08:13 PM

Subject: Friday

To: Nathaniel Easton

As I sit here, at home, on a Friday night, with nothing to do … I’m thinking…

Have you reconsidered my request for extra credit?

Sincerely,

Adele Morello

• • •

I ran my finger over my lips, feeling pleased with myself, and waited for his response.

Except, it didn’t come. Not right away, at least, as his reply the Saturday before had. I waited a full twenty minutes, feeling increasingly crazy, when I decided to fix a bowl of cereal for dinner. I carried the laptop to the kitchen and set it down on the tiny bistro set near the dishwasher. The building I lived in was old enough that it couldn’t be called modern by any stretch of the imagination. The dishwasher was portable, and needed to be rolled across the kitchen to be manually screwed into the faucet whenever I wanted to run it.

But because I was the clichéd broke college student, I only had two sets of dishes and used the dishwasher for storage more than actual cleaning. As I poured the cereal, I peeked over my shoulder at the computer and saw a popup notice.

I barely restrained the swear word that curved my lips as I saw the No Internet notice at the bottom. The shitty part about living on your own was that you had to, you know, pay your own bills. I couldn’t afford internet on top of everything else, so I borrowed the signal from the neighbor next door, but the signal couldn’t be reached past my bedroom, which was why I frequented the library and cafe when I needed consistent internet.

With my cereal in tow and my laptop in my other hand, I returned to my bedroom and opened the laptop up, popping the spoon in my mouth as my computer reconnected and refreshed my email.

Just as I was loading up my second spoonful of Frosted Flakes, a message came into my inbox.

From: Nathaniel Easton

Date: Friday, September 18, 2015 08:54 PM

Subject: Re: Friday

To: Adele Morello

Miss Morello,

I thought I made myself clear in my earlier communications with you. The answer is no.

Regards,

Nathaniel Easton, EdD

Professor - Creative Writing

• • •

Dick. My eyes narrowed, not missing his double meaning.

I mulled his email over while I attempted to study and fill out a packet for my chemistry labs. But my cereal grew mushy and warm, completely forgotten in my annoyance with Nathan’s response. I wasn’t one to normally chase a man, but I wanted to understand his complete reluctance to engage in any further entanglements with me.

What I found most puzzling was that his objections hadn’t seemed to be because we had a student-teacher relationship. There was something else. Something else had driven him to the point of insanity that night, the way he slapped my ass and yanked my hair; it wasn’t my so-called magical pussy that drove his demons to the surface. The thought made me smile, but no—I knew there was something more, under his suits and his very expensive glasses, something he didn’t want me to see.

I knew, thanks to my colorful history with men, that if he was merely immune to my persuasions he wouldn’t ignore me, as he’d been doing ever since Monday. If there was nothing there, he would meet me head on, eyes clear of interest. But since he did everything in his power to avoid my gaze in class, I knew he didn’t want me to see how he looked at me.

Finally, around midnight, I’d decided I was ready to respond to his email. But I wasn’t going to reply from my student account. Instead, I logged into the email account I used only for Craigslist ads, one that didn’t have my real name attached.

After pulling off my sweatshirt, I took a photo that didn’t include my face. And then I attached it to an email and sent it to Nathan.