“Yes. This is she.”
“Great! This is Greg Houston. I’m the student enrollment chair, and I was just calling to let you know that your withdrawal from the university has been approved! It’ll be official once you come in and personally sign off on the forms. I personally think it’s great that you’re taking time off to help out with your father’s campaign.”
“WHAT?!”
“That’s a very selfless thing of you to do, Miss Everhart,” he said. “I’m sure whenever you decide to come back, the academic committee will offer you credit for your real world experience. Anyway, I noticed you filled out the electronic forms, but since you live within a fifty mile radius of the school, its policy that you have to sign them manually as well. Also, regarding the credits you’ve earned at the university thus far…”
Everything around me went black.
I couldn’t believe this shit.
I wanted to click over and shout at my mother, to ask how dare she and my father pull me out of college without even telling me, but I couldn’t. I simply hung up and sat still—stone-faced and lost.
There were tears falling down my face, but I couldn’t feel them. I couldn’t feel a damn thing.
I pressed the power button on my phone to prevent anyone else from calling me and pulled out the envelope Mr. Petrova gave me earlier. I assumed it was a long list of insults, or a new diet, but it was a letter:
Miss Everhart,
I just received notice that you were leaving the university at the end of this term. While I am disappointed in your failure to alert me to this news in advance, I am impressed with the growth you have shown while being in my program.
You are still an average dancer, but considering the fact that your peers are all terrible dancers, I guess you can be somewhat proud of that status.
Behind this letter is a recommendation for the New York City Ballet Company. Due to a few unfortunate circumstances, several spots have opened for their current class. This does not happen often, and you would be quite stupid not to audition.
However, if you do audition and are not accepted, it will only mean that you didn’t dance your best. (Or that you gained another unfortunate pound.)
—Petrova.
I flipped to the attached page and noticed that the deadline to audition was in three weeks, that if I auditioned and was accepted, I would be leaving my current leading role behind and would have to start all over again.
Dancing for the NYC Ballet Company had once been a dream of mine, but after I broke my foot at sixteen, I readjusted my version of a dream career; the competition at such a place would be far too fierce for someone who sat out a complete year, full recovery or not.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t fathom going away to New York City, not alone anyway. And I didn’t think I could leave Andrew without at least getting a much deserved apology.
Sighing, I turned on my laptop and logged into my email, shocked to see his name at the very top of my inbox.
Subject: Mock Trials.
Miss Everhart,
For the third time this week, you’ve alluded to our former affairs in the court room. Although I am not surprised by this, I am quite disappointed.
You may regret the aftermath of f**king me, but I know damn well that you loved every single second that my c**k was inside of you. (And before you lie and say that you didn’t, think about the numerous times you screamed my name as my mouth devoured your pu**y.)
Maybe if you thought about those things instead of your uncontrollable and erratic “feelings,” your defenses in court wouldn’t be so laughable.
—Andrew
I deleted his email and read Petrova’s letter again.
I needed to research the New York City Ballet auditions tonight.
Malfeasance (n.):
Intentionally doing something either legally or morally wrong which one had no right to do.
Andrew
I opened my left drawer, searching for a bottle of aspirin. I hadn’t slept well in over a week, and I was certain that most of that had to do with the half-assed reports the interns were giving me. That, or Aubrey was poisoning my lunch.
I flipped through her most recent report and groaned as I read her handwritten remarks: “I find it very ironic that you can give us an assignment on the importance of trust and relationships, when you have no idea what either of those words mean. PS—You did not “devour” my pu**y.”
I tore off her note and tossed it into the trash, reading the next one: “A case that deals with a boss f**king his employee? At least this boss had the balls to come clean and admit that he actually liked her, instead of tossing her away like trash. PS—Yesterday’s extra ingredient in your coffee was flakes of melted super glue. I hope you enjoyed it.”
“Mr. Hamilton?” Jessica stepped into my office.
“Yes?”