Chapter 29

Spring quarter began like the previous two: I stood in line and paid a lot of money for the privilege. I still hadn’t mastered the ho-hum attitude of the upperclassmen, but I definitely wasn’t as nervous as I’d been before, either.

On the first day of classes, a group of us got together for breakfast, and when seven forty-five rolled around, we grumbled good-naturedly but said our goodbyes and headed out. Wren, Christy, and I walked toward the A&A building, bound for Dr. Bertrand’s Art History class.

“So, what did you do on Spring Break?” I asked Christy, who had returned to campus with chapped lips and the beginnings of a golden tan.

She smiled girlishly. “Danny was in town and we went surfing. He was on a det in Yuma and managed to get a few days leave at the end of it.”

“I bet it doesn’t hurt that his father’s an admiral,” I said, chuckling.

“Oh, my dad didn’t have anything to do with it. He’s still on cruise with the Connie. He won’t be back till May. But you’re probably right; Danny’s CO knows who his father is.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Wren said, “but what’s a ‘det’?”

Christy glanced at me. When she saw that I knew what the phrase meant, she waited for me to answer.

“It means his squadron—or part of it, at least—was on detachment,” I said. “They just call it ‘a det’ for short. Yuma’s got a big bombing and gunnery range, and squadrons send pilots there to practice.” I smiled at a sudden memory. “My dad actually got his callsign there.”

Christy looked a question at me.

I explained for Wren’s benefit. “Military pilots have callsigns—nicknames, really.”

“All of them?” Wren asked.

“All the ones I know, at least,” I said.

Christy nodded in confirmation.

“Anyway,” I said, continuing my story, “my dad got his callsign at Yuma. He normally doesn’t talk about his time in the Navy, but sometimes, especially if he’s had a little too much to drink, he’ll tell stories.”

“So what’s his callsign?” Christy asked, warming to my tale.

“Zuniac,” I said with a chuckle. “His friends just called him ‘Zuni’ for short, though.”

“What kind of nickname is that?” Wren asked.

“My dad was training at Yuma right after he joined his first squadron. He screwed up a firing run with rockets—Zuni rockets—and ended up launching a bunch of them at once ... all over the place.” I laughed at the imagined look on my father’s face when he realized what he’d done. “So the guys in his squadron gave him a new callsign: Zuniac.”

“I don’t get it,” Wren said.

“‘Zuni’ and ‘maniac’?” I prompted.

Wren understood, but obviously didn’t appreciate the humor of my father’s mistake.

Judging by Christy’s grin, she did. “Military pilots tease each other a lot,” she said. “My dad’s callsign is Clara.”

Wren shook her head in bafflement.

Christy glanced at me, but I didn’t understand the callsign any more than Wren did.

“It has to do with landing on a carrier,” Christy said, more to Wren than me (to cushion the blow to my ego, no doubt). “The pilots use this set of lights to line up their landing, and if they don’t see them, they call ‘clara’ over the radio. One time, on my dad’s first cruise, he couldn’t see them. He says they were broken, but the landing signal officer started calling him Clara, and the name stuck.”

Wren merely shook her head in bemusement. “Pilots are nuts.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, proud of my father despite her pronouncement.

“No, they’re not nuts,” Christy said, a little more vehemently than I think she intended. “They just live in a different world. They might get killed, even if they do everything right—”

Wren and I exchanged alarmed looks.

“—so they have a different sense of humor,” Christy continued defensively. “They laugh at the things that might kill them. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Wren said hastily. “I just think it’s odd, that’s all.”

I decided to aim for the heart of Christy’s distress, on the theory that talking about it would lessen its impact. “What was Laurence’s callsign?”

Wren’s eyes widened in shock, but I silenced her with a headshake.

To our surprise, Christy laughed. “Happy,” she said, smiling at the memory.

“‘Happy’?”

“Happy,” she repeated. “He hated it too, but I think that’s why the other guys picked it.”

“Why Happy?” I asked.

“Because he was always happy,” she said simply. “Nothing ever got Laurence down. He wanted to be a ‘rough and ready leatherneck.’ Ha! He used to tell me how he wanted a callsign like ‘Cool Hand’ or ‘Slick’ or something like that. But he was always Happy.”

“What about Harry?” I asked immediately, shifting the conversation while she was smiling with nostalgia.

“Hmm? Oh. Harry’s callsign is Tergon.”

“This one’s gonna take another explanation,” Wren said with a faux-sour grin.

“After class,” I said as we reached Dr. Bertrand’s classroom.

Christy smiled up at me, and I thought I detected a hint of gratitude in her eyes.

“So how did Harry get his callsign?” I asked after class.

“I’d love to hear this,” Wren said with only a trace of sarcasm, “but I don’t understand you Navy kids in the first place. Besides, I’ve got to head to Humanities.”

We exchanged goodbyes and then Christy turned to me. “Where’re you headed?”

“I’ve got an hour before my Design class. You?”

“I’ve got an hour before Art of Japan. Convenient, huh?”

“Do you want to—?”

“I’d love to.”

We went to our usual spot, a bench at the end of one of the balconies.

“Okay, so how did Harry get his callsign?” I asked.

“Kinda like your dad did.”

I looked a question at her.

“There’s this thing called a TER. I don’t remember exactly how it works, but it carries bombs, I think.”

“A Triple Ejection Rack?”

“Yeah, that’s it! When Harry was in training, he accidentally dropped his TERs when he should’ve just dropped his bombs. So the instructors started calling him ‘TER Gone.’”

“And that got shortened to Tergon,” I finished with a laugh. “Sounds like he and my dad have a lot in common.”

She smiled.

“How about James?” I asked.

“Dobie.”

“Like Dobie Gillis?”

“Mmm hmm. The guys in his squadron thought he looked like the actor from the TV show.”

“Ha! How about Danny.”

“Surfer,” she said. “Danny loves to surf, and he looks the part. He and I are the only blondes in the family—besides our mom, I mean—and he tans like I do. One afternoon in the sun and we’re golden brown.”

“My mother and sister are like that,” I grumbled good-naturedly. At that, I suddenly realized that Christy looked like Mom and Erin. She was smaller than either of them—quite a bit smaller through the chest—but she had the same blonde hair and blue eyes, and many of the same expressions. And if she tanned like they did ... I imagined her at camp, nude and bronze and bejeweled with water from the lake, her nipples hard from the cold—

“What’re you thinking?” she asked with a sly smile, intruding upon my fantasy.

“Huh? What?”

“Just now ... what were you thinking?”

My face must’ve been scarlet. “Um ... nothing,” I said, flustered. “So, what’s Rich’s callsign?”

She smiled, her eyes sparkling in amusement. “Rich doesn’t have a callsign,” she said patiently.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Um ... remember? He’s not a pilot...”

Chagrined, I’m sure I turned a darker shade, if that were possible.

Christy laughed, musical and bright.

“I forgot,” I said, trying to salvage my dignity.

She merely nodded, her eyes still glinting with the remnants of a smile.

“So,” I said, grasping for anything to divert her attention, “what’d you do on Spring Break?”

“Well, since Danny was in town,” she began, with barely a hint of a smirk, “we went to La Jolla. There’s an incredible shore break at Windansea Beach, and...”

With a palpable wave of relief, I suppressed my treacherous imagination and simply listened.

But I could’ve sworn she was smiling at me when I wasn’t looking.

After the chaos of the first days of the quarter, my life settled into a routine. A group of us ate breakfast together every morning before heading to our various classes. Christy and I met for lunch and hung out afterward, drawing or just talking. After the day’s classes, a group of us (anywhere from four to a dozen people) met for dinner. We usually ate at one of the campus dining halls, but sometimes we cooked at Kendall’s apartment or went out for pizza.

I still tried to watch my weight, but Christy was steadily changing my diet with a combination of non-lecture lectures and healthy afternoon snacks. Kendall was more than happy to let her, too, since she was convinced that I didn’t eat enough in the first place.

My classes themselves were mostly an extension of the previous quarter, especially since I had four of the same professors: Joska, Ledbetter, Feller, and Bertrand. The new professors were Ken Liang and Maninder Patel, an Indian, whose English was only slightly better than Professor Vajpayee’s.

The assignments were more or less what I was used to as well. Professor Ledbetter handed me a suspiciously Joska-inspired list of extra credit, while Professor Joska outlined a slew of projects and design reviews involving the World’s Fair, which was due to open in May. Unlike the previous quarters’ Introduction to Architecture classes, though, Professor Liang’s Visual Design Theory covered entirely new material, and I quickly realized that half of my classes would take up the majority of my time.

Professor Feller’s class would be interesting, though, since our reading list was drawn from the latter half of the Twentieth Century. Dr. Bertrand’s syllabus looked enjoyable as well; it was full of Dutch masters, French Impressionists, and more. And Calculus was Calculus, so I ignored Professor Patel’s not-quite-English lectures and immersed myself in the textbook.

I kept up my flying lessons with Earl Walker, but without wrestling and snow skiing, I had a lot more time to devote to architecture. Trip and I still worked out together, using the time to talk about everything from our Design projects to whatever new band he was excited about.

Trip wanted to form an intramural softball team, but Jeff lobbied hard for soccer. Since he rarely made requests, we decided to oblige him. Luke signed up for the team, of course, along with T.J. and Glen. Through enthusiasm and persistence alone, Jeff managed to recruit four other guys from our floor, as well as his roommate, Hector.

Aside from Jeff, Hector, and one other guy, none of us had ever played soccer before, but we were all willing to give it a shot. Jeff’s previous attempts at intramural sports had been just shy of embarrassing, though. He’d been lightning fast on the football field, but prone to fumbles. On the basketball court, his shots often missed even the backboard. Consequently, none of us really expected more from him when it came to soccer.

“Holy shit!” T.J. exclaimed at our first practice. “Look at Four-eyes!”

“T.J...,” Trip started to warn. Then he turned to look at Jeff, and the rebuke died unspoken.

Jeff was bouncing one of the soccer balls in the air. He bounced it off his feet. He bounced it off his thighs. He bounced it off his chest. He even bounced it off his head. With almost casual ease, he kept it airborne for several minutes. The rest of us stood awestruck. Finally, he kicked the ball into the air, higher than before. It didn’t even hit the ground before he sent it flying toward the goal. When it hit the net, we erupted with wild cheers.

“How’d you do that?!” T.J. asked after the din died down.

“Do what?” Jeff wondered, a bit embarrassed.

“That ... that thing you were doing,” T.J. tried to explain. “Bouncing the ball.”

“You mean juggling?”

“Yeah, that!”

Jeff shrugged, his cheeks turning pinker still.

“Looks like you’re gonna be taking lessons from Jeff this time,” Trip said to T.J. with a grin.

“No shit,” T.J. agreed without rancor. “And you need a new nickname, Four-eyes.”

Trip stiffened but didn’t say anything.

“How about White Pelé?” T.J. mused.

Jeff’s blush merely deepened. “I’m not that good.”

“You coulda fooled me,” T.J. said. “Now, show me how to do that thing with the ball.”

A little tentatively at first, but with growing confidence, Jeff taught us the basics of soccer. We practiced for more than an hour, Jeff’s awkwardness at football and basketball all but forgotten.

“How come you couldn’t do that on the football field?” T.J. asked him as we left the practice field.

Jeff merely shrugged and pushed up his glasses.

“Or on the basketball court?” T.J. continued. “I mean, you tossed more bricks than anyone I ever saw. But damn, Pelé, you can play soccer.”

“I guess I don’t have to use my hands,” Jeff said diffidently. “I’m not real coordinated—”

“No shit,” T.J. said. Then he darted a glance at Trip. “Um ... just kidding.”

“Besides, I’ve been playing soccer since I was six,” Jeff added. He shrugged again. “I guess I’ve just got a knack for it.”

“Well, I’m stickin’ with my man Pelé,” T.J. said to the group at large. Then he slapped Jeff on the back. “With you on our team, we’ll win every game.”

Trip and I hung back from the rest of the guys as we walked toward the dorm.

Luke noticed, and joined us. “Who knew Jeff could play soccer?” he asked no one in particular.

“You didn’t know?” Trip asked, genuinely surprised.

“Alors pas. I mean, after the hard time we gave him about football and basketball...? If y’all had given me that much shit, I’d’ve passed a slap and said ‘wait till we play soccer, then you’ll see.’ But he just kept his mouth shut and kept coming back for more.”

Trip chuckled.

“Mais, I had no idea,” Luke said, shaking his head. Then he grinned at us. “The guy had to be good at something. Who knew it was soccer?” With a wider grin, he ran to catch up with the rest of the group. “Hey, Jeff! Wait up, man!”

“There’s a lesson here,” Trip said to me, quietly.

I looked a question at him.

“Everyone has a talent. The trick is finding it.”

I nodded.

“I should’ve known better,” he said, more to himself than to me. “I didn’t give Jeff a hard time, not like T.J. did, but in my head...” He trailed off meaningfully. Then he braced himself. “There’s another lesson here.”

“Which is?”

“Always treat a guy with respect, ‘cause you might not know what his talent is until you need it.”

“Words to live by,” I said, teasing him a little gravely.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I should’ve known better.” After several moments, he chuckled ironically. “Well, I won’t make that mistake again.”

Kendall and I tried to find some time alone together, but we were in a quandary. Her roommates’ classes were diabolically contrived to keep the apartment occupied. We decided to use my dorm room instead, even though we’d have to deal with Carrick’s visitation rules. I didn’t want to come right out and ask Billy to let us have the room to ourselves once in a while, but he was a lot shrewder than I gave him credit for.

“We’re doing a musical this quarter, 1776,” he said one afternoon. “Jamie got the part of John Adams. I actually got a part too. It’s not a big one, but it’s my first on-stage role.”

“Congratulations,” I said absently, my nose buried in a book.

“So I’ll have to go to rehearsals now too. I’m still doing the set and costumes, though.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll be at rehearsal Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday afternoons, from two till four. And I’ll spend the weekends working on the set, of course.”

“Cool.”

“If anyone needs me,” he emphasized, “they can find me at the theater on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, from two till four o’clock.”

His words finally registered, and I looked up.

“Two till four,” he said deliberately. “Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday,” he repeated. “And I’ll probably hang around afterward to go to supper with the cast. You know ... in case you need to know where I am.” He gave me a meaningful look.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound exasperated. A moment later, I Got It, and my mood changed dramatically. “Oh! Thanks for letting me know, Billy.”

He shrugged. “I just thought ... in case ... you know ... um...”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” I said, relieving him of the burden of telling me that he’d overheard Kendall and me talking about where to find some privacy.

He sighed gratefully.

“And you know,” I mused, “we’ll probably come see your play. I mean, I haven’t been to a single one, and since you’re acting in this one...”

His expression lit with a smile.

“When’s opening night?” I asked.

“You mean you’ll come?!”

“Sure.”

He gave me the dates of the play’s run, and I wrote them down.

“Will you really come?” he asked excitedly.

“Sure, Billy, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He flashed me a shy smile, his cheeks flushed.

“But I’d better get back to Invisible Man,” I said genially, nodding at my book. “Thanks for letting me know about your rehearsal schedule, though.”

A couple of weeks into the quarter, Kendall and I made plans to go to South Carolina for Susan’s birthday. I wanted to fly—it was a two-hour trip by air—but I knew Kendall would balk, so I didn’t even bring it up. Instead, I resigned myself to driving more than six hours, each way.

A couple of days before we left, the phone rang.

“Hey, Paul,” T.J. tentatively called into my room, “it’s Gina.”

“Gina?” I wondered aloud, pushing back from my desk.

He nodded and held out the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Paul. It’s Gina.”

As if I wouldn’t recognize her voice!

“How are you?”

We talked for a couple of minutes, but the conversation was awkward. Finally, thankfully, she got to the purpose of her call.

“Are you going to Susan’s birthday party?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course. Are you?” I cursed myself for sounding so boyishly hopeful.

“I can’t. I’ve got to work at the hospital, and besides...” Her pause lengthened, meaningful and final.

“Yeah, I understand.” She couldn’t go because of me, and I silently admitted that she was probably right.

“I’m sorry, Paul,” she said softly. “I’m just not ready.”

“That’s okay. I understand. You’re probably right.”

“Thank you.”

I nodded, and I knew she’d understand my silence for the acceptance it was.

“But you could do me a favor,” she said, brightening.

“Sure.”

“Would you mind taking my present with you when you fly over?”

“We’re not flying,” I said, a little more resentfully than I intended. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“That’s— Sorry, never mind.” She paused. “Do you have a few minutes? I could meet you now.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She paused guiltily. “I ... I’m sorry, Paul. I want to go, but...”

“I understand.”

“I’ve already called Susan, and she understands. I talked to my mom too.”

“We’re going to have to get over this sooner or later,” I said, sounding more determined than petulant. “I mean, our families are still friends.”

“I know,” she said. “But there’s no reason to torture ourselves for their sake. They understand.” She laughed, bitter and short. “Well, maybe not Leah.”

“Leah? What about her?”

“I guess she’s more of a Gina partisan than I thought.”

“Huh?”

In a rush: “She’s only heard things from my side, and she doesn’t understand that it takes two—”

“You mean she’s pissed off at me?”

“A little,” Gina said, obviously chagrined. “I tried to tell her that we’re adults, and we’re both to blame, but...” I could almost hear her shrug.

I laughed, the sound full of irony. “Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about fighting her off.”

“You might,” Gina said with an ironic laugh of her own. “I think she mentioned wanting to slap some sense into you. Don’t worry about her, though. My mom’s got the situation under control. Leah might talk big, but she’s not going to actually do anything. So you’re right, you don’t have to worry about fighting her off.”

“Well, that’ll make Kendall happy.”

“So, do you want to meet me in the courtyard?” Gina asked abruptly.

“Sure. When?”

“Five minutes?”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few.”

Gina met me downstairs, and she was alone for a change. “Give Susan a hug for me,” she said, handing over a small present. “And tell her I love her.”

“Will do,” I said.

As the silence drew out, her dark eyes turned soulful and lingering. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled sadly, nodded to herself, and turned to go.

On Friday, Kendall and I packed up and headed toward South Carolina. With pit stops and traffic, the trip took almost seven hours, and we arrived a little before midnight.

Instead of driving straight to Susan’s house, we stopped at the lighted clubhouse first. Gunny Kershaw met us at the door. After a warm greeting he told us that Doug and Olivia had arrived earlier in the day, and that Kirk had called unexpectedly to say he’d arrive on Saturday.

“Since Susan will have a full house, we thought you might like to stay in one of the cabins,” he finished. “I made one up for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Thank you very much, Gunny,” I said.

With that, we climbed into the Cruiser and headed back up the hill. During the short drive, Gunny told us that Susan had already gone to bed, but that she wanted us to come down for breakfast. Then he directed us to the cabin next to the one where my family usually stayed. I pulled to a stop beside the little building and turned off the engine.

“I’ve had the water heater on for a couple of hours,” Gunny said as he opened the cabin door, “so the water should be hot. And I put sheets on the bed and towels in the bathroom. They’re nothing fancy, but they’ll do.”

“Thanks, Gunny,” I said.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked deferentially.

I shook my head and glanced at Kendall.

She turned to him and smiled warmly. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

“My pleasure, Miss Kendall,” he said, his cheeks coloring. After a diffident pause: “Well, since everything’s squared away here, I think I’ll head home and turn in.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” I offered.

When I returned to the cabin, the porch light glowed warmly. Spring had come to South Carolina, but the night air still held a chill, and I was looking forward to a soft, warm bed after the long day on the road.

“I’m sorry I made you drive,” Kendall said as I shut the cabin door behind me.

I shrugged.

“I just don’t want to fly. I ... I can’t explain it, but ... it scares me.”

“That’s all right. I understand.” I didn’t, but I didn’t want to dwell on it and make her uncomfortable.

“Can I make it up to you?” she asked softly.

“Maybe later. Right now, I just wanna go to bed.”

When we crawled into bed and pulled the covers over us, she gently stroked my chest. Her hand drifted suggestively lower, but I touched her wrist lightly and shook my head.

“Maybe in the morning,” I said. “I’m exhausted.”

“Oh ... okay.”

With that, I pulled her close and my eyes drooped shut. I knew her well enough to realize that she was disappointed, but after a full day of classes, followed by a seven-hour drive, I simply didn’t have the energy.

The next morning, we showered together until the water turned cold. Much to my amusement, I found that I actually missed the dorm, especially the endless supply of hot water.

After we dried off, we fooled around in the comfort of the steamy bathroom. I wanted to make up for the night before, so I kissed my way from her earlobes to her neck and then continued down to her chest. My lips trailed between her breasts and over her soft stomach until I nuzzled her pussy. She gasped when I pressed my chin to her thighs and darted my tongue between her smooth labia. Then she relaxed, and didn’t resist when I spread her legs further.

I gently licked and sucked her pussy, building her up. She gasped when I held her hips in place and my tongue went into overdrive. I swirled it around her clit, teasing the little bead on each pass. Then I began wagging my tongue through her folds and sucking her inner lips.

Finally, I drove her over the edge and she gripped my hair to hold herself steady. I continued licking as her orgasm washed over her. She held rigidly still, and when she grew too sensitive, I pulled back before she had to push me away.

With a smile, I gazed up her body and kissed her smooth mons. She rewarded me with a deep sigh in response. I began kissing up her stomach to her breasts, and sucked her nipples for several moments. When I straightened, my erection brushed her thigh.

She gripped my shaft with a sultry smile. She held my eyes for a moment and then sank to her knees. Her supple lips caressed my shaft, quickly working me to the point of no return. She sensed it and began pumping the base of my cock as she teased my balls with the other hand. A moment later I rewarded her efforts, filling her mouth with spurt after spurt.

She smiled up at me as my dick slowly softened. With an answering smile, I helped her to her feet and pulled her close. After a few moments of silent intimacy, we finished getting ready. When we were done, she dithered over whether or not to wear bikini bottoms. Since we didn’t know how Doug or Olivia would react, she decided to play it safe.

Outside, the morning sunlight filtered through the pine trees, but the shade was decidedly chilly. The sunny road through camp was pleasantly warm, though, and by the time we reached Susan’s house, the exertion of walking down the hill had done wonders.

Doug opened the kitchen door when we knocked. With a smile, he invited us into the house and introduced us to his girlfriend, Olivia. She was an attractive brunette with full breasts and a friendly smile. She reminded me of a young Susan. When Kendall glanced at me, I realized that she was thinking the same thing. She also had to suppress a grin, since Olivia was wearing bikini bottoms.

Before I could do more than raise my eyebrows, Susan entered the kitchen, drawn by the sound of our voices. She gave Kendall a hug and then turned to me. I was mildly surprised that she wasn’t wearing her bottoms, but I guess I shouldn’t have been. I pulled her close and returned her hug. When we separated, she neatly stepped to my side, her arm still around my waist.

“Why the modesty, ladies?” she asked. “I don’t think anyone here is going to be offended by a bare beaver.”

“Well, I didn’t know if Paul and Kendall...,” Olivia ventured uncertainly.

“And I didn’t know if...,” Kendall echoed. Then she shrugged.

“Aw, heck,” Olivia said, glancing at Kendall, “I will if you will.”

Kendall nodded, and with that, the girls removed their bottoms.

“So,” Susan asked, defusing the momentary tension as Doug and I tried not to ogle each other’s girlfriend, “what do we want for breakfast? Bacon and eggs? Pancakes and sausage? Waffles?”

“Oh, no, Susan,” Olivia said, glad for the distraction, “Kendall and I can cook. You just relax. After all, it’s your birthday.”

“If you think I’m going to argue, you’re wrong,” Susan said with a grin.

The two girls shared a laugh and donned aprons as they surveyed the contents of the refrigerator.

“So, Paul,” Doug said as we sat at the kitchen table, “how do you like the architecture program at Tennessee?”

“A lot. UT has a fantastic design program—”

He grinned good-naturedly at my deliberate emphasis.

“—and I’ve got a couple of really good professors.” For a moment, I stopped, shocked at what I’d just said. Do I really think Joska’s a good professor? I wondered. Holy shit! I do! With that, I laughed, a bit self-consciously. But for the next few minutes, I was amazed by the words coming from my mouth; words like “unrelenting perfectionist” and “good judge of design.”

Even Kendall turned from the stove, surprised to hear me describe Joska that way.

“So you have a different professor than your first quarter?” Susan asked.

Chagrined, I felt my face heating. “No, it’s the same guy.”

She laughed, genuine and teasing at the same time.

“Okay, so maybe he’s not as bad as I first thought,” I grudgingly admitted. “He’s still an absolute slave driver, and he’s never satisfied with my work, but yeah, maybe there’s a method to his madness.”