* * *
When she stepped back inside Bergmann’s classroom, no one stopped what they were doing to acknowledge her return. Not even the professor. Cheyenne quietly closed the door behind her, then went back to her chair in front of her closed laptop, and took a seat. It wasn’t 9:00 a.m., and she’d completed all her other various class assignments over the weekend. So she pulled out her earbuds, jammed the jack into her phone and one bud into her ear, and pulled up an album of Rachmaninoff performed by a pianist who didn’t look old enough to be out of high school.
Nothing like an angry Russian composer to get an angry chick to calm down. Godsmack wouldn’t help right now.
She folded her arms and stared at the back of Messy Bun’s head. The other student couldn’t have felt Cheyenne’s gaze on her, yet she turned around and shot the half-drow a contemptuous glare.
Cheyenne closed her eyes. I bet she uses the word ‘irksome’ in everyday conversation.
One and a half tracks later, Cheyenne didn’t need to look at the clock to know class was over. Other students were packing up, getting ready to move onto some other class where they could gobble up more banal attempts at imparting knowledge.
She didn’t take her earbuds out until Professor Bergmann stood from her chair and announced: “…if you want to get credit for it. And because Miss Arcady brought up an excellent point about not having been assigned the work, I’m telling you all right now that I want these brilliant bits of code in my inbox by eleven fifty-nine p.m. tomorrow night. I hope that’s specific enough.”
Bergmann smiled sweetly at Messy Bun, who returned a faker smile and jammed her bright-yellow folder into her expensive leather messenger bag. Cheyenne slipped her laptop into its sleeve and let it glide right into her backpack, then paused the Rachmaninoff and wound her earbuds around her phone. She wasn’t the last one out, but that didn’t seem to matter to the professor. “Cheyenne,” Bergmann called, “can you spare a few minutes?”
“Uh…” Cheyenne slung her backpack over her shoulder and blinked, feeling a few curious glances her way, although none lingered long. “I have another class at—”
“Oh, so do I. We’re both very busy, I know. It won’t take long.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Cheyenne walked down the row between the long lab tables and stopped to lean back against one. Messy Bun didn’t look at her at all as she sauntered past with her messenger bag thumping against her thigh. Peter raised an eyebrow and tried to smile. Cheyenne’s deadpan stare saw him out of the classroom. When the last student cleared out, Professor Bergmann stepped past Cheyenne and pulled the door shut.
She turned, nodded, and licked her lips. “We have a problem, don’t we?”
Chapter Ten
“What?” Cheyenne stuck her hands through the straps of her backpack over her shoulder and eyed her black-haired professor as the woman crossed the room again. “Did you look at what I sent you?”
Bergmann stopped behind her desk and started packing up her own computer and random academic paraphernalia. The handle of her wheeled briefcase still stretched up to its full length, and Cheyenne had an overwhelming urge to slam it back down into place where it belonged.
“Of course, I did.”
“There was nothing wrong with my code.” Cheyenne straightened away from the end of the lab table and gripped her backpack straps even tighter. “If you looked at it, you’d know that—”
“Only twenty-five percent of it was based on the given directives I laid out in my presentation. Yep.” Bergmann nodded and zipped up her briefcase, then straightened. “That it’s more complex than anything I’ve seen a student turn in, and I’ve been doing this for…well, longer than I’d like to admit. And let me just say that I found your proxy entryway while you were in the bathroom. Threw me for a loop for about sixty seconds, but I did find it. So nice try.”
“Okay.” Cheyenne stared at the handle of the woman’s briefcase. “So what’s the problem?”
“Well, hell, Cheyenne. We both know it’s not your work.” Finally, Bergmann peered at her, stuck a hand on her hip, and laughed. “You might not be able to learn anything from me this semester, seeing as you’re already crushing it with the assignments. Only three classes in. Did you find that code somewhere, or are you telling me it really is yours?”
Cheyenne shook her head. “I didn’t cheat if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Hmm. No, I didn’t peg you as someone who’d enjoy wasting both our time. So, like I said, this class might be pretty useless for you.”
“You want me to drop out?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.” The professor laughed again and tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “You can stay. Easy A for you, I have no doubt. If you’re willing to go through the drudgery of turning in work you already understand. Hey, maybe you’ll teach me a few new tricks. But what I can help you with is control.”
Cheyenne cleared her throat. “What?”
“There’s a side of you you don’t want anyone else to see. Right?” Bergmann lifted a hand and wiggled the tip of her own ear, reaching for the handle of her roller briefcase without looking at her student. She glanced at her watch. “Boy, I hate schedules. Look, Cheyenne, I’m going to be late for my next class, which I enjoy slightly less than this one. If you’re interested, I know I can teach you things that have nothing to do with computers or programming. You know my office hours.”
With a fleeting grin, Professor Bergmann nodded and strode toward the
