* * *
After two packs of Ramen noodles and another round of meditating on guns and deer families, Cheyenne went to bed sometime before midnight and got more than four hours of sleep.
The next morning, an email from Professor Dawley sat in her inbox saying he expected her to be in his Thursday class after her absence on Tuesday, because “no one gets their graduate degree by skirting the system and insulting their professor’s intelligence.”
“Whatever. Like I owe him some kind of professional courtesy.”
Still, she resigned herself to sitting through a day of classes to placate the old jerk. She did care about getting her master’s and completing the program, after all. It looked good on paper if she wanted to open the pool of high-level careers that offered options for a life that didn’t bore her to death.
She pulled her long-sleeved fishnet shirt over a black tank top—the one that was mostly ripped to shreds—and painted on black lipstick again. “How’s that for professional courtesy?”
The chains on her wrist clinked as she snatched her backpack and slipped on her shoes. “Time to go play the game. At least until I figure out where that meeting’s going down tonight.”
The drive to the Virginia Commonwealth University campus gave her plenty of time to imagine finding Durg at this illegal meet-up of magical gangs and wringing his thick neck. She thought about baby deer in between each satisfying daydream.
The image of the doe and her fawns was a lot harder to keep in the front of her mind when she walked through the campus and across the quad for her next class. People were staring at her. Not like that was anything new, and Cheyenne was used to unwanted eyes on her, trying to put together the pieces of an expressionless Goth chick storming across the school to sit in her classes and pay attention. But that wasn’t what she felt this morning.
Someone’s watching me.
A few times, she turned around on the path to search the faces turned toward her that turned away when people realized she was looking for something. Just a bunch of college kids using their dulled imaginations to judge her based on how she dressed. Nothing else.
There’s no way anyone online figured out who I am. Not after I’ve kept that secret since I learned what a computer was.
Still, the feeling of being watched and followed didn’t go away. It didn’t help that Cheyenne almost knocked over a kid running across the path after a giant bouncy ball. She cursed and leapt out of the way.
“You need to watch where you’re going.” The kid’s mom glared at her with an impressive mixture of scorn and fear as she jogged after the toddler.
Right. Because two-year-olds belong on a college campus.
Her first class was with Professor Bergmann, which didn’t feel as awkward as Cheyenne expected. The woman spoke with her usual flair of apathy despite how excited she was to pick apart the aspects of the assignment she’d had them do on Tuesday. Mattie didn’t meet Cheyenne’s gaze more than once or offer any sign she also agreed Cheyenne didn’t need to be here. Except for when Natalie and her messy bun showed up fifteen minutes late and knocked the keyboard to the floor with her oversized, over-prized messenger bag.
“They leave those cords here for a reason,” Natalie muttered as she stepped over the keyboard and the dangling cords. “So we can use them.”
“Nice apology.” Cheyenne eyed the other student with a blank expression as Natalie sidestepped a row of tables and took a seat in the front. What is she even doing in this class?
A small tingle of heat flared beneath her skin, and Cheyenne sank farther into her chair, stretching her legs out under the table until they knocked against the fallen keyboard.
“All right, Ms. Arcady.” Professor Bergmann eyed Natalie and offered a tight smile. “While I appreciate you bothering to come to class today, I expect you to be on time. That’s something you should’ve covered before the last time you graduated.”
“Sorry. I had to stop for—”
“Excuses are for undergrads,” Bergmann interrupted. “I don’t care why you were late. I do care that you want to be here, and for that to be convincing, you need to be here at eight o’clock. Preferably before then, so everyone’s ready before I get here. So. Who learned something while you were building the programs you started on Tuesday?”
A lanky dude with a bushy red beard, who insisted on sitting in the last row, started talking about the next level of code he’d injected into what their professor had given them to work with, and Cheyenne had no problem tuning him out. Instead, she tried not to think of anything related to a gun when she heard Messy Bun whisper to Peter, “She can’t talk to us like that. That’s harassment.”
For the first time in two weeks, Cheyenne turned on the university-provided computer in front of her, pulled the keyboard onto the desk, and sneaked into the sadly vulnerable school servers to connect with Messy Bun’s computer. She pulled up the notepad and typed a little message to get the girl to shut up about lawsuits and getting Professor Bergmann fired.
Reminding you you’re an adult isn’t harassment.
It took a few seconds for Messy Bun to see the message. She glanced at her screen and stiffened, then stared at the professor at the front of the room. She tried to figure out how the woman had gotten a message into her computer without touching it and while talking to the class. Not to mention how she heard her.
Cheyenne fought back a giggle and sent one more note.
But I can harass you all day from anywhere.
Messy Bun stabbed the power button on the monitor until the screen blinked off, then she slumped in her chair and folded her arms.
The big guy named Peter leaned toward Natalie.
