“We’ll have a serious problem if you’re late, halfling.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
“Okay. Check your messages.” Rhynehart hung up without another word, and Cheyenne was left standing there in the hallway, scowling at an old-school burner phone and hating the fact that she’d left all her stuff inside the classroom.
She put the phone on silent, slid it into her back pocket with an extra shove, and re-entered Hersh’s titillating lecture on programming theory.
The second she sat back down in her seat, the professor pointed at her and blinked furiously behind his thick glasses. “Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence again, Cheyenne. I have a feeling you already know the answer to this equation up here on the board. Would I be right?”
“Yeah.”
The man blustered behind the desk and slapped the whiteboard with the back of his hand, eliciting choked-back sniggers from one or two students in the class. Cheyenne recognized the huge redheaded guy with the unwieldy beard who smelled like Doritos in the second row up front. Guess I’m sitting upwind this time.
“This equation right here,” Hersh repeated with another smack. “You already know the solution, or you know how to find it?”
“I already know it. If you need some help, I’m more than happy to email it to you later.”
The man’s face had regained its redness, this time from rage instead of exertion. “Would you like to stand up here and teach this class for me?”
Seriously? He sounds like my eighth-grade English teacher. Cheyenne grimaced, embarrassed not for herself, but for the programming theory professor who seemed so intent on digging this hole deeper for himself. “No. I don’t want to teach your class.”
“I’ve dealt with a lot of students like you, Cheyenne. They all think they know more than their instructors and professors until they end up failing and never graduating to make anything of themselves.”
The drow halfling grimaced. This is getting painfully awkward.
“So if you’re intent on disrupting a lecture if it’s not to your specific taste, by all means, come on up here and have a go at it yourself.”
The classroom fell ridiculously silent, and Cheyenne bit her bottom lip until Hersh shook his hand at her again in emphasis. “I’m sorry my phone rang during your class,” she said evenly. “And I’m sorry I had to take it. You’re the professor. Please continue.”
“Do I need to make this an assignment?”
Some of the students turned around in their seats to flash sympathetic looks at the Goth girl getting chewed out for something adults frequently had to do in life—answer their phones.
Okay, I guess me trying to be nice isn’t working.
“You can make it an assignment if you want, I guess.” She shrugged. “But I don’t wanna embarrass you in front of all your other students.”
Someone two rows in front of her choked on their stifled laugh.
Hersh looked like his head was about to blow right off his narrow, overly round shoulders. “Do not interrupt my class again. Are we clear?”
Cheyenne nodded and gestured for him to proceed, which made his face go from slight-sunburn-pink to boiled-lobster-red.
I know there’s a big difference in age here between Professor Dinosaur and his students, but we’re all adults here.
Hersh apparently decided that continuing his lecture—which in all likelihood was supposed to focus on practical application—was better for his health and his ego than continuing to hold his breath and glare at Cheyenne with his eyes popping out of his head. He straightened, pressed his finger on the printed notes on the desk, then went back into his speech where he’d left off.
This time, when the burner phone in Cheyenne’s pocket vibrated, there was no annoying ring from ancient technology. The half-drow leaned sideways again, grimacing at the pain it punched through her hip, and slowly flipped the phone open in her lap.
It was a text from an unsaved number, obviously, but it couldn’t have been from anyone but Rhynehart.
Prince Frederick, Maryland. Highway 402 past Wilson Rd. 1100 hours.
And that was it.
Awesome. Cheyenne slipped the phone back into her pocket, folded her arms, and slid farther down in her chair until the soles of her black Vans touched the back of the seat below and in front of her. The last thing I need right now is Hersh crawling all over me again. I can sit through the rest of the class and take care of everything else afterward. No problem.
The problem now was not falling asleep to the sound of the man’s droning voice. He didn’t look at the halfling once, but if he had, he would have seen her chin falling toward her chest.
Chapter Fifty
The sound of students in Hersh’s class slipping their laptops into their bags and rustling in their chairs jolted Cheyenne from her power nap. She shut her laptop, stuffed it in its sleeve and in her backpack, and got the hell out of that room. Thankfully, Hersh was so fed up he didn’t try to make her stay.
Not the kind of guy who’s gonna apologize for overreacting. Also not the kinda guy who likes being told no. Two and a half weeks down. Three months to go in the semester. We’re gonna have so much fun.
Instead of heading across the quad to her next class, Cheyenne found herself a nice, comfy armchair against the wall next to a power outlet in the Student Center. She plugged in her laptop, opened it on her lap, and froze.
There was that feeling of being watched again.
The prickling tingle started at the nape of her neck and curled around the back of her head toward her ears. On the VCU campus, huh?
The drow halfling logged into her laptop and looked up, scanning around.
