Page 8 of The Casanova Complex

Too much of our grade hinges on the outcome. It makes my stomach twist with nerves.

I can’t afford for my GPA to take a dive. I’m so close to applying for OU Law, and I need every ounce of luck and the last four years to be enough to get accepted.

“Be sure to check your emails this evening,” Professor Hart calls as we all begin packing up.

I shut my laptop and hastily shove it into my backpack, along with my notebooks.

Just as I stand to leave the auditorium, she calls out, “Oh, and just so I can reduce the number of emails I have to field, your novels and partners will not be reassigned. I’m not changing them based on preferences, so please, save your pleas. Part of this assignment is learning how to work with others, even when having different views. You’re all adults, heading out into the real world. Learning to work with others, whether by choice or not, is a valuable life skill. See you on Thursday!”

Perfect.

Thankfully, I don’t have time to worry myself sick about the thesis project because I’m too busy sprinting all the way across campus to get to work. I can’t be late… again, or Mrs. Jarvis might actually fire me, and then I’ll be supremely fucked.

I need this job too much to get fired.

The money isn’t anything incredible, but the majority of my shifts are quiet, and it gives me time to study and work on my personal essay and application.

I burst through the doors of the campus bookstore approximately two minutes before I’m scheduled to work, and yet it still earns me an icy glare from the older woman sitting behind the desk.

It’s not that she hates me, per se. I think she just hates everyone, honestly.

She’s pushing eighty if I had to guess, and I think if I still had to deal with a bunch of students at that age, then I’d probably hate the world too.

Very fair.

I quickly round the counter and set my backpack on the empty shelf before turning to Mrs. Jarvis.

“Just in time,” I say, smiling brightly as she pins me with a stare over the tops of her wired glasses.

I can practically taste the disdain rolling off her. It’s honestly kind of impressive how she’s managed to achieve such a patronizing stare without even speaking.

She glances down at the gold watch on her wrist, then slowly lifts her gaze back to mine. “Seemingly so. I’ll be leaving, then. Please be sure to shelve the new textbooks we received yesterday.”

I nod, keeping my smile firmly in place despite the urge I’m resisting to roll my eyes.

Of course she’d leave that to me.

I get that it’s part of my job, and I’m happy to do my job, but she also always leaves the tedious things for me to do.

“No problem. I’ll get it done.”

She purses her lips. “And this time, please be sure to double-check your work. I found a title out of its correct order last week.”

Fuck, I’m way too tired for this.

Instead of flipping her the finger, which I would absolutely love to do, I force a wide smile and nod. “Absolutely, of course.”

I need an award for the restraint I’m currently possessing.

Thankfully, she leaves without giving me any more shit, and the second the doors shut behind her, my shoulders sag in relief.

I try to remind myself that as mean and bitchy as Mrs. Jarvis is, she’s probably just trying to survive. Just like me.

Tonight’s my late shift, the one night of the week we stay open until 8:30, so I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and text Elliott.

He should be getting off the bus any minute from school.

ME: Hey loser. Just reminding you that I work late tonight, so it’ll be you and Annabelle until about 9:30. There’s pizza and chicken nuggets in the freezer so take your pick. Oh, and don’t forget your homework. You’ve got a social studies test next week.