Page 63 of Coveted

“I think we can all relate to that motivation,” says the professor. “Though it means vastly different things to different people.”

“Power,” says Zahra. “My father says everything’s about power, in the end.”

A male student speaks. “My father says it’s all about sex.”

Marco pauses his pen over the yellowed piece of paper he’s reviewing.

I push aside my spiderweb doodle. “What about protecting somebody?”

“A fine motivation. And even more compelling when it goes terribly wrong. Good, Sadie.” Professor Worthington claps once. “That’s your assignment for this week. A short story exploring one of the motivations we mentioned. Five thousand words. Lesson over.”

My classmates stuff their books into bags and head for the door, but I take my time. Marco’s papers caught my eye and I want to ask him about them.

Professor Worthington speaks animatedly to Zahra about her most recent story. I use the opportunity to approach his teaching assistant.

“Marco?” I point to the papers in front of him. “May I ask what you’re working on?”

He blinks hard at me, like he’s surprised to find he’s visible to people. “I’m cataloguing research materials. The papers degrade and are lost to time otherwise.”

“Cool.” I nod. “That sounds interesting. Are the materials from the campus library?”

The police still don’t know who stole the archivist’s car. The vehicle hasn’t shown up anywhere and no witnesses have come forward.

But if Marco spends a lot of time in the Humanities archives, he could’ve easily swiped the car keys. Or seen who did.

His shoulders curve forward, like he wishes I’d go away.

I let the silence linger, waiting for an answer.

The TA shoos an invisible fly with his hand. “The papers are from storage off campus, not the library archives.”

The weight in my chest lightens. “Ah, I see.”

Poor Marco. He’s just trying to work and I’m treating him like a murder suspect.

A snatch of Zahra’s and Professor Worthington’s conversation reaches my ears, and I angle my head to listen.

“—not meant to have favorite students, but Hannah was exceptional. A tragedy, what happened to her. Simply a tragedy.”

“Hannah Hale?” I blurt out.

The professor looks around. “Correct.”

“She was a writer?” I ask.

“A fantastic one,” he says with a sad smile. “Wonderful student, with such great promise.”

And then someone broke her neck while she walked an icy path.

A tremor runs through me.

“Professor,” says Zahra to recapture his attention. “You were saying?”

With a nod at me, he returns to their discussion.

“Pretty,” murmurs Marco, his eyes on his pen and papers.

“What’s that?” I ask, lowering my voice.