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Faculty meeting.

It's the end of our first month of school, which means every department head apparently has seventeen things to discuss that absolutely could have been put in an email.

We've been here for almost two hours.

I'm losing the will to live.

“And that concludes athletics.”

Thank the Goddess.

Coach Williams sits down across the conference room.

His eyes immediately find mine.

My stomach tightens.

It's been getting worse.

At first, his persistence was annoying. One text a week.

Dinner?

Drinks?

Another chance?

I kept making excuses, and he kept pretending not to understand what they meant.

Then one text became two. Sometimes three.

He started finding reasons to stop by my classroom. Offering to walk me to my car. Showing up in the faculty lounge during my breaks even though the athletics department has its own offices on the other side of campus.

Nothing I could point to and call threatening.

Nothing I could take to Wulfy and say, Your athletics coach is harassing me.

Just enough to make me increasingly uncomfortable.

And angry at myself.

Because I know what Dora would say.

Tell him no, Aggie.

Not I'm busy.

Not maybe another time.

No.

One tiny word.

I teach teenagers how to manipulate magical elements without blowing themselves up, but apparently two letters are beyond my capabilities.

Coach smiles at me.

I don't smile back.