Page 46 of Baby Girl
Snatching it up, I waste no time getting into my messages.
Derek:Hi Emery, I’m sorry to hear that your things are missing. I did not forget to pack your sketchpads and graphite set. I know how important they are to you.
My heart rate increases as I read the words. He didn’t forget? Does that mean he didn’t find them?
Before I can even think to reply, another message comes through.
Derek:If it will ease your mind, I’ll go and check the apartment as soon as I am done here for the day.
My entire chest deflates with relief. He is going to go find them.
Me:Yes, please.
The message turns toreadwithout a reply. But that’s fine. He’ll go to the apartment, find my things, and then everything will be fixed.
My phone vibrates in my hand, a pixie-like chime flowing from it continuously, and I let out a massive groan as the name of the alarm flashes on the screen.
Meeting with dean.
Fuck.
Chapter 24
Emery
My sneakers bounce up and down, not making a sound against the plush carpet of the reception area to Dean Vandermere’s office. I’m the only person sitting in the room, excluding his receptionist. She’s a very proper woman, her brunette hair slicked back into a twisty sort of bun at the back of her head and makeup that looks professionally applied.
I know that clothes don’t make a person, but right now, I’m more than a little thankful for my new wardrobe. Having to sit in this room, with its super high ceilings, fancy wooden shelves, with what I can only assume are portraits of the previous deans staring down at me, I’m glad I’m not wearing my baggy jeans, which are only baggy on me because they are three sizes too big, and my holey flannel.
The walk to the admin building was thankfully quick, what with the admin building basically in the middle of campus. There is a definite chill in the air at this time of day, and I’m not going to lie, it made getting here easier. The two painkillers, Derek’s sunglasses, and water bottle were excellent ideas as well.
After that absolutely crushing headache on Wednesday, things seemed to have died down on the headache front. There is still a persistent awareness that something isn’t quite right, but not enough to make me feel like my head is going to explode from pressure.
Which is good, because it allows me to take in the sheer…regalness of the admin building. Walking through the massive wooden doors was like entering a portal that not only transported me back several hundred years, but also up several social classes to when women were courted by high-society men.
This whole building is pretentious as fuck, but even I can admit to feeling the history pouring out of the walls. I can’t resist thinking about the number of people who have had their asses parked in this seat while they wait to be judged by the one person on campus who has the ability to dictate their present and future.
Knowing there is thirty K in my account right now makes it the tiniest bit less scary, but I need my degree to obtain the future I want.It’s just a welfare check, I remind myself. In my previous dealings with that term, it usually meant I was going tobe removed from whatever home I was in at the time. But that’s not what this is about.
This is about being attacked on campus. Honestly, I thought someone would have approached me by now about the whole situation. I’ve heard about universities covering up shit like this before, but why has no one even bothered to give me a call? Or for campus security to come flash their rent-a-cop badges in my face and take down my details.
Not that there is any real point now, since Tray will never be a problem again.
Taking a sip of water, I check my phone for the time, only to see a message from an unknown number. With a frown, I click on the notification, my confusion dissipating as soon as I start reading. It’s one of those appointment confirmation things. Apparently, I have an appointment with Dr. Everett on Monday at nine-forty-five. I guess I won’t be going to Derek’s Monday class for a second week in a row. Maybe even Hudson’s, since it’s directly after.
I quickly hit reply with a Yes to confirm, actually check the time, then try to keep my heart from racing when it shows that there is only a minute until my meeting wi—
“Emery Nicholas?”
Snapping my head up, I stare at the man who fills the doorway into what I assume is the dean’s office. Older than Derek by a lot, if the more-salt-than pepper hair is any indication. Skin that has the freshly tanned holiday look, neatly groomed beard, dark brows with even darker eyes. He looks oddly familiar, though I can’t figure out where from. Wherever I’ve seen him before, he wasn’t wearing his navy business suit and light blue button-up shirt.
I gather my few things and hurry past the receptionist, who breaks character and offers me a quick smile. My stomach was only full of butterflies up until now, but that smile trips the panicswitch in me. Do I tell the truth? It’s not like I didn’t write about my childhood in my scholarship applications.
They know a little about Tray. Not everything, obviously, but enough to paint a picture that things needed to change.
Dean Vandermere’s smile is welcoming and kind, but there is something in his eyes that reminds me of my daddies. Like he is always watching. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“Please, take a seat on the couch. I see you have a drink, but can I offer you something else? Soda? Tea?” He begins to close the door behind him, but his motions stop, and he continues to speak before I can answer. “Would you like me to leave this open?”
