Page 95 of Ruthless Court
“That’s what hooked you?”
“Nothing hooked me.”
“She rejected you at the beach, humiliated you in class, and made you chase her across campus.”
“I wasn’t chasing her.”
“You followed her through a tour group.”
“I needed an answer.”
“You need therapy.”
I throw one of his socks at him.
He catches it before it reaches his face.
Fast hands for a backup guard.
“What’s her name?” he asks.
“Sandy.”
“Last name?”
“She didn’t give me one.”
“Dorm?”
“I told you. Old campus.”
“Major?”
“No idea.”
“Social handle?”
“If I had that, I wouldn’t be here.”
He cracks his knuckles and turns toward the monitors.
“What exactly do you expect me to do?”
“Search.”
“For every freshman named Sandy who owns glasses?”
“You’re the computer guy.”
“That is not how computers work.”
“Make them work better.”
He laughs under his breath but opens a student directory.
I stand behind him.
The search returns eleven Sandras, four Cassandras, and three people whose last names begin with Sandy.
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