This Is What You Wanted

By Nina MacNamara

"Hello, sweetness..."

From the outside, Amanda Keefe has it together. She is a shy but earnest adjunct instructor at a small state college in western Michigan dealing with a condescending boss and the relentless university system. But the ravages of childhood trauma have scarred her body inside and out, and she finds no safety in her own home that she shares with her stern, Catholic parents and resentful, secretive brother. To deal with her stress, she has two addictions—one for pleasure, and one for pain. Both are different in execution, but similar in their end goal.

Amanda controls her meticulous regimen without incident until the night she decides to be more adventurous and invites another broken soul into her world. Then she has to fight both new and old demons and reckon with her traumatic past.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gray Cat Books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223616375

Book preview

Rules

Amanda Keefe was a woman of few talents, but one of them was getting off before her alarm went off.

That Friday, she lay in bed, steadying her rapid breathing, and staring vacantly up at the popcorn ceiling. Less than a minute later, at exactly 6:30 AM, the tell-tale beep!beep!beep! shook her from the fading paroxysms to reach over and hit the OFF button on her phone. Her last order of business, after stepping into her slippers and wrapping herself in her bathrobe and before shuffling into the hallway, was to turn her stuffed cat, Bobo, away from the wall and back around to face the rest of her cramped bedroom.

While groping for her baby shampoo from the cabinet under the sink, Amanda accidentally bumped a tiny, yellow-handled paring knife out from the folds of a brittle, mildewed washrag. It rolled forward, exposing itself between her mother's stack of Ivory soap and an unopened box of men's razors, a flash of painful fluorescent light reflected off the metal blade. As she retrieved her shampoo, Amanda nudged the knife back into hiding behind the clutter and drain pipe and shut the cabinet door.

Her shower was only lukewarm, even set to the hottest setting. That was her punishment for being the last to get out of bed and the third to get a shower that morning. But a middling temperature shower killed the aroma of her brother's designer cologne, her father's aftershave, and a hint of bleach out of her nostrils as she lathered the open wounds on her thighs. Hotter water would have agitated them. As part of her ritual, Amanda gently daubed her legs with her own bar of lavender soap and watched flecks of dried blood become wispy streaks in the tub and disappear down the rusty drain. She finished when the water ran cold.

Her hair was easy to braid when damp: just her usual three-part plait that fell between her shoulder blades. In the summer she would affix the braid to her head with a claw clip to keep it off her neck. But this was late Fall and nearing the end of the semester when her appearance was more about staying warm than looking stylish. Lucky for her, Amanda's outfits were the same as they were every day—a long-sleeved blouse (white today), dress slacks (always one of two black pairs), and sensible flats (also black). Her only jewelry was a wide, elastic bracelet over her right wrist and the crucifix her grandmother brought over from County Wicklow. A coat of Chapstick and hand lotion ended her dressing routine.

Amanda kissed her fingers and touched Bobo's raggedy head before departing her room for the final time that morning. His glassy eyes stared back at her.

*

The whiff of turkey bacon in the air was her mother's doing, but the burned toast and black coffee were certainly her father's. Norman Keefe's food preparation skills stopped at pressing reheat on the microwave. That was better than Colin, however; their mother still poured his milk on his cereal. Amanda, at least, could boil water and stir in Ramen noodles.

Janice Keefe hunched at the sink, scrubbing the frying pan with steel wool and some dish soap when Amanda walked into the room. A plate of food had been arranged for her at her place against the wall, complete with a still-steaming cup of dark-roast coffee.

The clock on the wall, the one above the stove, read 6:55. Amanda blinked at it.

Good morning, she breathed, the first use of her voice since waking up. She patted her father on the shoulder as she sneaked behind his chair to get to her own. Both of her parents responded to her greeting in kind. Her father glanced at her from his breakfast and replied with a gruff Mornin', Panda. Her mother looked over her shoulder and sighed a reluctant Hi, sweetheart as if acknowledging her interrupted her pan scrubbing. Amanda slid into her chair and picked up her coffee before she touched her fork.

Except for the sound of utensils on plates and the woosh of the sink, all was quiet for a solid two minutes—Amanda watched the clock.

Morning!

Janice Keefe jumped and gasped, but neither Norman Keefe nor Amanda reacted to the youngest Keefe's shattering the kitchen's silence. Dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a sweater over a button-down, Colin looked like a warped mirror image of their father in his own work uniform. Like Amanda, Colin Keefe gave Norman Keefe a pat—his healthy and loud as opposed to her gentle and affectionate—as he bumbled over to their mother and kissed her cheek with a juicy smack.

Saved me the last cup! he exclaimed, yanking the carafe off the burner. The coffee sloshed out into a BATTLE CREEK STATE UNIVERSITY - DEPARTMENT OF INTERNATIONAL PROGRAMS cup already on the counter.

Bacon's on the table, Janice Keefe murmured through her teeth. Make yourself some toast if you want.

Just bacon's good. Thanks, Ma!

Amanda watched her younger brother take his seat at the table and pile his plate with the rest of the turkey bacon. When he caught her staring at him, he grinned and winked at her. Hey, Salamander, he said, shoving a hand into his jeans pocket to retrieve his phone. Happy Friday.

She bit back a slow smile. Hi, Colin. Big day planned?

Always, he confirmed, propping his legs up on their mother's empty chair and thumbing through his phone. Things to do, places to go, people to meet. You?

Preparing for finals and dealing with students begging.

Already preparing for finals? Don't you have—

No screens at the table, Norman Keefe cut in, his stern tone more of a warning than a reminder. And get your feet down. Your mother wants to sit.

Amanda's eyes widened as Colin tucked away his phone with a sigh and slid either leg off the chair for Janice Keefe, who stood waiting to join her family for breakfast. The woman took her seat and picked up her half-eaten stale toast.

I'm not prepping early, Amanda told Colin. Finals are next week.

I thought that was Commencement.

Amanda sipped her coffee, noting her mother's vision raising from her plate. Without making eye contact, Amanda went on. "Commencement comes after finals. On Friday. All grades have to be in before Commencement. She swallowed. Did you forget again?"

He cleared his throat. I did. He smacked his head with the butt of his hand. Coffee hasn't kicked in yet.

How many finals do you have, sweetie? Janice Keefe asked, and Amanda dropped her vision to her picked-over bacon. Out of your four classes?

Only one. Colin rose, carrying his empty plate. I'm doing good enough in my other classes so I don't have to take those finals.

Which one are you taking? Janice Keefe was relentless.

Advanced Macroeconomics II. Colin flipped on the faucet. 'Mander, did you want me to make some more coffee?

I'll get some at work. To her mother, she asked, Any plans today, Ma?

I'm probably going to call your grandmother this morning and see if she wants me to bring something to Thanksgiving. I thought she might want a chess pie or green bean casserole.

Colin made a face as he placed an elbow on the counter. I forgot that was this week, he muttered.

You seem to forget a lot of things, Norman Keefe snapped. "Don't you like going to see your grandmother? And don't lean on the counter."

Colin straightened. I don't like St. Joe's. It's a sad little resort town.

Maybe you should tell your grandmother that and break her poor heart.

She's the one who wanted to live there.

Who else is going to be there? Amanda asked, fingers tight around her drained cup of coffee.

Us so far. Janice Keefe regarded her daughter with a frosty look. Why? Does it matter?

You live under our roof, you obey our rules, Norman Keefe warned, his dark eyes moving between his two children. And we're going to your grandmother's for Thanksgiving. Don't want to? Don't live in this house.

Amanda glanced at the clock on the microwave. It's getting late, Col. We should probably leave now before we hit traffic.

We got a few more minutes. What's your hurry?

She glared at him. Don't care about getting to class on time?

Colin sighed. Fine. I'll get my bag.

*

You know that not remembering finals only makes them more suspicious, Amanda tossed the fringed ends of her scarf over her shoulder as the two of them walked down the steep front steps of the Keefe residence. "And not remembering your classes makes it even worse. You took Advanced Macroeconomics II last Fall semester. You're taking Advanced Business Communications now."

Colin rolled his eyes and tossed his head back with the effort. Ma and Dad don't give a shit about what classes I take or which classes you teach, he retorted. I bet if you asked them they'd say you taught... I don't know... fuckin' History of the English Language—

"Profanity."

"—to Juniors and I had at least two types of accounting law. They don't care. When have they ever cared? They just want to believe I'm finally graduating after all these years."

And I just want to make sure you at least know when exams are before you leave town for a month. She unlocked the Civic's doors from the driver's side. They'll have questions for me if you head out after Thanksgiving.

I'm not leaving until after Commencement. Don't worry, 'Mander.

Don't tell me that, she murmured as they both climbed inside. The engine hummed to life a moment later.

The drive to Battle Creek State University took between eleven and sixteen minutes; Amanda had been there as early as 7:27 and as late as 7:32. Try as she did to get there at exactly 7:30, timeliness had eluded her. Colin wanted to be dropped off somewhere different almost every day. Some mornings, he wanted to go to the gym. Earlier in his pretend semester, when it was warmer, he told her to drop him off by the dining hall where he could meet up with friends on campus. Are you going to need the car this evening? she sprang, hoping to catch him off guard.

Don't know.

Can you let me know before five?

Why? Going someplace?

She nodded. With friends.

On a Friday? You?

Don't be a jerk.

I don't know whether to congratulate you or accuse you of lying.

Don't do either. Just let me know by five.

I'll see what I can do.

She made a left onto University Ave, where her Civic slid between two pickup trucks. Where am I dropping you off today? she wondered. Traffic slowed the nearer to campus she drove, causing her grip on the wheel to tighten and her knee to tremble. I'd rather not drive too far out of my way.

He unbuckled his seatbelt as they stopped at a red light. This is fine.

Here? We're another mile from the college.

A friend lives at an apartment around here. I'm going to go see him.

Then what?

Jesus, Amanda. I'm—

"Language."

Sorry. He cracked open the door and tossed his messenger bag over his shoulder. You need to stop worrying about me, 'Mander, he reminded. I'm a big boy.

I do worry. He slammed the door shut but Amanda rolled down the passenger's window to call after him. He turned, expression irritated. Remember to let me know by five.

I will. Have a good day.

Be safe, I love you.

Colin said nothing back. He then trotted across the street and continued down the slick sidewalk, his pace quickening with each step. Amanda tried to watch after him, but traffic ahead of her had begun to move again. Sighing, she drove on.

*

In the 1950s, BCSU's entire Department of International Programs was Nokes High School. When the school shut down sometime between I Love Lucy's cancellation and Sputnik's launch, the university sprouted up around it. The two-story high school started off as the College of Business but became the home for international students in 1984 when the college started to enroll more than just Big Ten dropouts. Now part of the College of Arts and Letters, the DIP (as its staff acerbically referred to it) worked as an administrative building of offices, a handful of lecture halls, and small TOEFL and EASL classrooms. Being the oldest building on campus, the exterior had fallen into disrepair from cold weather and lack of infrastructure. The brickwork crumbled at the corners; plastic wrap decorated the first-floor windows; ancient, yellowed rust stains dotted the dropped ceilings. Even the faculty parking lot had seen better days—the giant pothole in the asphalt to the right of Tia Lopez's blue Malibu hadn't been filled in the year-and-a-half since Amanda started working there. In the warmer months, it filled with rainwater and mud; in the winter it was a bowl of gray slush and ice. Amanda was the only one brave enough to daily take the parking spot it occupied. Lately, she had to increase the size of her steps getting in and out of her car just to avoid stepping into it and snapping her ankle.

A frigid wind picked up as she walked from the parking lot to the building. Shivering, Amanda clutched her scarf tighter around her neck.

The front office, where Amanda worked with a handful of colleagues, still felt like a high school front office when she walked in. The receptionist's desk stood nearly a head taller than Tia, obscuring her from view when anyone walked in. The only signifiers of her presence were the sounds of her fingers on her keyboard and the peacoat hanging on the coat rack by the door. Amanda unbuttoned her own coat (faded pink, worn, and shapeless compared to Tia's new, fitted, cobalt blue peacoat) when she entered and blinked up at the clock on the wall above reception (7:29).

Hey, Amanda! Tia chirruped, rising from her swivel chair. I just put another pot on—you're welcome to the first cup.

Amanda silently admired Tia's outfit—a tea-length dress and cardigan to match her coat—and allowed herself a nanosecond of envy at her fashionable creativity. She forced the feeling away as she noted the empty chair's office adjacent to reception. Is Dr. Maynard in yet?

Tia shook her head, allowing her curtain of hair to drape down her back. Amanda envied that, too: straight one day, curly the next, Tia never came to work unkempt. Said he had to run a few administrative errands this morning. She settled back down and bit her lower lip. I guess that's good news?

Amanda took a breath and held up her crossed fingers. We'll see. Today's the day.

Gosh. Good luck.

Thanks. She smiled. I like your dress.

Past reception, Amanda dropped off her purse at her desk—one of three in a cluster in the middle of the bullpen. There wasn't enough room in the front office for each staff member to have their own office. Dr. Alan Maynard was the chair, so of course, he got his own. Tia had to work reception. That left two remaining rooms inside the mezzanine: the kitchenette/breakroom, and the conference room. They needed a break room and Maynard needed a conference room for meeting visiting scholars and other administrative officials. So Amanda and her two colleagues worked at the desk cluster. Sure, they had to squeeze by each other to get in and out and Amanda had to get up from her desk to allow anyone access to the file cabinet behind her, but it was what they had.

Amanda's morning routine continued as she moved into the kitchenette. The ancient industrial coffee maker, with its sputtering drip technology and its bright orange handle, may have been as old as the DIP itself. Amanda took a simple white mug from the cupboard above the sink and poured a cup. She added a shake of creamer and stirred it for a count of three with a swizzle stick before returning to her desk.

She never turned off her computer. Her fingers swirled the trackball on her mouse, lingering just a second too long before catching herself, and the screen turned on.

Up at reception, Tia collated a stack of papers on her desk.

Amanda checked the time on her desktop (7:34). She had 26 minutes before her first class of the day, and 206 before she had to use the restroom.

*

Amanda had to elbow and shoulder her way through the hallway to room 122 just to get around the glut of undergraduates crowding the halls. Groups of students shouted at each other, in English and their native languages, while passing tablets and papers back and forth. Two young women sat cross-legged on the floor, pointing to a TOEFL textbook and taking pictures of the pages with their smartphones. Amanda recalled last semester's panic as nearly two-thirds of the DIP student body failed the test and had to be sent home—wherever that was. That was the semester that all three of her classes were booked to almost overflow but were down to less than a quarter capacity total. This semester brought her down to an average of nine students per class.

Room 102 accounted for six of those students, each of whom whirled around in their chairs as Amanda walked in. Before she even reached the lectern, they were peppering her with questions about the final.

Take it easy, she started. I'll help you with any questions you have, just one at a time. Please.

As she expected, all of her first class's students had nightmares about the TOEFL exam. Their questions ranged from what is a noun again to what if I use the wrong word on the spoken part of the test? She took fifty minutes to answer them all and reassure them of any unfairness on the test. Most students listened and calmed down; a few chewed their nails and had follow-up questions. You all did well this semester, she lied. You're all likely to pass. Just make sure you've studied and read your sourcebook.

What's 'easel'? one student blurted, and Amanda forced herself not to groan.

EASL, she said, stands for English as a Second Language. It's the name of the class you've been taking for the past semester.

"Shit—is that going to be on the test?"

Mine? Or the TOEFL exam?

Wait, which exam are we taking again?

At 8:51, Amanda dismissed class amidst the remaining flurry of questions and demands. That decision had nothing to do with her fingers tracing quick circles against the wood grain on the lectern or the heated ache between her legs. It was too early for that. At least her students would get an early release.

Because most students were still in class, Amanda could navigate the hallways without a barrage of Imsorryexcusemeplease. Walking off the familiar need only occasionally helped; the heat would travel down into her legs but never farther than that. But ten o'clock was her scheduled time—breaking away from it only caused chaos.

As she neared the office, she spied Rajesh Said entering the building.

She froze, but he noticed her. He was going to, anyway—they were heading to the same place. He must have just come in from his first class in the Poss Hall of Math and Science: his books were tucked under one arm, his backpack on his shoulders, and over his down parka. When their eyes met, he raised his free arm in a wave to greet her.

Good morning, 'Manda—letting your students out early?

She caught her breath. He spoke her name so kindly, even when teasing her. With such precision. She lifted her head and let her eyes travel up his chest and neck to his face.

They need to study for their TOEFL exam. At this point, I'm just in the way.

TOEFL?

Teaching of English as a Foreign Language. She resumed her pace and they both met at the front office door. Class ok this morning?

Boring. I can't wait to graduate in April. He reached for the door and opened it. After you.

She ducked under his outstretched arm and into the front office. Tia raised her head and waved—her hair tucked behind her headset and her other hand busy at her keyboard.

Across the room, Maynard's office remained dark. Eh, crap, Raj said with a snap of his fingers. I forgot he had the interview with that Chinese guy this morning.

Amanda frowned, momentarily forgetting about the heat in her abdomen. He's not running errands?

Not unless he canceled his interview. Raj cringed. Wait. He's supposed to let you and Kiley know about—

Our jobs next semester, yeah. Amanda cleared her throat and dropped her Manila folder of practice TOEFL tests on her desk. I'll ask him when he comes in.

I guess that means I should probably find something to do for the next half an hour. He glanced at the conference room. Think I can look over a paper in there for a bit?

Raj wasn't her colleague; he was a graduate student and Alan Maynard's work-study assistant. It worked out—Raj got to study history for free while working toward his Master's and Maynard got a personal assistant for free. They even dressed the same: pleated khakis, half-tucked button-downs, and wool sweaters. Kiley had once joked that Maynard had found the Indian version of himself to take to meetings with Dean Warren. That was just as funny as it was true.

I don't see why not. We don't have any meetings today. Amanda plucked her keys from her messenger bag and marched over to the conference room. I'll ask Tia if he left any work for you when she gets off the phone.

No, that's fine. He flicked the fluorescent lights on as he strode inside, painfully illuminating the conference room. I'm just going to catch up on some light reading for my next class.

She watched as he plopped his backpack down on the table. I'll be at my desk if you need anything.

Like company? He grinned again.

The heat returned, more hungry than before. She clenched her fingers into a fist to hide the twitching. More like permission to get some coffee from our break room.

Each time she batted away his gentle flirting, the shine in his dark eyes faded just a bit more than before. Raj swallowed and nestled into a chair. Gotcha. Thanks.

She imagined his gaze following her as she walked back to her desk at the cluster. The twitch in her fingers became a little sharper, reminding her that she, too, had to distract herself for a little bit longer.

*

When they felt compelled to, her fingers drew tiny, invisible circles: on surfaces, on objects, in thin air. Amanda could conceal the familiar pattern when she pressed her fingers against her thighs. Today, her legs ached too much. She would have to seek other ways of hiding this tic. Or release it.

But it wasn't ten o'clock yet. It was 9:03.

Amanda looked at Maynard's office door as she busied her hands with pointless trivium. Still locked, still dark. He was supposed to be there three—now four—minutes ago. His first class was at ten, and his second was at eleven. Then he took an hour for lunch. Then he had his one o'clock class, followed by his two o'clock. Then office hours until four…

Want me to secretly cancel his final meeting this afternoon? Tia asked, noticing Amanda's attention to his office.

What? N-no. It's fine. Amanda, feeling stupid, began scrolling her mouse wheel. I'm just anxious.

I hate that he's dragging this out for you. Do you have a backup plan if it doesn't work out?

No. Adjuncts did not get backup plans. Beholden to year-long contracts, there was no time or opportunity to find other work at the same or a different campus or even at a job outside of academia entirely. Seasonal work, maybe.

She sought something to occupy the long minutes until Maynard walked in. She smoothed a completed pile of graded essays. She opened it. She took the paper essays out, shuffled them, straightened them, then sat them back down. She picked them up and pretended to look over them again. The minutes ticked by, slow as water torture. Her fingers absently traced little circles on her desk.

The door to the department office opened at 9:23. Amanda saw only Kiley walking in—frizzy chocolate brown hair tousled, a cup of coffee in one hand. As she sat down, she flipped her huge, grasshopper-eyed sunglasses onto her head.

"Goddamn, she muttered, pulling her chair out. I so don't want to be here today."

Amanda caught a whiff of Kiley's citrusy perfume and hid a wince. Fun night?

"Oyyy… Kiley dragged out her pronunciations of her adopted Yiddish slang like a cat moaning while giving birth. Last night was singles' night at the community center. Met a few assholes and went out with my girlfriends to bitch about them afterwards. She rubbed her puffy eyes. There really are no good men this side of Chicago."

Is there a JCC in Battle Creek, or did you go all the way out to Southfield? Amanda, Roman Catholic, didn't know where one could find the nearest synagogue in western Michigan. The only two religious-themed buildings that Amanda could place were her church, St. Luke's, and Heaven's Way Baptist out of an old VFW hall. She went to the former regularly and the latter for consignment shopping with her mother and to drop off cakes at the annual bake sale. Her mother, a good Catholic, never won.

God, no. Kiley finally unbuttoned her trench coat, revealing the plaid lining and a silver necklace dangling against her sweater. I don't meet men here because I don't shit where I eat. She added, There's a JCC in Jackson. Southfield isn't the only place in Michigan to find Jews, y'know.

Amanda flushed and stammered for words, but Kiley cackled loudly. Just messin' with you, hon. I know you didn't mean anything. With a grin, she continued, "You know, 'Manda, you should come with me next week. Plenty of goyim go there looking for a nice Jewish doctor, and plenty of asshole Jewish lawyers looking for shiksa goddesses to impress."

The thought of Norman and Janice Keefe's reaction if she brought home a Jewish man for dinner brought an embarrassed chuckle out of her. I'll be in St. Joseph with my family, Amanda reminded her colleague. Maybe another time?

I get it, not your thing. You want some extra skin on your sausage. Kiley was just now turning on her computer. With a glance upward, she gave Amanda a sly wink. Some spice on your curry.

Remembering Raj in the conference room, the flesh over Amanda's spine prickled. She froze as Kiley waved.

He's been looking at you, Kiley warned.

I know. Amanda folded her hands to conceal the tics. I saw.

The front office doors opened again and Dr. Alan Maynard, Ph.D strolled in.

Like every academic at BCSU, Maynard underdressed for his role as an educator but overdressed for his role as an academic. He wore the buttondown and khakis like Raj, though he skipped the sweater—perhaps that was too preening. He also wore a knit hat with a pom-pom atop it, which he doffed once he strode through the doors. He did not pause at reception to say good morning to Tia or at the coat rack to hang up his wool coat; instead, he continued past the desk cluster, avoiding the women even as Amanda followed him with her eyes.

When Kiley raised her head from her cell phone, it wasn't because of Maynard and their impending unemployment. It was to tell Amanda a joke. Hey, she hissed, all smiles and nonchalance, What's a JAP's favorite wine?

Amanda's vision jumped between Maynard, now opening his office door, and Kiley. I don't know.

"But I wanna! Kiley cackled. My sister Marjorie posted that one from last night. Here's another: what does a JAP get for dinner?"

I—

Reservations!

I'll be right back. As Kiley dissolved into giggles, Amanda gathered a random handful of papers and left the desk cluster. She could feel her heart pounding louder in her chest with each step

Tia, still on her headset, gave her a panicked expression as she whirled past. The clock above her head read 9:35.

Maynard stood at his desk , his back turned to her, removing his coat. Amanda waited at his office door, absorbing. Tia and Kiley had taken turns commenting on his attractiveness before. Even Melanie, who was the only lesbian Amanda knew, had some remark about his sandy-blond hair, high cheekbones, broad shoulders, or lantern jaw. Given the slight graying around his temples, she could place him no older than his late 40s. Better still, he had a doctorate and a tenured position at an accredited state university—the window dressings of success, youth, and stability.

Ms. Keefe. He caught her lurking in his doorway as he tossed his coat over his chair. Can I help you with something?

Startled, she cleared her throat. Sorry. I was just…wondering how your interview with the English professor from China went. Tia told me you were out this morning unexpectedly and when Raj came in he mentioned you had an interview.

Face unreadable, Maynard tugged his plaid scarf—the same plaid as Kiley's trench coat—off his neck. On a scale from perfect to disaster, it was somewhere around cruise liner capsizing. He dropped the scarf atop his coat and pulled his chair out. "He brought a translator with him. A professor of English literature isn't fluent in English and is applying for a tenure track position of assistant professor in English literature."

She winced at his annunciation. I'm sorry to hear that. What happens now?

We hire him immediately, of course. We're desperate to improve our standings with the accreditors. He dropped into his seat. Then, we are one step closer to receiving a federal endowment for offshore hiring practices.

Amanda swallowed but said nothing. She never fared well in discussions of academic politics.

Anything else you need?

She motioned with the papers she had carried in with her. I had to run over to the admin building after my next class to sign off on these financial aid forms and thought maybe you might need me to pick up any… she realized her sentence had gone on for too long, …anything while I was there.

Maynard frowned and raised an eyebrow. Raj does that for me. Is he in?

Y-yeah. He's in the conference room.

Good. Send him here if you don't mind.

Ok.

Ms. Keefe, you didn't wander into my office just to ask me about my interview or take papers up to Finance. He opened the top drawer of his desk to retrieve a fountain pen. Those were just excuses to ask me about your contract for next year. Is that correct?

The room crashed into silence for a painful moment. Amanda broke it with a mouse-like, "Yes."

I'm expecting a call from the budget committee chair this afternoon with the final numbers for next year. As soon as I hang up the phone, I'll call you and Kiley in here to talk about your contracts. You both know tuition has gone up and attendance has gone down, so please stay realistic. BCSU has to lose a lot of adjuncts all across the campus, not just here. It's the business end of academia, as you know. He tapped the end of his pen on his desktop. Understand?

When rushed, he got condescending. Amanda's shoulders rose to meet her ears. Sorry to bother you... sir.

"Amanda," he corrected.

She looked at him.

"Call me Alan, ok?" He smiled and a mouthful of gleaming white teeth flashed back at her.

She left his office tapping her fists on her thighs and refusing to acknowledge the waves of pain that caused.

Her colleague was scrolling through a celebrity gossip site when Amanda returned to the desk cluster. So? Kiley wondered. Are we working here in January or not?

Amanda dropped her folder of papers. They landed with a splat in her outbox. He'll let us know this afternoon. Her phone, face-down on her desk, buzzed twice. She eyed it before sliding it into her palm.

Scoffing, Kiley clicked on an article about a pop singer breaking up with her boyfriend. He's doing that so we don't go home early. I guess I'm going back to camming. She cackled again.

Raj observed her through the conference room windows from the table. Amanda spun her finger in the air and pointed to Maynard's office. He nodded and got up.

"Damn that ass is fine, Kiley murmured when he was out of earshot. Sure you don't want that?"

Amanda, now staring at her phone, said nothing.

*

RoleNPlay had been Colin's idea, but Amanda would never admit that aloud. Occasionally on their drive home, he would forget their self-imposed don't ask don't tell policy and talk about someone he met on this semi-anonymous dating app. You fill out your profile with what and who you're into and then you get responses based on that, he had explained. You can call or text or meet up. You never have to know each other's real names. To that, she wondered if it was a good idea—That doesn't sound safe at all. What if the person you meet turns out to be a creep or a stalker? And with his wry wit, Colin replied, But if you're on this app, that's what you're into.

It took her two full days to drum up the courage to download the app, but less than an hour for someone to respond to her: I like what you're into, a man named George had greeted her. I bet I can be of service.

While Kiley tapped away at her computer, distracted with grades, Amanda sunk into her chair and placed her phone on her thigh, out of sight of anyone but her. She swallowed and opened up RoleNPlay to read George's latest messages. The first cloyingly asked her if they were still meeting that night. The second, posted 20 seconds after the first, read:

i'll be wearing the suit and fedora as you instructed. Whatll i get to see you in?

The question came before a string of winking emojis. Amanda blushed at the suggestiveness. She had never seen anyone wear a fedora unless it was on television. She wasn't even sure she knew what a fedora looked like. Men didn't wear hats unless they were knit or wool caps during the 9 cold months of the year. She could bet with certainty they did not wear fedoras to sports bars in Jackson. But if he did, George would be easy to pick out amongst the throng of jersey-wearing Red Wings fans.

She thumbed out a reply of, Little black dress. Don't wear a trilby. It took her a moment, given that she used proper capitalization and punctuation.

But George did not, and shot back almost immediately: and what else?

Amanda pictured her closet: the alcove in her tiny bedroom, stocked with her work clothes, some jeans, and a few sweaters. On the floor, next to her broken Casio keyboard, sat a pair of red suede pumps. The fabric had worn around the toes due to age and weather, but they were noticeable.

Her stomach churned as she typed, Red fuck-me heels.

She closed the app.

Amanda rose and gestured a subtle but apologetic sign-of-the-cross—forehead, chest, left shoulder, right shoulder, chest again. Her father swore in slurs and epithets sometimes. Her mother cursed only once that Amanda could remember when she carelessly closed the trunk of the car on her thumb. Colin, of course, swore all the time in elaborate and creative ways. But Amanda even typing out a swear meant ascending a sorry-prayer heavenward. This type of swearing—the F-word—would mean at least an Our Father.

I'm heading off to Records, she announced to Kiley. Do you need me to drop anything off for you?

Kiley shook her head but picked up her empty cup. No, but you can ask Tia if she's going to make better coffee, she instructed. "Coffee shop stuff is expensive but the kind in the break room tastes like cat piss."

I don't buy the coffee, we get it from the Geo. Tia frowned over her computer monitor. You want better coffee, bother them about it.

At least get some liquid creamer?

Again, not my area.

Not even for Thanksgiving?

Amanda's fingers itched. I'll be back in a few minutes.

Raj was still in Maynard's office. Tia and Kiley were still bickering. Melanie wasn't in yet. The clock above reception read 9:58.

Amanda smiled to herself. She was right on time.

*

Her location of choice for her 10am de-stressing was the upstairs women's bathroom. It was quiet, seldom used, and had a broken air vent that grumbled loud enough to mask any sounds. Sometimes she would have to wait for any talkative international students before she started, but she never took very long. Her record was two-and-a-half minutes; her longest was eight. No one said anything to her about a two-to-eight minute absence, and no one had yet caught on that she had them at the same time every day. No one mentioned her 2pm de-stressing either, unless Amanda counted the time Melanie asked if she was sick last year during flu season. Once, she came back to Alan Maynard standing by her desk and tapping his foot, demanding to know why she had disappeared before she had confirmed a meeting invite with an international scholar. All she had to say was the restroom, and he backed off. Any other time, neither he nor anyone else in the office batted an eye when she returned.

That morning, she finished in 3 minutes and 15 seconds—three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys.

When she finished, Amanda had the rest of the hour to run her two morning errands. First, she took her paperwork over to the Records Department. It was a five-minute dash across the quad to the admin building, a ten-second trot up the stairs, and, today, a forty-five-second tour of the office. Fridays were the best because she could leave her paperwork with a bored work-study student rather than get the rigamarole from the talkative hourly staffer. Mondays through Wednesdays, the staffer took her time locating her rubber stamp, her stapler, or the signature slip itself. Too polite to ask for speedier service, Amanda stood shuffling foot-to-foot and checking her watch while the minutes ticked by. But the work-study student, who cared for their job about as much as Amanda cared to wait for signatures, would take Amanda's forms, drop them on the desk, and scribble out their signature on an approval slip. With that finished, Amanda could relax her way through her second errand.

Davis Hall, also part of the College of Arts and Letters, rested across the quad, adjacent to both the admin building and the DIP, with University Ave separating them. Amanda never let herself get closer than the sidewalk running parallel to the street, where she could keep her distance but watch undergrads filing in and out of the front doors. The rose garden, affectionately known as the Burns Garden for Aspiring Poets, had been sealed off for the season, but Amanda could still see the dilapidated stone fountain, covered in slush and streaked with rust. Around the fountain were four benches in equal condition. The second one from the left had been her favorite in college, having spent many afternoons studying or listening to a professor's discussion on Lord Byron from that spot. Two students approached the fountain, and, after fishing around their wallets, tossed a scattering of coins into it as per tradition: as soon as a coin in the fountain rings / a grade from academic purgatory springs.

The students ran off and Amanda chuckled. At least a dollar's worth of pennies was her own if they were still there.

Her pace slowed to a stop as Amanda watched a professor bustle out of the building, addressing a pack of students scurrying behind him with their coats half on and their backpacks open. They all trudged out to the sidewalk, still mid-lecture, and banked left toward the faculty parking lot. Amanda's eyes stayed on them all until the last student, still shoving his books away, disappeared.

Deep in her coat pocket, her phone buzzed.

what are the rules again

She sighed. They are on my profile. You hit the agree to consent button.

He didn't respond immediately. Amanda went back to her minimalist profile and opened her description just to be sure:

No kissing.

No touching (except the waist).

No addressing me by anything other than my display name.

No improvising.

No following me after we're done.

A horn startled her out of the moment. The horn's owner had slowed in the middle of the street, the driver waving at her to cross.

No. Sorry. Amanda blushed and dropped her phone back into her pocket, then waved the car on.

*

At eleven o'clock, Amanda went to her second class. Only four students were marked absent for this one.

At 12:03, Amanda returned to the DIP office to see a familiar woman—elbows on the counter—talking to Tia at reception. Anyone could spot Melanie Barnes a mile away: leopard print flats, chandelier earrings, jet-black pixie cut, and at least one article of clothing in scarlet. Today, it was her leggings; yesterday it was her sweater. As she opened the office doors, Amanda flared her nostrils at the swirl of Melanie's cinnamon-musk perfume.

Amanda! Melanie drawled in greeting. Kiley had described Melanie's accent as hot molasses o're buttered biscuits. She wasn't wrong, but Amanda loved the way Melanie pronounced her name: Ahmaynduh. I was just telling Tia about the interview with the English professor from China we're going to hire.

Amanda nodded. Dr. Maynard said he brought a translator with him.

Is that what he said? That was his wife; Dr. Huang's English is great. She shrugged out of her parka. He's going to get an offer this afternoon.

Embarrassed, Amanda looked at Maynard's office. So Maynard was joking, or..?

Sounds like a really bad joke. Melanie picked up her designer tote bag from the floor. If anything, Dr. Huang is overqualified and may not like the offer.

How can we afford any tenure track professor with the low enrollment numbers of international students and budget restrictions? Aren't we supposed to be laying people off over the next calendar year? She didn't mean to follow Melanie any more than Melanie meant to lead her back to the desk cluster. Even Tia got up from reception and tailed them, wanting to know more.

'Fraid so, shug. And I've heard the President wants to reorganize or merge some of the colleges, too. Melanie sunk into her chair and wiggled her mouse to awaken her computer. So we either hire Dr. Huang or increase our classroom sizes by five percent.

But why not hire more adjuncts? I can fit at least two more EASL classes into my schedule if—

Amanda, you know we can't do that. And you know why we can't, either. Melanie's face, though sympathetic, sunk Amanda's heart. With another year of experience and a graduate degree, Amanda could teach all the overpopulated EASL and English 100 classes she could handle and still be underpaid and underappreciated. She glanced over at Tia, who shrugged not unkindly. Her job wasn't in question, though. Unlike adjuncts, the DIP needed its receptionist. If you had more graduate hours, you could—

"Bahahaha!"

The three women started at Kiley's sharp cackle, though she took no notice having been absorbed in her phone again.

Here's another, she declared, ripping out an earbud. "What does a JAP think about during sex? Shopping!"

Melanie's cherubic face soured into a frown. Your bat mitzvah isn't until June, she sneered, and you're already telling these jokes?

Kiley reddened. Jesus, she muttered. "Sorry."

We were just talking about how we're hiring a tenure track professor to start in January.

Yeah?

"'Yeah'? Don't you care?"

Let's see—he costs the school nearly a hundred thousand dollars a year in salary, benefits, pension, and living stipend and we're still going to lay off a ton of adjuncts from all colleges. Sounds like a bad decision, so surely Arts and Letters will go through with it.

Melanie, Amanda, and Tia stared at her.

How did you know all that? Tia asked. We don't have the budget figures for next year yet.

Kiley winked. Public school, public employees, public record. She raised her lone earbud again and added, You should look up how much adjuncts at Western get paid. That'll just piss you off.

She wiggled the earbud back into place and returned to her phone.

The phone at reception rang, and Tia huffed. I'd better get that, she said, excusing herself away. Amanda also returned to her desk, albeit with a clench of frustration in her stomach. How was Kiley so nonchalant about this work situation? Maybe she had a fall-back plan. Maybe she had already accepted a job at Western and just hadn't said anything to them yet. Maybe she was waiting for the perfect time to sidle up to Dr. Alan Maynard, purr her resignation, and flounce out the office door. Or, maybe she just felt confident that she'd continue working at that school another year.

Suddenly curious, Amanda took out her phone to look up the wages for an adjunct instructor at Western. She didn't get far, because as she thumbed through her screen she received another text from George in the RoleNPlay app:

right. anything else you want me to do.

Hey, Melanie interrupted her. I know what you're doing.

Amanda raised an eyebrow. Sorry?

It's ok. I know I'd do it in your situation, too. She smiled. If you need a recommendation, I'd be glad to give you one. I'd give one to you before... With a tilt of her head, she indicated Kiley across the desk, who bopped along to the music in her earbuds and scrolled through a cooking website on her computer.

That's very nice of you, Melanie, Amanda said. I appreciate that.

Of course. But if I were you, I'd get out of academia entirely. This whole institution is toxic, for women especially.

Aren't all institutions toxic for women, though?

"Imagine being gay and black, too. Melanie shook her head. Look, I don't control the hirin' and firin' around here, but I'll speak up for you when I can. I do hope you can get a better offer elsewhere. She added, Get out of here before it consumes you."

When Melanie turned to her computer, Amanda picked up her phone and tapped out, Remember to stick to the script, too.

sounds good sweetness. see you tonight

*

At one o'clock, Tia shoved her purse under her arm and ran out to lunch. Amanda could rely on her, and only her, to be as precise as she was at that time.

De-stressing before lunch could be tricky. Anything longer than ten minutes and she didn't get enough time to eat. Amanda could keep it to around four minutes when the bathroom traffic was good; the full ten when it was bad. Occasionally, there weren't enough unoccupied sinks to wash her hands afterwards, and she would have to trek back to the office with her own musky scent on her fingers. There was a giant pump of hand sanitizer on Tia's desk, but if there were people around... Amanda just preferred to get in and out of the bathroom in five minutes.

That afternoon, Amanda de-stressed in less than a minute, with all of the bathroom sinks open. The custodian had replaced the butterscotch-smelling hand soap with a fresh container.

As she rounded the corner out of the bathroom, she slammed right into Nadir Rameshareddy.

A chest like tightened steel rammed into her own, knocking her to the floor. She landed hard on her rear end, igniting a fresh sting of pain in her thighs. She hissed, her hands pressing against the pain.

Nadir, his eyes flashing down at her, snarled, "Cunt."

Hey! An arm came out of nowhere to grip the boy by his shirt collar and slam him against the brick wall.

Nadir gurgled, his attack just as much a surprise to him as it was to Amanda.

"Did I just hear you call a teacher the c-word? Huh? Raj rattled Nadir when he tried to wiggle free. And while on academic probation? Are you looking for expulsion, Nadir?"

A small crowd had gathered to stare at the scene. Amanda, still on the floor, cleared her throat. Raj, it's fine. Let him go, she urged, climbing to her feet.

He's not getting away with that. Raj released the boy and crossed his arms. Now apologize to Ms. Keefe.

Nadir's mouth turned up in a horrid grimace.

"Apologize, Raj demanded. Or I will march your ass right into Dr. Maynard's and let him know you lost your second chance."

That's not necessary, Raj. He—

"Sorry, Ms. Keefe." Nadir, head tilted downward, muttered.

What was that? I don't think I heard you.

Amid Amanda's protests and murmurs in the audience, Nadir repeated his forced apology with more gusto.

Satisfied, Raj continued to stare at the boy. "Now, I had better not hear you call anyone that again, do you hear me? Especially not an instructor. He patted Nadir's shoulder. Now, get to class."

I'm going back to my dorm.

"Well, then get out of here. And watch where you're going."

Nadir brushed off his pants and stormed off down the hall. The crowd, with nothing more to see, dispersed.

When they were alone, Raj gave Amanda a warm smile. Are you ok? Anything hurt?

She shook her head. You really shouldn't have done that.

What? He at least owed you an apology!

No, I mean—you shouldn't have grabbed and shoved him. You can't put your hands on students like that.

Are you gonna rat me out? He chuckled. No, you're right. Sorry. I just get mad when I hear that word, y'know? My mother would have knocked me senseless if she caught me saying it.

I was the one that ran into him. The words sounded juvenile in her mind, and she prickled. I should have been paying attention to where I was going.

I take it he's still mad at you for failing him last spring?

She nodded. Yeah. I guess so.

Going back to the office? I'll walk with you.

I... ok.

Emerging from the hallway together drew enough attention from her office mates, even if she and Raj parted ways—he to Maynard's office and she to her desk—once they entered. Kiley, the only other occupant of their desk cluster while Melanie took a call in the conference room, gave Amanda a knowing look when she took a seat.

"You are so close to asking him out, she remarked, I just know it."

We work together.

So?

It's not appropriate.

Ok, what about when we're both out of a job?

No.

"What if he asks you out?"

Not going to happen.

"Come on. He's gorgeous."

Don't you have a class to teach? It's getting close to one-thirty.

Kiley shrugged. I cancelled it. It's Friday afternoon and there'll be three students there anyway.

Amanda hid her disappointment.

*

Afternoons meant the office opened to students to get help and answers from their instructors. Amanda had three students come in over the next few hours, wondering about TOEFL questions and wanting to practice their English with her for the oral exam. She took each into the conference room to write example sentences and correct subject-verb agreement. Each student could have passed the TOEFL exam with flying colors, but wouldn't take her reassurances to heart. Her final student asked if Amanda would come to his dorm later to help tutor him more. She tactfully declined his invitation and sent him away.

Kiley, who had seen none of her own students, was rubbing the bridge of her nose as Amanda escorted her last student out of the office. It's almost 4pm, she complained. Tia, is Maynard done in there?

Tia leaned over the reception desk to peer into Alan Maynard's office. He's still with a student.

Wonderful. Our jobs are on the line and he's trying to play grab-ass.

His blinds are open and Raj is in there, too.

Great, they can run a train some other time. Kiley, now on her feet, smoothed the front of her blouse. I'm going in there.

Kiley. Amanda sat back and shook her head.

I'm tired of waiting!

"Kiley!" Both Amanda and Tia jumped up to stop her, but Kiley marched past them, mouth at a determined line, and crossed the floor.

Maynard saw the situation unfolding just as Kiley's hand clasped around his office doorknob, and said something to both Raj and their female student before the door swung open. Amanda skidded on her heels, stopping just as Kiley unleashed her tirade. Dr. Maynard! she shouted. I think you've kept me and Amanda waiting long enough. What's going on? Do we have jobs in January, or not?

Ms. Owens, I'm in a meeting. He glowered at her. I'll see you and Ms. Keefe in just a few minutes.

No. Kiley shook her head. "It's nearly five o'clock and I'm not staying late—and not getting paid for it—just to hear that I've lost my job."

With a deep sigh, Alan Maynard dropped his pen and swiveled to face the young woman across his desk. I'm sorry, can we continue this discussion on Monday? His gaze flicked over to Kiley and back. I'm afraid this is an emergency.

The young woman, petite and blonde, gathered her messenger bag and tiptoed out of the office. Maynard's eyes stayed on her until the doors closed behind her.

Fine, Kiley. You and Amanda can come in here now. When Raj moved to get up, he waved his hand. No, you can stay. We're not done. Amanda—come take a seat.

Amanda avoided Raj's probing glance as she crept into Maynard's office. Kiley, unnerved, plopped down into the seat Maynard's student had vacated. Well? she prompted, scooting forward. Did you hear from the budget committee?

He hesitated before admitting, Yes. About half an hour ago.

And?

And there's no easy way to tell you this. He spread his hands. We've only got the budget for one adjunct. We're going to have to let one of you go.

As Amanda sagged in her seat, Kiley tossed her head back and groaned. Jesus Christ, Alan! she admonished. "There's no time to find another job, you know. I just renewed my lease and I'm already behind on bills."

I'm sorry, but the budget has been cut across the entire campus, he said. Again, a lot of adjuncts are losing their jobs.

Yet you have the money to hire a tenure-track English professor with full benefits? Kiley fired back. You know, for that salary, I'm sure you could afford me, Amanda, and two other adjuncts.

Maynard frowned. Careful, he warned. "We do not discuss the salaries of full-time faculty and staff. That has nothing to do with our adjuncts, anyway."

Ok. Then who's it gonna be? She gestured. "Me or Amanda? Which one of us has to pack up and move to Mt. Pleasant or Ypsi? I'll have you know, we are not going to give you the easy way out and decide between ourselves. You're going to make that choice and live with the consequences."

Amanda looked at her fingers twitching on her knee.

Kiley, that's enough. We're not deciding that today. We'll know the week of Commencement.

So now we just sit and wait? Come into work and put our heads on the chopping block, waiting for the day the axe falls? Kiley sighed. Isn't there anything you can do? Call Dean Warren? The President? Can we unionize?

I tried begging and pleading; it only got me this far. Amanda believed his empathy this time. Look, ladies. I'm sorry. I really am. But as I said, my hands are tied here.

Yeah, I'll bet they are. Kiley turned to Amanda. Got anything for him?

Sheepish, Amanda shook her head.

Fine. What a great way to start the weekend. She stood, hands on her hips. Any other bad news you wanted to tell us? Want to revoke our faculty parking permits for the rest of the semester?

You have every right to be upset, Kiley. But please try to understand the financial situation the school is in.

We're a low-tier MIAA college smack dab between two better ones. I think I understand. 'Scuze me, 'Manda.

Amanda pulled her knees up to her chest to allow Kiley room to squeeze by her. Instead of straightening, she got up and tried to follow.

Ms. Keefe, thank you for not reacting with as much fury as Ms. Owens, Alan Maynard told her, giving her a moment's pause. I know you're angry with me, too. But I appreciate your professionalism and courtesy.

Raj, who had also been silent this whole time, caught her eyes. She glanced away immediately. With a swallow, she gave her boss a tiny nod and left.

Amanda's phone buzzed again, startling her. Had it not been Colin, confirming he didn't need the car that evening, she would have thrown it across the room.

*

Melanie returned from her final meeting just before 5 o'clock. Before she could sit down, Kiley blurted their conundrum but left the part about her storming into Maynard's office. Melanie listened and cast a withering look toward his office. Has he been hiding in there since then? she wondered. Or did you lock him up and threaten to burn the building down?

Kiley sneered as she tossed her scarf around her neck. If he thinks we'll be better on Monday, he'd better think again. From here out I'm putting in the barest of efforts.

Amanda, how are you feeling?

Hmm? Amanda dropped her hand from her mouth, where she had been gnawing on her thumbnail. Oh, I'm fine. Disappointed of course. But I guess I knew that was coming.

Do y'all want to get a drink tonight? Tia had approached from reception, her arms wistfully behind her back. Blow off some steam? There's a nice place in Kalamazoo my friends and I like. She beamed. We can meet at my apartment and take my car.

I'll go, Melanie volunteered. I could use a night out. What about you two?

Kiley shook her head. I'm still recovering from last night.

Amanda?

I've got plans, actually.

Tia's eyes sparkled. "Ooh, a date?"

Not quite. Hail Mary, full of grace. I've got to pick up my brother— The Lord is with thee. —and take care of some stuff at home tonight.

I see. Tia winked at her. To Melanie, she asked, Meet at my place at about six?

I live in K'zoo. We'll just meet there. Melanie yawned and closed her attaché case. Text me the address.

Tia and Melanie left a few minutes later. Amanda and Kiley stayed behind, gathering their belongings and shutting down their workstations while Alan Maynard stayed behind in his office with Raj. As Amanda got into her coat, Kiley snickered. "I'm really surprised that you're not leaving with him tonight, she remarked with a nod in the men's direction. Raj, I mean."

Her tone, less playful and more cunning than Tia's earlier teasing, raised Amanda's hackles. "No,