The Secrets of Confessions ✔️

Chapter 2: Doucheface References

"Well, I've graded your essays. The grades are up. That was pretty much the last thing that could seal your grade, so if you did good on that, then your grade is fine. If you didn't, then tough luck. I'll see you all next week for your final. Do your homework, and study. It's not going to be a cakewalk," my professor tells the class, as I write down the last of the notes on the lecture's slide.

My hand feels like someone drug it through a paper shredder because of all the writing that I had to do. I flop my notebook shut, and take it to shove it down into my backpack. I'm more than ready to get out of here and go back home and back into the comfort of my house, instead of sitting in a cold, miserable room with hard plastic against my back.

My best friend, Usha, closes her binder and puts the binder down into her backpack to go study for the final next week. As everyone puts their notes away, the professor says, "Ashmita, can I talk to you a little bit after class, if you don't mind?"

I can feel the punch of my heart dropping in the depths of my stomach. A few gasps burst from corners of the room, and wispily fill my ears. I zip up my backpack, and look up to see the many pairs of eyes in the classroom glued onto me. The look on their faces has the underlying message of, "You're in trouble. You're dead."

I press my lips together and say, "Sure. I don't see why not." The only thing I'm hoping is that she doesn't confront me about being in some sort of serious trouble, or give me the news that I'm going to flunk out of college one semester shy of graduation.

Even after I say that, in a tone that's calmer than a river, everyone still looks at me with the gaze that can burn holes into a carpet. Usha gives me the side eye, with the "Are you going to be okay?" look on her face. She actually looks like the professor is going to lock me in here and burn the whole building down.

I look at her, and mouth, "Yes, I am. Don't worry about me." After everyone is done staring me down enough to pin me to the wall, they take their things and hurry out of the classroom, like someone just shouted that Zac Efron was standing right in the hallway. Usha slings her backpack over her shoulder, and says, "I'll be right outside. Take your time."

I nod, and then get up to go see what my professor wants. I take a deep breath, while tucking a lock of my dark hair behind my ear, and walk up to her desk. With my hands fused together, I say, "Is everything okay, Professor Kidman?"

My professor closes her grade book, and puts her hands on her desk. "You're not in trouble, Ashmita. Don't worry. I just wanted to talk to you about your essay. First of all, it was really well written, so good job on that. And second of all, I just wanted to offer my condolences on everything that happened," my professor tells me, with her tone shifting from praising to sympathetic.

My fingers grasp themselves tighter, as a lump starts to form at the back of my throat. My breathing starts to become a little bit heavier, but I swallow that lump to the depths of my stomach, forgetting about it as it disintegrates in the pits of my body.

"It's okay. It was a while back anyways. What's done is done."

Professor Kidman notices my obvious discomfort, and says, "You're getting uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay in your life now, considering how messy it was when you were a child."

I smile a little bit, and say, "It's okay. I have an awesome dad who takes care of me. I can't ask for anything better."

Professor Kidman raises an eyebrow, and says, "I thought he was in jail." I chuckle a little bit, thinking about the possibility of Mason in jail. The possibility of Mason getting arrested, or the police actually questioning him for something, is the same possibility that it'll snow in San Jose.