Extra Credit

Avery clutched the folded printout in her hand, striding purposely across campus to... Where the hell was she going? She stopped suddenly, staring at the ground, trying to remember what she was doing.

"Avery!" The shout from behind snapped her out of her fog.

"What are you doing?" Dana demanded. She pointed to the paper. "What is that?"

"It's nothing," Avery replied, shoving it into her pocket. "I'm sorry," she continued. "Just...thinking about something. That's all."

"Can we think about it inside, out of the fucking monsoon?"

Avery noticed her flip-flops submerged in a puddle on the sidewalk, the water chilling her feet. Rain streamed down her face, covering up her tears. She followed Dana out of the storm into the nearest building.

Clutching Avery's wrist, Dana pulled her into the first bathroom they reached and locked the door. Avery examined herself in the mirror. She was absolutely drenched. The denim shorts suffocated her thighs like cling wrap. Her white hoodie distended, hanging heavily over her breasts, water trickling from the sleeves to the tile floor. She tugged the hood off. Her usually vibrant chestnut curls matted to her face and neck. She looked about as icky as she felt.

Dana shook her by the shoulders. "What. Is. Going. On."

Avery sighed, swiped hair out of her eyes. "I'm going to lose my scholarship," she said flatly. "I'll have to drop out of school."

"What? What happened?"

"I don't know, I...I have to maintain a 3.3 GPA to keep my scholarship. Somehow I don't...I don't have it."

"But...you're an A student."

"Not this semester."

Dana wrung her hands. "Is it final? Is there anything you can do?"

Avery shook her head and shrugged. "Preliminary grades are already in. None of my classes have finals, so I can't..." Her voice waivered, trailed off.

Dana removed her glasses, bit one of the arms between her teeth. She always did that when she was thinking. Avery turned for the door. "I just want to lie down," she mumbled.

"What about extra credit?" Dana injected. Avery stopped. Frowned.

"Extra credit?"

"Yeah," Dana insisted, "you know, independent study, make-up assignment, extra credit!"

Avery shrugged, bewildered.

"What classes are you taking," Dana demanded. "Come on, which classes?"

"Um...Tariffs and Trade, Global Markets, Golf...Econ 304 and...Copyrights and Patents. I think."

Dana contorted her face. "Okay, golf? Seriously?"

"I needed a P.E. credit!"

"Okay, okay, never mind." The gears were turning. "All right. T and T is Morrison. He's never given out an A, let alone extra credit. Global Markets is Shaw. She does independent study, but only if you request it the first two weeks, so that's out. C and P is...Stephens...yikes. Nothing there." Dana paused. "Econ 304, that's..."

"Reed," Avery offered. Dana nodded.

"Yeah, Reed. He has an extra credit essay you can take."

"Really?"

Dana nodded. "Keiko did it last year to boost her over 4.0. I don't know if it be enough, but it's worth a shot. It's that or...golf." She shrugged. "Maybe they'll let you...putt a hole-in-one, or something, I don't know...how golf works."

Avery hadn't heard a word after essay. She couldn't drop out of school. She couldn't go back home and tell her parents she dropped out of school. Let alone why. If there was a chance... She flipped back the lock and bolted out the door. Dana appeared in the doorway as she splashed back out into the rain. "At least change your clothes for fucks sakes!" she bellowed. No time for that. She had to reach Professor Reed's office before he left for the day.

Twenty minutes later, Avery found herself in Professor Reed's office, seated uncomfortably in the plush leather chair on the open side of his spacious glass desk, nervously waiting for him to say...something. Anything. He'd been silent nearly five minutes, reclined in his chair, eyes shifting from the fragmenting printout he held in his hand, to the pair of eyes desperately trying to avoid contact with his.

She was a miserable soggy mess. Her legs stuck to the upholstery, making unflattering sounds whenever she would fidget. Her underwear chafed her skin. And the office was so cold she was sure Professor Reed could see her nipples through her fleece. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the floor. Reed leaned forward, set his elbows on the desk, folded his hands under his chin.

"Help me understand this," he said, his silky baritone warming the room just a little. "I've had you in three of my classes. I know you're an A student. What happened?"

Avery shrugged. "I don't know, I just...I don't know."

"I think you do know," he countered. "Students of your caliber don't suddenly forget how to study, or take notes, or tests. If there's a change, there's a reason. And they always know what it is."

He was right. She knew. She also knew it was a terrible excuse, one that professors of his caliber were unlikely to accept. She searched for a cover story, but she was a terrible liar and gave up immediately. She sighed, hoping he would move on. He didn't.

"Ms. Meyers." He spoke deliberately. "I cannot help you if you are not honest with me. What happened this semester to bring you here, now?" He rose from his desk, ambled to the far end of the room and eased the door shut. "Is that better?" he asked.

Avery finally looked up at him. Carlton Reed was a tall, handsome, sophisticated man in his late 40s. He kept his hair short, his salt and pepper beard trimmed close, and always wore a tailored 3-piece suit (today's was red wine in color with a faint silver checker pattern). Something drew her to him. She didn't know if it had anything to do with the slightly inappropriate way she felt when she looked at him in class. But she couldn't rule it out. There were other professors she could have taken her Econ courses with. She'd taken all three with him.

She sighed, flustered. Embarrassed. She rubbed her legs, trying to ease the chill. "I...I turned 21 in September," she mustered. "Alcohol's not really a thing in my family. My parents don't drink. Neither does my brother. In high school I didn't either. But now I'm...here, six hundred miles from home, and my classes are hard, and all my friends do it, and I..." Her voice trailed off. Excuses didn't fly in college. But she had nothing else. "I just...got carried away, I guess."

"Hmm," Professor Reed replied, rubbing his chin. He walked back to his desk, leaned against a corner, thinking about...something. Avery couldn't bear the silence again. She pushed herself up out of the chair, raked her curls out of her face. She leaned in, desperate.

"Look," she pleaded, "I...fucked up, all right? I get it. It's on me. One hundred percent my fault, no one else to blame. I'm an adult and I didn't live up to my responsibilities. I am sorry. I am truly, truly sorry. It won't happen again, I swear. Please. I can't go back home. I can't tell my parents I lost my scholarship. I can't do it. Please."

She searched his eyes for an answer. A clue. Anything.

Seconds ticked by.

Eventually, he flashed a brief smile. Retreated behind his desk.

He opened the large center drawer and pulled out a single sheet of blue paper. Scanning it once he set it on the desktop, tapping it with his middle finger. "The instructions are listed at the top," he said, "followed by the topic. The completed essay must be received by 6:00 pm Thursday, no exceptions." He slid the paper across the desk. "Understood?"

Avery picked it up, her fingers trembling. Relief flushed through her body, reddening her cheeks, neck and chest. She looked up into his face, finding it stern, but understanding. It drew her in. Made her want to be closer, with her head tipped, lips parted... She snapped out of her fog, pulled herself back.

"Thank you, sir," she breathed. "Thank you so much."

"The paper will be graded by Professor Mathis, Econ 403," he continued. "Her decision is final. There will be no appeals."

"I understand," Avery replied, folding the paper to fit in her pocket. "I'll turn it in on time."

Professor Reed straightened up, folded his arms. "I have to be honest with you Ms. Meyers. You're behind the curve on this. Most people end up with at least a month to complete this assignment. You have less than a week. And you need to show significant improvement over your results this semester to have a chance at making your grade."

"Yes sir, I understand. I'm just grateful for the opportunity."

Reed smiled. Relaxing a little, he extended his hand. Avery shook it.

"Good luck," he offered.

Avery smiled. Her hand lingered in his longer than she intended. It was strong. And warm. And comforting. He released her. She held on just a little longer before dragging her fingers away.

"Thank you," she said.

She turned and walked to the door. Twisting the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder. Reed was busy shuffling through a desk drawer and didn't notice her gaze. She took a deep breath, shut the door behind her.

Avery spent the next three days virtually chained to a study booth in the library, with only her laptop to keep her company. She wrote from open to close, subsisting on coffee and whatever was left in the vending machine at the time security kicked her out for the night. She shut off her phone, refused to sleep, ignored her messages. Zoned out everything except the task at hand. At 5:55 Thursday afternoon she attached the essay to an e-mail, snapped her laptop shut, and shuffled back to her room.

She spun the lever all the way to the right, hot water streaming against the back wall of the shower. She tossed her tee shirt on top of the pile of her other clothes and stepped inside. The steam filled her lungs, water droplets peppered her skin. She slumped against the tile, closed her eyes, and for the first time in nearly a week, let her mind to go blank.

The room faded, from the white of the tile, to the grey of the evening, to the black behind her eyes. She felt for the soap, rolling it over in her hands, splashing the suds over her face. She worked her way down, under her chin, around her neck, over her shoulders. As her fingers moved lower, she realized she was no longer alone in her darkness. A voice called to her from the shadows of her imagination, its baritone vibrating her very core. A hand reached out. Strong. Warm. Comforting. She took it. Drew it close. Drew it into her, until she could no longer distinguish it from her own.

She cupped her breasts, he kneaded them against her chest. She stroked her fingers across her abdomen, he curled his against her hip. She slipped a hand between her thighs, he found the route to slip inside. She eased her legs apart and leaned forward into the stream.

A deep, longing sigh escaped her throat as she plucked at her nipples, traced concentric circles around her clit. She could see his smile. Smell his cologne. Feel the fine threads of his suit brush against her skin. She shivered in the heat, her knees weak, belly taut, fingers flying with purpose.

Her wetness spilled out of her, streaming down her legs to be washed away with the lather. Slippery fingers strayed back beyond her pussy, spreading her juices along the crack of her ass. She felt him behind her, beside her, all around her, twisting, pinching, rubbing... Her eyelids fluttered, her knees buckled, and she sank to the shower floor a quivering heap, clutching at her sex and moaning into the tile.

Curled up in a ball she caught her breath, her heart still thumping in her chest. Shifting a leg, she withdrew her fingers, sucking them into her mouth and wrapping them in her tongue. She was disappointed to only taste herself. There was a sharp knock at the door. Dana's voice filtered in from the other side.

"Are you okay in there? I thought I heard something fall."

"I'm fine," Avery replied, steadying her voice. "Just dropped my shampoo bottle."

Avery gathered herself. She washed her hair and finished up quickly, not wanting to answer any more questions. When she emerged from the bathroom Dana was gone. Her head still spinning, Avery tossed the towels, flipped off the light and crawled into bed. She buried her face in her pillow, pulled the covers up over her head and tried not to think about what she'd just done.

She awoke later, parched and hungry. She peeped out from under the blanket, squinting in the daylight. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted in from the kitchen. She fumbled around on the dresser for her phone, but it wasn't there. Grumbling, she shimmied out of bed, tumbling to the floor with a dull thud. The carpet scratched at her breasts, and only then did she realize she was naked. She looked around for her clothes. Draped over the chair in the corner was a tank top and pair of sweats she didn't recognize. They would have to do. She stepped into them and shuffled out to the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, Avery found Dana at the stove, scraping sizzling strips of bacon from a frying pan over scrambled eggs and hash browns in a bowl. Her girlfriend Keiko leaned against the far counter, sipping coffee from a comically large mug, the checkered dress shirt she wore barely covering her pussy.

"She lives!" Dana cheered.

Keiko frowned. "Why is she wearing my clothes?"

"Why aren't you wearing your clothes?" Avery shot back.

Keiko flipped her off. Avery returned the gesture. "Stop it you two," Dana laughed.

Avery yanked a Coke from the refrigerator. "I thought she wasn't getting here till Saturday."

"It is Saturday," Keiko responded. "It's been Saturday for like, 14 hours."

Avery stopped mid sip. "What?"

"You've been sleeping since Thursday evening," Dana replied. "Honestly, I thought you might be dead."

Avery panicked. "You let me sleep through a whole day? Did anyone call me? Where is my phone?"

"I don't know," Dana shrugged. "Probably in the pile of clothes you left on the bathroom floor two days ago."

"Fuck! Where are they?"

"Probably right where you left them," Keiko chimed in, "what is your deal?"

Flustered, Avery ignored the barb, rushing back to the bathroom to find her clothes swept into the corner behind the door. She picked through them, catching her phone as it tumbled out of her pocket. She scanned her text messages, swiped through her email accounts, searching for any correspondence from Professor Reed. There was nothing. She sighed, relieved she hadn't missed a call. But it was Saturday. Final grades were due tomorrow, and she still didn't know if this was to be her last weekend at school. A knock on the wall interrupted her discomfort.

"What," she snapped, not looking up.

"Hey," Dana responded, "are you okay?"

Avery sighed, clicking her phone off. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to snap. I'm just..."

She trailed off. Dana took her roommate by arms. "Listen," she said, her voice soft. "It's going to be okay. You crushed that essay, I know you did. You'll see. Just try to relax a little. Fretting about it isn't going to help. It's gorgeous outside, go take a walk."

Avery shook her head. "I don't know."

"Trust me, you'll feel better. You'll be fine, I promise." Dana pulled her in for a hug and Avery relented. Flashing a quick smile, she scooped up her dirty clothes and left Dana in the bathroom.

Four-thirty found Avery perched on the concrete ledge of the reflecting pool just south of the library, finishing the last bites of an ice cream cone. It was a warm spring day, and the chocolate caramel swirl proved to be the perfect compliment. Dana was right, the walk helped - a little. The fresh air, the sunlight, the first solid food she'd had in two days, all helped to temper the anxiety. But she couldn't help but wonder, as she surveyed the blooming campus, if this would be the last time she would see it.

She eased herself up, brushing the rumples out of her heathered-grey tee shirt dress. She chose it for the walk because it made her feel cute, and she felt she could use the pick-me-up. The mid-thigh length was flirty, the soft, fitted material comfortable, and the bright yellow stripes like little rays of sunshine wrapped around her body. Slipping her feet back into her canary yellow Keds she started toward the lake. One more lap around and she'd be able to hit her favorite pizza shop at the edge of campus right when it opened.

She made it no more than a few paces before her phone buzzed, slowing her a little. She plucked it from her bra and held it a moment before clicking it on to view the message. It was an email. From Professor Reed. Her heart thumped in her chest. She tapped to read it. "Please come to my office," it read, "your results are in." That was it. No other details. No hints. She sighed, tucked the phone back into her bra. Time to face the music. She took a sharp left toward the Business School.

The cavernous masonry building was empty. Eerily lifeless. The only sounds the soft whoosh of the air conditioning and the squeak of Avery's sneakers on the tile. She trudged up the stairs, shuffled passed a dozen doors of dark, deserted offices until she finally came to the one with a light on. The door to the reception space was open, but the desk was vacant. She rounded the corner and knocked softly on the wall. "Come in," instructed a familiar baritone from the rear office.

Avery entered Professor Reed's office, finding him standing behind his desk, peering out the windows across campus. He wore a white suit with a bright blue vest and tie, all a brilliant glow in the afternoon sun. He stepped away from the glass as she crossed the threshold, tilting the blinds to steer the light toward the corner. She smiled at him. He returned the gesture, but his smile did not reach his eyes. Avery's nerves frayed.

"Close the door please," he requested, "then have a seat."

Avery did as she was told, taking the same seat in front of the desk she'd been in not a week earlier. Reed eased into his chair. He opened his large drawer and removed a manila envelope, setting it on the desk in front of him. He set his elbows on the glass top and folded his hands in front of his chin. Inhaled deeply. Avery waited.

"I've been assigning this essay nearly ten years now," he said. "And this is the highest score anyone has ever received." He pushed the envelope across to her. "Ninety-one point four. And to do it in three days is nothing short of astounding. You should be proud."

Avery dared to breathe, her fingers cold and shaking as she lifted the flap and slipped the paper part way out, exposing the score marked in red ink in the top right corner. It seemed like good news. Why did he seem so somber?

"Unfortunately," he continued, "you needed ninety-four to make your average. I'm sorry."

The words hit like a kick to the gut. It was over. She failed. Two years of study and hard work and sacrifice. All for nothing. In just a few days she would have to pack all her things in the car, drive the ten hours back home, and explain to her parents why she wouldn't be going back.

She looked down at the paper. The same red digits that announced her excellence only seconds earlier, now felt like a scarlet letter emblazoned on her chest, proclaiming and shaming her inadequacy. It fell from her fingers, floating before it settled in the middle of the desk. The room seemed dark. Small. The scent of the recently laid carpet suffocated her. The air conditioning numbed her fingers. Her jaw quivered and her eyes burned. She needed to escape before she lost control.

Silent, she willed herself up. She nodded, acknowledging his condolence, then turned for the door. She forced one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, concentrating on the handle several paces away.

"Ms. Meyers," Reed's voice interrupted. She kept moving.

"Avery."

She stopped. Twisted her head and shoulders toward him.