Free Pile of Bones by Bailey Cunningham

it.”
    Everyone had different strategies. Shelby wrote detailedcomments that were uniformly encouraging, while Carl liked to scrawl
What?
or simply
no
in the margins. Andrew had tried everything—a marking rubric with codes, a form of shorthand, typewritten comments, even colorful stamps (a jumping rabbit for
use the active voice
)—but in the end, none of these tactics cut down on the labor. His professor had been right. Of course, she’d also taught four classes per semester and still been available during office hours, while he could barely get through the work of forty-five students. College professors had guts.
    He turned on the radio.
    —found stripped to the waist in an overgrown area of the park. Drugs and alcohol were most likely a factor, although police are not releasing any more information at this time. The hiker may have already been disoriented and suffering from exposure when the wild animals discovered him.
    Andrew shook his head. Wascana Park was in the middle of the city. How could a pack of coyotes get this close without being seen? It was like being attacked by wolves in the Cornwall Centre food court. They were supposed to be shy animals. He’d heard of them teaming up to take down a deer, but a full-grown man?
    The phone rang while he was pouring the coffee. Andrew turned off the radio, then hit the speaker button. Shelby’s voice filled the kitchen, singing: “Maaarking paaarty, we’ve got wine and highlighters!”
    “I was just about to have a coffee.”
    “Perfect. Coffee lays the foundation, which you can then sprinkle wine on.”
    “When exactly did we plan this marking party?”
    “It all came together about fifteen minutes ago, when I woke up Carl. Now we’re on our way. He’s not super-awake yet, so he could probably use some coffee as well.”
    “Wouldn’t it be more efficient for you to just mark at a pub?”
    “Your place has the best lighting. Be there in a sec.”
    He hung up and surveyed the piles again. Was five pushing it? Bundles of three seemed more humane. Three wasa sacred number, after all. The doorbell buzzed. Andrew realized that he still wasn’t wearing pants. He threw on a pair of shorts and went downstairs. Carl appeared first, holding a box of pilsner.
    “She’s got more in the trunk,” he said.
    Still barefoot, Andrew made his way across the unkempt lawn, avoiding the dandelions. Shelby handed him two bags.
    “What’s all this?”
    “Comestibles. We have to feed our minds.”
    “Is there anything here that isn’t a starch?”
    “You’re in no position to critique anyone’s eating habits. Besides, I got you those dried mango slices that you like, even though they creep me out.”
    “Thank you.”
    Carl had already set up camp in the living room. The table was now covered in essays and exam booklets. He had both a beer and a coffee in front of him.
    “That was mine,” Andrew observed, pointing to the mug.
    “Sorry.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “There’s still some left, I think.”
    Andrew bit off a caustic comment. He returned to the kitchen and poured himself what remained, which was about two thirds of a cup. He gathered his essays and walked back into the living room. Shelby had already deployed her marking, next to Carl’s. There was no room left. Andrew exhaled. Then he piled his essays on the nearby chair. The living room was modest in size, and two extra people made it feel snug. He loved them both to death, but there was something about having people over—even great people—that never failed to make him anxious. It seemed like he should be cleaning, or handing out coasters, or something.
    Carl opened up a bag of Funyuns. “Want some?”
    “God, no.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “I brought Malbec,” Shelby said, “in case you want to feel like an adult.”
    “I’m older than both of you,” Carl reminded her. “I’mlike the hoary-headed sage of this group. You should listen to what I say.”
    “You told me in the car