Free Damaged by H.M. Ward Page A

minutes.”
    I nod and grab my bag. I leave the room as quickly as possible. I don’t look back at Peter, but I feel his eyes on me as I walk away. Thoughts tumble through my brain like they’re falling down a flight of stairs. They just keep coming and I can’t make them stop. There’s no way I can deny how I feel about Peter, but there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to say anything. Getting rejected once is enough for me.
    I walk down to the classroom, and then turn on the computers and other technology that is needed for the lesson. Everything comes online and flares to life, except for the microphone at the podium. I tap it, but it’s dead. Damn it. There’s a wire that runs through the bottom of the wood and goes into a port in the floor. I lie on my side and try to tuck my head under the podium into the tiny space between the wood and the floor. I wiggle my head under and see the socket. Reaching underneath, I fish my hand through cobwebs and dust hoping to God that a mutant rat from the science lab doesn’t suddenly appear and gnaw off my arm.
    “You okay?” I hear Peter ask from above me. I didn’t realize he was standing there.
    I don’t pull my head out to look at him. My fingers are so close to the wire. “I’m fine. The mic is out. I’m fixing the wire. One second.” I’m at an award angle, but I manage to get my fingers on the plug and push it back into the socket. The speakers make a hideous, deafeningly loud noise, and I hear everyone in the room moan in response. When I wiggle back out, Peter is standing above me with his hands over his ears.
    “Weenie,” I say to him. I know he’s too close to the mic to say anything back.
    Peter offers his hand and pulls me up. I dust myself off, trying to ignore how much I like the fee l of his hands. A nervous jolt of excitement fills my body. Peter’s gaze rests on my figure as I walk back to my seat. I don’t turn back. It’s everything I can do to act as though I don’t know and don’t care that he’s looking.
    It’s then that one of the guys in the first row starts clapping. He woos! and says, “Let’s hear it for the techie TA!” He claps loudly and everyone follows his lead. A crooked grin forms on my lips as I lean forward and look at him like he’s crazy. The guy holds his hands up and claps louder and gestures for me to stand. Shaking my head, I stand and bow, smiling as I wave to the class.
    The guy—Mark—watches me until I sit down. I nod at him and he smiles back, beaming. He’s a year younger than me, and relationships are usually so far from my mind that I never noticed him before. Between the two, I suppose it was difficult for him to catch my attention. Mark’s grin is contagious. I lean back in my seat, smiling, and look up at the podium, when I see Peter’s face. His eyes are hard and the usual easy-going smile isn’t visible. The look slips away before I can blink. Mark didn’t notice. Hell, I’m not sure if I noticed it. What the hell was that?
    Peter starts his lesson, and by the end of it, everyone is back in the groove of things. I wonder how long it will take for them to transition from Dr. Tadwick to Peter. They have different styles of teaching. I know from not only sitting in here, but because Peter is the professor in my once a week night class. , The thought makes me feel all twisted inside. When I reign in my drifting mind, Peter is dismissing the class. I stand and gather my things.
    Peter walks over to me. “Thanks for taking care of the microphone. You saved me from a very sore throat. Talking loud enough for the entire room to hear all day would have severely sucked.”
    “Well, that’s what I’m here for, to save the world from suckage.” I give him a half smile and start to walk toward the side door.
    “Can you do 7:00am for one more day? After that, we should be caught up.” Peter’s eyes slip over my face as he asks, more gently this time than yesterday.
    I nod, acting as though I