“Uh-huh,” I manage.
Just peachy. Can I have a copy of the final exam, by the way?
“Good.” He leans in and kisses my nose. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Matt grabs his cane and hobbles out of the office. I probably shouldn’t hang around in here because it’s a risk, but he shuts the door, so I figure I’m safe.
I sit down in Matt’s chair, which is still warm from his body. I absently play with one of his paperweights. The inscription on the marble weight reads “Dr. Matthew Conlon, Professor of the Year.”
Damn it. I don’t want to screw up his life by getting him fired. But what can I do?
That’s when my eyes fall on the computer.
The screensaver isn’t on, and the desktop is in plain view. I see a folder on the desktop that is called “Anatomy.” I click on it, knowing that at Matt’s speed of walking, I have a good few minutes before he returns. I hadn’t expected to find anything but certainly not a folder called “Exams.” It seems almost too easy, like it has to be some sort of trick. But then again, Matt didn’t expect anyone to be nosing around his private computer.
I click on the icon, and it opens up a directory containing several folders. I click on the folder with the current year and find a file labeled “Final.” When I click on it, I can see that I’m staring at the final exam for my class.
My heart begins to pound. This might be my only opportunity to obtain a copy of the exam and satisfy my blackmailer’s request. I take a deep breath and press the button to print the exam.
I eye the door to the office as the printer slowly,slowlylays down ink on the papers.
“Hurry up!” I whisper to the printer, which has got to be the slowest printer in the history of the world.
Images of muscles and nerves appear on the blank papers, and it’s all I can do to keep from ripping the papers out of the machine.
Just as the last page is finishing, I hear Matt’s key fitting into the lock. I quickly close the documents on his desktop and yank the pages out of the printer, seconds before the door swings open. I fold the sheets in half and stuff them into the pocket of the jacket I had thrown on his chair.
When Matt enters the room, it seems like he immediately knows what I did. His eyes are boring guilt into my chest. He trusted me. Then again, I did this for him. It wasn’t a betrayal—not really.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.
I nod weakly, “Yeah, I, uh… It’s been a hard day, I guess. I think I’m going to head home.”
“Of course,” he says softly. “Lie down. Get some rest.”
If he ever finds out what I did, that will be the end. But he’s not going to find out.
52
Heather isn’t homewhen I get back, but I still can’t bring myself to take out the exam in our bedroom. Instead, I lock myself inside the bathroom. It’s the only place I’m safe.
I pull the exam out of my jacket pocket. I have to admit, it’s sort of exhilarating to have it in my possession. Anyone in the class would have killed for a look at this. And I have it! I’m holding it in my hands right now!
I start flipping through the pages of the exam. Okay, I stole it for the blackmailer, but there’s no reason I can’t look at it myself. I mean, yes, I earned that honors on the last exam, and that’s all well and good. But how can I turn down aguaranteedhonors grade? I’d be a foolnotto look. It’s not like it matters in the long run that I learn this stupid anatomy.
I’m on the second page of the exam when I feel an ache in my chest. A lump forms in my throat, and suddenly, the diagrams of nerves and muscles swim before my eyes.
I can’t do this.
For the record, I still don’t think cheating is wrong. Well, okay, maybe I do a little bit. But what feels worse is betraying Matt. He trusts me. He believes I’m earning the grades I’mreceiving. It’s important to him that I learn anatomy. If he knew I looked at this exam, it wouldkillhim.
Moreover, he believes I’ve changed. He believes I’m a good person, and I know it sounds dumb, but that makes me want to be a good person.
I’m not going to cheat ever again. I’m done.
And even though Matt is sixteen years older than me and my professor, maybe this can work out. Maybe there’s a chance this can be more than just a fling. We’ll have to keep things quiet for a while—at least until I finish my preclinical years—but I don’t mind the secrecy. It’s worth it. And then maybe someday, I can bring him home to meet my parents, and they’ll know for sure that I’m not a lesbian.
But first, I have to protect myself. And if that means giving in to the blackmailer, then so be it.
