“I’m in his class now. He’s okay.” Madeline wrinkled her nose. “He has moments of being a really good professor and mentor. But other times he’s just kind of . . . not there.”

“I’m no good at poetry anyway.” Rebecca switched her beer can from one hand to the other, relieving the cold, which was starting to hurt. “I’m kind of surprised a professor is having us all here drinking. It seems like a lot of people are underage. Including me.”

“Hoffman doesn’t care. He’s not exactly a rules kind of guy. You’ll find that out if you get to know him better. Or take his class.”

“I guess college really is a different world.” Rebecca laughed a little.

“It is.” Madeline looked past Rebecca’s shoulder and nodded. She kind of rolled her eyes. “Oh, I have to go. My friend is leaving.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s cool.”

“Maybe we’ll take a class together soon. Or I’ll see you at one of the open mics they have in the department.”

“Yeah, I need to come and read at one of them.” Rebecca said this even though the thought of reading her work at an open mic sounded overwhelming.

“You do.”

Madeline went off, leaving Rebecca alone again by the bookshelves. She took a quick glance around, hoping to see Monique. She caught a glimpse of Madeline heading to the door, walking alongside a woman with blond hair. Very pretty.

Beautiful, in fact.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Rebecca wandered around the party for a while. She finished one beer and opened another. Monique seemed to have disappeared, likely with a guy. Or possibly a woman. Monique said she liked to check all the boxes. Rebecca thought that seemed like the kind of thing you should say if you’re in college, but she wasn’t ready to say it about herself yet.

Rebecca drank her beer and felt a tingly buzz along her hairline. She liked the feeling, and it probably allowed her to stay around at the party longer than she would have without it. Liquid courage, her dad called it. He sometimes threw back a shot before a conference call with his boss. He said it took the edge off.

“You appear to be a lost freshman.”

She looked up, and Dr. Hoffman was speaking to her. He wore a Commonwealth U sweatshirt, and she saw a dark stain—coffee or chocolate—near the giant white “C.” He held a beer, and his eyes looked red and seemed to be seeing nothing while looking right at her, like the kids in her high school who used to get high before they came into the building in the morning.

“I’m actually a sophomore.”

“Well, you’re among friends here. This is your tribe if you’re an English major.”

“Cool. I am.”