“I know,” she replied vaguely, inclined to keep Nina from worrying.

“Something’s not right, Miss Morgan.”

Claire hedged, dropping her gaze and bending the attendance folder in her hands. “I’m sure he will be back. Wait and see.”

Her stomach churned at dishing out such garbage. The same garbage Jill Tanners had spewed to her. The same garbage that had ticked Claire off and prompted the ill-fated trip to Lenny’s apartment.

“Last time I saw him, he just walked right on by. Like he didn’t even see me.”

Claire’s gaze shot back up, irrational hope hammering in her chest. “You saw him? When?”

“A couple weeks ago. At Woody’s. He was with these creepy-looking older guys. He walked past me without even saying hi.”

Claire’s shoulders slumped. Nina hadn’t seen Lenny. Not recently. Unable to think of a suitable reply, she gestured to Nina’s desk. “Let’s get started.”

Nina nodded and took her seat in the front. Claire sighed, sensing Nina’s disappointment and feeling she had somehow let her down. Just like Lenny. She pushed thoughts of Lenny aside, sealing him in the far corner of her mind. Finished checking roll, she placed the folder in the pocket outside her door just as Ray Bailey strolled into the room with his loping gait. He gave her his signature nod, indifferent to his tardiness.

“Ray, it’s Wednesday. Sure you’re supposed to be here?” she asked with an edge to her voice. A few of the students chuckled at her uncustomary sarcasm.

Ray showed up once a week, usually on Friday, to provide weekend party supplies for his clients. She wondered if his business—an enterprise of which the faculty and administration were well aware but lacked proof to stop—had brought him here today.

He answered with a shrug as he dropped his six-feet-plus frame into his seat in the back—no backpack, textbook, or writing instruments anywhere on his person.

Pointing to the blackboard, she began reviewing the day’s agenda aloud, stopping to glare at the back of the room where Ray engaged in a lively conversation with the boy in the row across from him.

Her silence finally drew his attention, and he gave her a belligerent glare of his own, lifting both eyebrows in challenge. But even in that glare, his confusion was unmistakable. Claire never bothered him. All year she had ignored his disruptions, finding it easier than confronting him. She had suffered his presence in her room, telling herself it was only once a week. Yet the sight of him lounging lazily at his desk, carrying on a conversation while she tried to teach, made her blood burn.

“What?” he sneered.

“I’m waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Something snapped inside her and she heard herself say, “Waiting for you to shut up.”

The words flew out of her mouth at missile speed.