Even though I'd picked out my outfit the day before, now I had doubts. I changed and changed again in front of our rotating floor fan, tossing discarded clothes on my bed to blow in the breeze. The heat wave had only barely moderated into the nineties and the night had not cooled off like it should have. My room was heavy with the weight of the stuffy, warm air and nervous anticipation. When I opened my closet doors, I was hit by a blast of trapped heat. I could go to class in shorts and a tank top, but I couldn't go to work dressed like that. Not on my first day. Not to meet my father. How should I dress to meet my father? For most people the clothing choice was simple—they meet them as babies in their birthday suit.
Then there was the sense of peer pressure. All the girls would be trying to look their best today. Without my mom around to compete with, I was not going to be outdone.
At last I changed back into my original choice—a cute summer skirt and lacy tank top. I applied my makeup in the heat, putting on more than I usually wore. Mom had taught me well how to apply makeup with the skill of an artist. I usually didn't bother with it on a daily basis. Especially not when she was around.
After I finished, I stared into the mirror at my reflection, looking for a resemblance to either of my parents. I didn't look like my mother. I had been all too aware of that my entire life. My first memory was almost literally hearing the words "It's a pity she didn't take after her mother. Melissa is such a beauty. She must look like him."
Him said with derision. Whoever him was. No one ever said. Sometimes I wondered if anyone besides Mom even knew.
My mother was a beauty, a siren, a sensual woman who turned men's heads, no doubt about it. Even now. Her hair was blond and sleek. Mine was naturally mousy brown with a hint of curl that gave me wings of bangs around my face. Growing them out didn't help, just made me look more like I was about to take flight. Her eyes were startling blue and wide. Mine were somewhere between light green and hazel, and slightly deep set. Her nose was petite and her cheekbones high. My cheekbones were muted versions of hers and my nose was wider. The only thing I'd really inherited from my mom was the general shape of her figure. And even still, I wasn't quite as buxom and she never failed to tell me that my waist wasn't as small as hers had been at my age. So, not quite the hourglass figure of hers.
I wasn't as good looking as Mom. In a crowd, you'd never pick me out as Melissa's daughter. This was the first time I could honestly say that was a blessing.
Mom had never told me why she and my biological father had broken up. Or even if they'd ever been a couple. She hadn't even told me who he was. But at least he wouldn't take one look at me and realize I was her clone. And maybe hate me on contact because of whatever had passed between them.
On the other hand, I didn't look like him, either. It wasn't like he was going to take one look at me and see his reflection, pull me into his arms, and say, "Hey, kid, welcome home." No, Jason Front wasn't going to recognize me as anything more than another kid working her way through college. And until I decided I wanted more, that was going to have to be fine with me.
Despite all my internet and social media snooping, there was so much I didn't know about my dad Jason Front. For being in IT, he was surprisingly private. His social media profiles were purely professional. Maybe since he worked for the university, that was the best way to protect himself from pranking. But it left me wondering things, like: Did he have other kids? Ones that he knew about? Was he married? Divorced? Who knew? The thought of finding out was both thrilling and terrifying.
I might not be an only child after all. Maybe I have half brothers and sisters. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. It certainly would complicate any relationship I might make with my newfound dad. It might even prevent me from revealing myself. I wasn't here to mess up his life, just get to know him. I really didn't expect him to be a real dad to me, even though I'd always longed for one.
How would he react when and if he found out about me? The thought made my stomach knot. Would he accept me? Reject me? Deny being my father? Be overjoyed?
What if he rejected me? Could I handle that? I thought so. My mom was a complete wreck, a horrible mother, and I somehow managed to live with that. But I'd never know for sure unless I actually faced it. I could freak and be crushed for all I really knew. I wondered—maybe holding the dream was better than facing reality. I was wary and cautious, extremely cautious. I couldn't afford to make a mistake.
I had Chem 202 lecture at nine on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. Chem lab on Tuesday afternoon. Chem 202 was one of those prereqs that I needed for my minor in biology, needed before I could take the more interesting upper-level classes of my choosing. It was also the only sophomore-level class in my schedule. There was one section of it, period. Why else would I sign up for chemistry at that ungodly hour?
I rushed to the dining hall. It was hectic and packed. Everyone scrambling to grab a bite and running late. Taylor was working the coffee kiosk and playing barista. She already looked stressed and worn out. I got in the line behind everyone else who needed a morning jolt of caffeine to go from walking dead to semi-awake.
When my turn finally came, Taylor glanced at the clock overhead. "Aren't you supposed to be in class in five?"
"Yeah. Can you give me a rush order?"
"You'll have to take it black."
"Give me a shot of vanilla syrup and dollop of whip and I'm good to go."
She grabbed the whipped-cream canister, made a circle of cream around the coffee, putting extra whip on it, slapped on a lid, and handed it over.
"I owe you."
"Put a tip in the jar." She was already helping the next customer.
I raced to class, sipping coffee and moving as quickly as I could in flip-flop sandals. Chem 202 was, surprisingly enough, in the chem building in the big lecture hall. By the time I got there, the only empty seats were in the front. Breathing hard, I maneuvered my way toward the front and finally found an empty seat. "Is that seat saved?"
The skinny, nerdy guy in the seat next to me looked up at me. If he told me It's saved for you, baby, that would just make my day.
He shrugged. I slid in just as the prof, Dr. Rhonda Rogers, took the podium. She was mid-thirties, slender, well groomed. Not bad looking for a chem prof. And then she opened her mouth and revealed herself for the arrogant bitch she was.
"Most of you will pass this class. If you work hard. However, I give very few A's."
I frowned. This was going to be one of those classes. I was on academic scholarship and needed to keep my grades up to keep it. The last thing I needed was a jerk of a prof proving her superiority by wielding the grade card like a broadsword to create GPA carnage.
Then she launched into the lecture, flipping through PowerPoint slides solid with writing and data so fast there was no way to keep up with note taking. Despite getting an A in the chem class that was supposedly the prereq to this one, I didn't understand a word. Not many, anyway. The chemical symbols from the periodic table jumped out at me. Halfway through class, I was already on the university website, looking for an alternative class, and sending an email to my advisor. I wasn't alone. If the open browsers around me were any indication, getting out of this class was an urgently common theme.
There was nothing. It was either this, or another semester delay getting into the next class for my minor. I checked the prof's rating—1.2 out of ten over the past seven years she'd been teaching.
Get out fast! Run, don't walk! Drop this class before the first lecture ends. It only gets worse. Studied my ass off and barely got a C-.
And those were the uplifting and encouraging comments.
Dr. Rogers was some sort of research genius who brought in big grant money. So the university kept her. Fine by me, but why make her teach? Lock her in a lab somewhere and let her do her thing. Assign us an eager doctoral candidate who'd been a student recently enough to care about them. This was typical university-think—university first, students as second-class citizens
as an afterthought. Funding and prestige were all. Come to our university. We have world-class professors. Never mind that they hate students and couldn't teach a kindergartener how to tie their shoe.
After an eternity of listening to gibberish, class finally ended. The skinny guy next to me turned to me. "We're trapped. There's no way out."
"You were checking, too?" I knew he had been, but I didn't want to look like an eavesdropper, or whatever you call it when you read over someone's shoulder. I'd seen his screen.
He nodded. "I knew it was futile. If there were any alternative, would any of us have signed up for chem at nine in the morning with the worst prof in the department?
"She's legendary for being a bitch. Word is she takes great delight in flunking students. It's not about teaching the material for her. It's about proving how much smarter she is than the rest of us mere mortals."
He shook his head. "But I had to convince, and kill, my optimistic self. I was hoping for a miracle, like so much demand that chem department had to open another section with a different prof." He grinned. "So much for youthful optimism. It met a quick death. We're stuck.
"Now it's time for battle strategy. We need a study group if we're going to defeat the bitch. An elite team of brainiacs. Either that, or a strategic team who can stage a takeover. Are you in?"
I was impressed with his grasp of the situation and attitude. And the foresight he'd had to check out the prof. I'd been too distracted to even think of it.
I liked the sound of a coup. I grabbed my backpack and made my way to the aisle. "Did you understand a word of what she said?"
He nodded. "About half."
Okay, he was the man for me. That was about half more than I did. "I'm in for the takeover. Not sure I'll be much help with the study group. You understood more than I did," I said as we climbed the stairs to get out of the auditorium.
"Can you bake?" he asked as we reached the top.
"That's a sexist question."
He shrugged. "I have a big appetite and I like warm cookies. I can do a lot of things, but I pretty much suck at baking. I blame my mom. She's a crappy cook. If you can bake, I'd be willing to take you on, even if you are a handicap."
"Who said I'd be a handicap? I'm pretty good at revolutions."
He smiled in a charming, endearing way. He had a sense of humor. I liked that in a man. Plus, I needed a smart, savvy ally.
"FYI, Dr. Rogers never hands back her tests, just posts grades. It's part of her diabolical plot to keep students in the dark and give them no opportunity or fighting chance at passing her tests. I, however, have been preparing for the inevitable. I have access to every test Dr. Rogers has given over the past five years." He paused for dramatic effect. "She likes to recycle questions."
"No!" I was pretty sure my eyes had gone wide. Now I was really impressed.
"I have my sources."
"In that case, I know how to slice cookies off a tube and bake them. And I have access to an oven."
He cocked a brow as we emerged in the hall outside the auditorium. "Cookies from a tube? That's supposed to impress me?"
"I can bake from scratch. I make a mean chocolate chip cookie. But it's not easy in the dorm. Have you ever tried to stock all the ingredients? I do, however, have a connection in the dining hall."
"Good enough. You're in." He extended his hand. "Dex."
"Ellie."
"I have a few other guys in mind for our group. They were sitting in the back."
Which I took to mean they weren't quite as nerdy as Dex.
"Military types or great brains?" I asked.
"Both."
"I guess I'll have to trust your judgment."
He whipped out his cell phone. "What's your number?"
I gave it to him and got his. This was either legit, or a really clever way of hitting on a girl. It didn't matter. Dex was cute in his own nerdy way and I kind of liked him. Best of all, he posed absolutely no danger to my heart. Chem was settled. Sort of.
I had another class, lunch, and a third class before work.
"I have to run," I said.
Dex nodded. "See you soon."
I nodded back. "Don't storm the Bastille without me."
He grinned.
I took off.
"Hey, Ellie!" he called after me. "When's your lab?"
I yelled over my shoulder. "Tomorrow at one."
Did his grin just grow?
Chapter Four
The computer science building housed all of technical services as well as comp sci. It was located in the mall just down the hill next to the SUB. As I walked through the front doors and looked for the office of university IT, I should have felt relief from the oppressive afternoon heat outdoors. Instead I felt ice cold, trembling with anticipation and dread. A hundred things could go wrong. Once again, my plan seemed about as smart as playing kickball in the middle of the freeway. But given my current family life—a mother I didn't speak to and three ex-stepfathers, what did I really have to lose? What harm could adding one biological father into the mix possibly do? He was just potentially another parent I didn't talk to.
My mother had terrible taste in men, at least to my way of thinking. She liked the jock type with big egos. Men who didn't treat her right, liked to wander, and walked out when things got the slightest bit dicey. Every one of my stepfathers had the same bad points, and their good points were sometimes hard to find and not plentiful enough to satisfy my mom and save her marriages. Not that she was a peach to live with, either. But then, they'd picked her, too.
Given her appalling taste in men, I had pretty low expectations about what my bio dad would be like. Odds favored him being a first-class douchebag. But just like Dex's naïve optimism in chemistry, I hoped against hope that he was a better man. My rationale may have been skewed, but I kept thinking that she hadn't married him. Maybe that was in his favor. Maybe he didn't run to type.
Manning the booth on Saturday, he'd seemed charming. He had that personal magnetism that put people at ease and a sense of humor that students love. Then again, who wouldn't like someone who gave you a free flash drive?
In anticipation of him being a douchebag who denied paternity and needed proof if he ever found out about me, I carried a DNA testing kit wrapped in brown paper in my backpack. I know, odd. But it was like a security blanket.
I steeled myself for the worst, put my game face on, and pressed on, taking the stairs to the second-floor office like I was on my way to another soul-sucking chemistry class.
I'm good at math and science, but I'm no programmer. I got the job in IT because of a recommendation from one of my profs at my old school. He was buds with someone in tech services, someone not my bio dad. He sold me, saying that since I was majoring in management information services, this was a good fit for me.
By the time I found my dad, I'd already decided on MIS for a major, with a minor in biochem. I wanted to work in the medical field, but not practicing medicine. I like computer stuff, but I'm not technical enough to want a comp sci degree. When I found out what my dad did for a living, I was stunned. I'd somehow inherited a bit of his technical talents. It was a connection, however small.
This semester I had chosen my classes carefully. None of them met in the computer science building. I wanted access to my dad in controlled measures and circumstances.
I reached the IT offices, braced myself, and opened the door. An admin sat at the front desk. She raised an eyebrow in question when she saw me. "May I help you?"
"Ellie Martin. I'm starting work here today?"
"Ellie! Of course. Welcome! We were expecting you. I'm Karen." The nameplate on her desk said Karen White. The phone rang. "Excuse me. Just a minute. University Information Technology. This is Karen."
As Karen handled the call, I looked around the office. The door to my bio dad's office was closed. I found myself staring at it, mesmerized and terrified. Jason Front. If things had turned out differently, I could have been Ellie Front. Which was a
curse in itself. Say it fast and it sounds like elephant. Can you imagine the ribbing? Maybe Jason wouldn't have allowed Mom to name me Ellie. Maybe I'd be a whole different person.
"Sorry about that." Karen stood. "First day of class things are crazy around here. This AV doesn't work. We have an emergency in the Culver Aud. Their internet connection is down. It's one thing after another. You haven't arrived a minute too soon. We need reinforcements!" She came around to the front of the desk.
Great. I'd arrived in the middle of a firestorm. Not the best time to introduce myself to my father. Maybe even worse than at the booth in a crowd of faces.
"Let me just take you back to Jason. He'll give you your assignment. This way." She hitched her thumb at his office door. "His door's closed, which means he's up to his eyeballs in emergencies. Generally, he has an open-door policy. You should never be afraid of talking to him. He's very helpful and loves all his student assistants and IT experts."
I wondered if he'd love me once he found out the truth. If he found out the truth. I had to be exceptionally careful while I decided what to do. I followed Karen to his office with my heart pounding.
She listened at the door, trying to discern if he was on an important call or not. "We're very casual here," she said. "We call everyone by their first names, including Jason. None of that self important Dr. So-and-So junk in this office." She smiled conspiratorially and tapped on the door.
"Come in."
As she turned the knob and pushed the door open, the phones went crazy again. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Jason, this is your new assistant, Ellie Martin."
He was preoccupied, staring at the computer on his desk and typing away madly. He didn't look up. I recognized the intense expression of concentration on his face—it was the twin of my own when I was engrossed in something. My heart skipped a beat. I was hit with a deep connection I hadn't expected. And the thrill of a treasure hunter who finds something that's been lost and presumed gone forever.
Reckless Longing Page 4
