Chapter Nine Maddie
Chapter Nine
Maddie
It was a Walmart parking lot night, which meant I woke up feeling busted. And looking like it too. When I pulled up to the rest stop I’d called home for the last few weeks, the exit was closed and full of workers re-striping the parking lot, so I had to return to my old Walmart stomping grounds.
It was the first truly chilly autumn night and I wake up freezing, thinking longingly of how cozy and warm Bram’s house had been last night while I’d helped Fern prep for her debate, of how comfortable his couch was while a fire flickered in the grate and Fern and I scribbled on index cards.
And now I’m stiff and sore and shivering so hard that my jaw is clamped shut. I guess I’ve lost my winter fur after living in Southern California for seven years. A rough night doesn’t need to make for a rough day, though.
Until it definitely does.
I stand dumbfounded in front of the sign at the student health resource center that says the locker rooms are closed until further notice while a plumbing issue is fixed. The student working the front desk informs me that he heard it was from the decades’ worth of flushed tampons.*
“Way to victim blame,” I tell him before stomping over to the student union, where I use the bathroom to freshen up as best as I can and get dressed.
It won’t always be like this, I tell myself. It won’t always be like this.
In fact, not only will it not always be like this, but these last few weeks are just a sliver of hardship compared to the reality plenty of people live with every day.
I know that. I really do. One of the benefits to being Gentry’s philanthropic arm was understanding what our constituents were up against. It made me want Gentry to do right by them, and it even made me wish a little bit that I could be the one to represent them, because even then, I didn’t know that I could trust him to do the kind of job that people actually need.
And yet, I am a weak, weak woman, and the only thing that could possibly fix me right now is a pillow-top mattress and a hot shower. And coffee.
I can get a coffee! Coffee is a totally feasible thing that I can do. To the library!
As I walk across campus, I try to remind myself that I normally love this weather and that if I weren’t currently camping in my car, I would be so thrilled for my first seasonally appropriate late September in years.
Sweaters! I love sweaters! And Halloween.
And pumpkins. And leaves. How could I forget leaves?
I might not be completely fresh, but I am wearing my favorite ivory wide-leg trousers and black-and-ivory-striped sweater paired with the camel coat my brother bought me for Christmas four years ago when I announced that I needed an Adult Coat that didn’t make swooshing noises every time I moved.
Inside the library, Junie is in her element, assisting a student. She gesticulates wildly and her voice grows louder with every sentence. The student, a young girl in a Copperheads Volleyball hoodie, looks like she’s getting far more from Junie than she ever asked for.
After filling up my reusable coffee cup, I top it off with a seasonally appropriate creamer, and the smell of pumpkin cheesecake is a balm to my weary soul.
The day is already better. Am I being optimistic? Is this personal growth?
Junie waves to me, and I motion over to her desk, where I plan on enjoying my coffee while I wait for her to be done so I can listen to her morning chatter. It’s weirdly calming.
As I’m tightening the lid on my coffee, my red pointy-toed flat snags on a ripple in the ancient carpet that no one has fucking replaced ever because apparently no one cares about libraries. Or my favorite wide-leg ivory trousers.
I trip over my own feet, lose my grip on the coffee, and only narrowly miss falling face-first into the musty carpet, but my pants and sweater have not been so lucky and look like a Jackson Pollock–inspired failure.
“Fuck,” I quietly grind out, and every head in the library whips around to witness my humiliation.
Suddenly, I’m not an adjunct lecturer with the godlike power to pass or fail my 184 students.
I’m a clumsy girl who now has to walk around with coffee-stained clothes all day, because there is no possible way I can make it back over to my car and then all the way to Salih Hall in time for my morning class.
I love Junie, I really do, but she rushes over and immediately begins to pat me down with napkins and paper towels, making a fuss and only drawing more attention to me, like when you’re young and your mom thinks she’s helping but she’s only deepening the mortification of whatever’s just happened.
My cheeks warm with embarrassment and my defenses are immediately up.
Without much thought, I push Junie’s hands away and spit out “I’m fine” between my gritted teeth.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she says, apologizing over and over again, which only annoys me more. “Are you okay? You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”
I need to walk outside before I lose my shit on this perfectly nice librarian (and my only friend in town, for that matter) for just trying to be helpful. “I’m good,” I tell her. “I’m good, but I need to head over to my office early.”
She steps back, the rumpled napkins clutched to her chest. “Oh. Okay.”
I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. I don’t dare say another word. I’ve already acted like the world’s biggest cunt. And while I definitely need to fix this, now is not the time.
MY CLASS TODAY is later in the morning and only meets twice a week, so not only is the class bigger and rowdier, it’s also an hour and a half instead of forty-five minutes, like my early morning three-day-a-week class.
When I stop at the adjunct office to check my mailbox, I find the door closed.
Since it’s a communal office, I don’t even consider knocking.
But I obviously should have because right there on my desk—well, the communal desk—are two adjuncts who I’ve only seen in passing with their tongues down each other’s throats.
“What the fuck?” the man with a thick red beard says as he stumbles back, hands covering his crotch for very obvious reasons. “Have you heard of knocking?”
“Chill out, Martin,” the other man with short twists in his hair says as he glances over his shoulder.
“You must be the baby adjunct! I’m Anton.
This is Martin. Sorry about this.” He motions to the pile of papers they’d swiped out of the way.
“The only other adjunct in the department has never actually used the office before.”
“We honestly don’t even know if she exists,” Martin says in a softer tone once he realizes I’m not a foe even if I did ruin his boner.
“I’m Maddie,” I tell them. “I was just coming to check my mailbox, but I can do that later. I don’t want to ruin a good thing.”
Anton laughs and then motions to my outfit with his chin. “Tough morning?”
I glance down to find that the stains are drying, which I think might be making them worse. “You’ve no idea.”
“You could always cancel your class,” Martin offers. “You get at least one bad-vibes-free pass* every semester. And no offense, but you’re really giving bad vibes right now.”
“None taken.” I squeeze past the desk to my mailbox. “And I’d hate to use my free pass so early in the semester, so I think I’ll just power through.”
“Well, it was good to finally meet you,” Anton says. “And, um, sorry you had to see—”
I hold a hand up. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll let you two get back to business, but maybe drape a sock on the doorknob next time.”
Martin snorts as I close the door.
“She’s funny,” Anton says.
It’s a coping mechanism, I nearly call back to him.
As I spin away from the door, I run directly into Dr. Salaza—I mean, Miranda.
“Maddie!” she says. “Are you okay?”
I motion down to my destroyed outfit. “Nothing a trip to the dry cleaner can’t fix.” And thank god it’s free.
Her smile is tinged with slight pity. “I just wanted to say I really enjoyed your class I sat in the other day.”
I force myself to stand up straight, because all I want to do is shrink back at the mention.
The class was fine. Except that the tech in the room wasn’t working and I had to lecture without the assistance of my slides, which are really pretty and a little bit funny.
They give me something to hide behind when I’m feeling a little unsure of myself or like I have no business acting as an authority figure to a class full of people who are close enough in age to be my peers.
“Did you get a chance to send in that IT request for the lecture hall?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “They say I should be all set now.”
She nods to herself. “Good, good. Maddie, it’s not my place at all, but I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing beyond teaching. We haven’t really talked much about your personal life prior to Astra, but . . . I know what—or rather who—you left behind in California.”
“Ah, I see.”
“I wasn’t looking to dig up your past or anything, but I remember you saying you’d worked on campaigns and did some charity work in your interview, so I was curious and . . . well.”
I nod, a sigh blowing my hair back from my face. “I wasn’t really the image that the Wade family was going for.”
She rolls her eyes. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you that Gentry’s father got so drunk at the correspondence dinner in DC one year that he pissed his pants and then blamed it on a waiter, saying a glass of water had been spilled on his crotch?”
A quiet laugh slips past my lips. “It actually does help quite a bit. Poor waiter.”
“Yeah, people like the Wades are always looking for a fall guy . . . or girl. Either way, I’m sorry for whatever happened, but for what it’s worth, you don’t strike me as the type to be a politician’s arm candy.”
I give her a tired smile. “Yeah, the general consensus was that I didn’t really have the looks to be anyone’s arm candy.”