Rachel
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silent, sterile computer lab. Professor Willis, Arnold, sat behind his desk, the glow of a dozen monitors reflecting off his thick-rimmed glasses and the outdated polo shirt straining over his soft middle. He’d just delivered the death sentence.
“Your final project is incomplete, Ms. Evans. The database module is non-functional. Without it, you cannot graduate.”
The words hung in the air-conditioned chill. No. No, no, no. I couldn’t do another summer here. I couldn’t face another year of tuition, of my parents’ disappointment. Panic, hot and slick, coiled in my gut.
“Professor Willis… Arnold,” I said, my voice softer, laced with a honeyed desperation I didn’t know I possessed. “There has to be something. Please.”
He a
