Chapter 8
For a few hours after class on Monday afternoons, Tom was available to any of his students who needed to consult with him.
Most times it had to do with grades or a lab—“H2O is not to be confused with H2SO4!”—or an extension on work that was supposed to be turned in within the foreseeable future.
Sometimes, though, the student who waited to speak to him was gay, and either was the object of harassment, was terrified of being outed, or was nervously excited about outing him or herself.
On this Monday, when he would have been—not grateful, of course not grateful, but simply willing to accept the distraction, there was no one waiting in the outer office.
He beetled his brows at Margaret Nordstrom, the secretary he shared with his colleagues in the chemistry department.
“Has the
