(Clara)
By the time I got home that evening, I had successfully convinced myself that I was overreacting.
Not completely.
Not permanently.
But enough to function like a normal human being again.
Because honestly, what exactly was I upset about?
Professor Hart had done his job.
I had submitted an application.
He had reviewed it.
End of story.
The fact that my emotions seemed determined to turn a routine academic interaction into some kind of personal tragedy was entirely my problem.
Not his.
Unfortunately, knowing that didn’t make me feel any better.
“You have that face again.”
I looked up from where I was dropping my bag onto the couch.
Anna was sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by open notebooks and snacks.
“Apparently I have a lot of faces,” I replied.
“You do
