Page 30 of Crystal Iris
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she says, glancing at me in the mirror. “Maybe you can get his phone number?”
I raise my eyebrows. “And say what? Hi, this is me, the girl who burned your hand at the party. Want to meet up?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Very funny.”
“Didn’t you say Aaron has another event to attend next week? Maybe Hoyt will be there.”
“I’m not planning on going.”
“What if I go with you?”
“Seriously?”
“I’m curious too.”
I smile at her. “It’s a date, then.”
Across the kitchen island, Aaron asks, “Want a piece of toast?”
“Just one slice, please.”
He pours both of us a cup of coffee, his brow furrowed as he glances at me. “Any plans for today?”
“I have some paperwork to send. I can’t believe classes start next week already.”
“I thought you’ve been bored.”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“How many classes are you teaching this semester?”
“Four,” I say, surprised by his interest.
“That’ll keep you busy.”
“Oh, and I need another ticket for the SMPS Awards.”
“Are you going?”
“Akira too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she’s single again.”
“Okay.” He laughs, processing the information.
Minutes later, he’s out the door, leaving me with the mountain of work I have to tackle.
The stack of papers to sign and submit seems endless—the same routine every year. At least it’s giving me something to focus on other than Hoyt. I glance at my students’ list, already feeling the annoying rush of anticipation. Though many names are familiar, one is conspicuously missing—Darion. Has he dropped out? Two of the classes I’m teaching this semester are mandatory for his major: HAA 310A – Methods and Theory of Art History and HAA 233G – The Body and Embodiment in Greek Art.
I can’t stop thinking about the conversation I overheard in the library. How does Darion know how George got his job? Something feels off about it, and I can’t shake the suspicion. I search for him online, hoping to find something—anything. His social media accounts are almost entirely pictures of books, art, and the occasional food diary—no friends, no people, actually.
I start to feel pathetic as I scroll through everyone’s online lives,my own existence fading into the background. I’ve become obsessed with these searches, living through the online profiles of strangers.I need a life of my own.I shut my laptop with a heavy hand.
I grab my phone to text Akira, but before I can, I see that Elena has texted me—dozens of pictures. I feel guilty for giving her the task; it would’ve been easier for her to just mail me the book.
