Read Online How Not To Fall by Emily Foster - Free Book Online Page B

isn’t about my character or yours, it’s about the dynamics of the system. In principle, can you see why it’s important?”
    I huff. “That any generic supervisor who controls access to degree—or money—related resources not have any sexual relationship with their supervisees?”
    â€œBecause there’s too much potential for the supervisees not to have full choice.”
    â€œBut I totally have full choice!”
    â€œThe principle, Annie.”
    I huff again and roll my eyes. “Yes, in principle I see it’s important.”
    â€œ Why is it important?”
    â€œBecause the subordinate person might feel like they have to do things in order not to piss off the boss person, who could retaliate.”
    â€œThank you.”
    There’s a pause while I struggle not to say what I’m about to say. But it has to come out.
    â€œBut I’m not wrong that there is totally A Thing here,” I say. “Between us.” I make a “between us” gesture with my index finger.
    â€œYou’re not wrong,” he concedes. “But we are going to ignore it, because there is nothing we can do that doesn’t risk your well-being, in principle, and my job, in fact.”
    â€œWhat about after I graduate?” I don’t even say it. It just comes out, entirely of its own volition.
    â€œAnnie—”
    â€œIn principle, ” I say, “once a supervisor no longer has any administrative power over the supervisee, isn’t it okay for them to do whatever the hell they want?” And then I just sort of lose it. “How is it fair that just because we know each other through school, we should never get to do anything about The Thing? How is that right? That can’t be right.”
    â€œHow did we get to this from the fundamental unreliability of the universe?” he asks, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.
    â€œWe have A Thing!” I say. “We’ve had A Thing for ages! I thought I was wrong, but I’m not wrong.”
    â€œI give up,” he groans. “Look, why don’t we talk about it after you graduate?”
    â€œYou agree we have A Thing?”
    â€œYes. We have A Thing. Christ on a bike.” With his elbows on his desk, he rakes his hands into his hair and stares at his blotter.
    â€œAnd you’ll talk about it after commencement, on the tenth?” As far as I’m concerned, he has opened a negotiation.
    â€œSure. Yes,” he tells his blotter.
    â€œClasses end May second and I’ve got no finals, so really I won’t be a student after that. We could talk about it then, on the last day of classes, instead of waiting until after commencement.”
    He looks up at me and throws himself back in his chair. “Annie—”
    â€œWhy not? ”
    â€œSaints defend me. Christ and all the apostles fucked up the arse by Moses, fine . All right. We’ll talk about it on the second. Now for the love of god, please get out of my office, you harpy.” He shoos me with one hand, from his trench behind his desk.
    I rise, but I don’t leave. “What time on the second?”
    He turns his eyes to the heavens and says, “What time do classes officially end?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, go and look it up. That’s what time we’ll talk.”
    â€œOkay, then.” I’m smiling now, and when I go outside, the rain has stopped.
    Â 
    That night I text him:
    Â 
    Classes end at 5. Where should we meet?
    About ten minutes later he replies:
    Â 
    I will not discuss this until after your defense.
    Â 
    I answer:
    Â 
    Spoilsport.
    Â 
    Get back to work.
    Â 
    OoOOooH, I like it when you’re dominant.
    Â 
    Stop it. I’m turning off my phone. You are a termagant and a shrew and, furthermore, you have a thesis defense to prepare.
    Â 
    I turn off my phone and plug it in for the night, and decide to go to bed early. I get myself