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Authors: Bill Crider
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could lead to complicationsâjust look at Val Hurley.
Of course, Valâs involvement was with a student, and that always led to complications. She wondered what had come over Val that would lead him to do a painting of a student. She didnât really know him very well; their relationship, like all her relationships with school personnel, was strictly professional.
Sheâd heard, mainly from Troy Beauchamp, that Val was quite a romantic sort. He wasnât Sallyâs type, but he was apparently considered attractive by a number of the single women on the faculty. He should never have allowed himself to get into his current situation.
But he had allowed himself, and now it was her problem almost as much as his. She went back to her office to see if there was a message from the Thompsons on her machine.
10
Jack Neville sat in his squeaky chair and stared at his computer screen. He wished he hadnât been so ill at ease when Sally had come to his door, but it was too late to worry about that now. At least heâd exited the game before heâd answered the door.
The game, something called Minesweeper, had come packaged with his computer software, and his secret shame was that he was addicted to it.
It was infuriatingly simple, not to mention simpleminded, and it bothered Jack that he couldnât seem to stop playing it. Heâd never thought of himself as having an addictive personality before.
After all, heâd quit smoking fifteen years previously without so much as a single dayâs withdrawal symptoms. Sure, he occasionally still dreamed about smoking, but he hadnât had a cigarette in all that time.
And when heâd started getting jittery every day about three oâclock and decided the cause might just be the dozen cups of coffee heâd drunk by that time of day, heâd cut back to a single cup a day, in the morning, without thinking twice. Well, he might have thought twice, but heâd done it without agonizing about it.
So why couldnât he quit playing the blasted game?
That was the main reason why he was working on his manuscript in longhand. He didnât dare turn on the computer for fear that heâd never get a single word written. Heâd spend all his time trying to put the little flags in the right squares.
Heâd turned on the computer at about one oâclock to start entering his article, but he hadnât entered a word. Heâd played the stupid game for three hours instead. Now it was past time to go home, and he hadnât accomplished a thing all afternoon. Well, heâd do better tomorrow.
He turned off the computer and left his handwritten article on the desk. Maybe he could get Wynona Reed, the divisionâs secretary, to type it for him. It was a legitimate request, he thought, even if it couldnât exactly be considered an academic publication.
He picked up a stack of American literature exams. Heâd punish himself by grading them at home.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Sally changed for the aerobics class in her office. It was easier than going home, even though she lived so close. She could lock the door and have all the privacy she needed. She kept a gym bag under her desk, and the change didnât take long at all. After class, she could drive home for a shower.
The class was held in the choir room rather than the gym because the choir room was large enough for the class and there was a sound system already set up there. The choir director wasnât fond of having his room used for what he referred to as a âsweaty exercise ritualâ every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, but Dean Naylor had brushed his protests aside.
The class was open to both men and women, but there were no men enrolled. Most of the women were there to get one hourâs credit toward the schoolâs two-hour physical education requirement. The men generally took bowling or weight training, but everyone had to take
Of course, Valâs involvement was with a student, and that always led to complications. She wondered what had come over Val that would lead him to do a painting of a student. She didnât really know him very well; their relationship, like all her relationships with school personnel, was strictly professional.
Sheâd heard, mainly from Troy Beauchamp, that Val was quite a romantic sort. He wasnât Sallyâs type, but he was apparently considered attractive by a number of the single women on the faculty. He should never have allowed himself to get into his current situation.
But he had allowed himself, and now it was her problem almost as much as his. She went back to her office to see if there was a message from the Thompsons on her machine.
10
Jack Neville sat in his squeaky chair and stared at his computer screen. He wished he hadnât been so ill at ease when Sally had come to his door, but it was too late to worry about that now. At least heâd exited the game before heâd answered the door.
The game, something called Minesweeper, had come packaged with his computer software, and his secret shame was that he was addicted to it.
It was infuriatingly simple, not to mention simpleminded, and it bothered Jack that he couldnât seem to stop playing it. Heâd never thought of himself as having an addictive personality before.
After all, heâd quit smoking fifteen years previously without so much as a single dayâs withdrawal symptoms. Sure, he occasionally still dreamed about smoking, but he hadnât had a cigarette in all that time.
And when heâd started getting jittery every day about three oâclock and decided the cause might just be the dozen cups of coffee heâd drunk by that time of day, heâd cut back to a single cup a day, in the morning, without thinking twice. Well, he might have thought twice, but heâd done it without agonizing about it.
So why couldnât he quit playing the blasted game?
That was the main reason why he was working on his manuscript in longhand. He didnât dare turn on the computer for fear that heâd never get a single word written. Heâd spend all his time trying to put the little flags in the right squares.
Heâd turned on the computer at about one oâclock to start entering his article, but he hadnât entered a word. Heâd played the stupid game for three hours instead. Now it was past time to go home, and he hadnât accomplished a thing all afternoon. Well, heâd do better tomorrow.
He turned off the computer and left his handwritten article on the desk. Maybe he could get Wynona Reed, the divisionâs secretary, to type it for him. It was a legitimate request, he thought, even if it couldnât exactly be considered an academic publication.
He picked up a stack of American literature exams. Heâd punish himself by grading them at home.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Sally changed for the aerobics class in her office. It was easier than going home, even though she lived so close. She could lock the door and have all the privacy she needed. She kept a gym bag under her desk, and the change didnât take long at all. After class, she could drive home for a shower.
The class was held in the choir room rather than the gym because the choir room was large enough for the class and there was a sound system already set up there. The choir director wasnât fond of having his room used for what he referred to as a âsweaty exercise ritualâ every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, but Dean Naylor had brushed his protests aside.
The class was open to both men and women, but there were no men enrolled. Most of the women were there to get one hourâs credit toward the schoolâs two-hour physical education requirement. The men generally took bowling or weight training, but everyone had to take
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