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assault, it might have understood. “You want to? What the hell do you mean, you want to?”
    He bolted out of
the chair, walked to the door and back—a distance of a dozen feet. “What do you think I mean? Jesus. Don’t make me say it.”
    I gaped. “Why not?
Why not say it—if you can imagine doing it—then why the fuck not
say it? And what does this have to do with your career plans—”
    “I was getting to
that. Look, everyone knows that one of the worst things a political candidate
or elected representative can do is to become embroiled in some sexual
scandal.” His eyes locked on mine in what I recognized as his debate-face. “I’m
only human, Jackie, and if I have these desires to sow my wild oats or whatever
and I repress it, I’ll probably have the same desire later, even worse. But
acting on it then would be a career-killer.” He spread his hands
helplessly. “I have no choice but to get it out of my system while I can do it
without annihilating my future professional standing.”
    I told myself, This
isn’t happening . My boyfriend of three years was not breaking up with me so
he could bang coeds with shameless abandon. I blinked hard and tried to take a
deep breath, but I couldn’t. There was no oxygen in the room. I glared at him,
silent.
    His jaw clenched.
“Okay, so I guess trying to let you down easy was a bad idea—”
    “This is your idea
of letting me down easy ? Breaking up with me so you can screw other
girls? Without feeling guilty? Are you serious ?”
    “As a heart
attack.”
    The last thing I
thought before I picked up my econ textbook and hurled it at him: How can he
use such a piece-of-shit cliché in a moment like this ?

 
    Chapter 2
     
     
    Erin’s voice woke me. “Jacqueline Wallace,
get your ass out of that bed and go save your GPA. For chrissake, if I’d let a
guy throw off my academic mojo like this, I’d never hear the end of it.”
    I made a dismissive
sound from under the comforter before peeking out at her. “What academic mojo?”
    Her hands on her
hips, she was wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Get
up .”
    I sniffed, but
didn’t budge. “I’m doing fine in all of my other classes. Can’t I just fail
this one?”
    Her mouth dropped
open. “Are you even listening to yourself?”
    I was listening to myself. And I was every bit as disgusted with my cowardly
sentiments as Erin—if not more so. But the thought of sitting next to Kennedy
for an hour-long class three days a week was unbearable. I couldn’t be sure
what his newfound single status would mean in terms of open flirtations or
hookups, but whatever it meant, I didn’t want to stare it in the face. Imagining
the details was bad enough.
    If only I hadn’t
pressed him to take a class with me this semester. When we registered for fall
classes, he questioned why I wanted to take economics—not a required course for
my music education degree. I wondered if he had sensed, even then, that this was where
we’d end up. Or if he'd known.
    “I can’t.”
    “You can and you will .” She ripped the comforter off. “Now get up and get in that
shower. I have to get to French on time or Monsieur Bidot will question me
mercilessly in passé composé . I can barely do past tense in English. God
knows I can’t do it en français at ass o’clock in the morning.”
    I arrived outside
the classroom at straight-up 9:00, knowing that Kennedy, habitually punctual,
would already be there. The classroom was large and sloped. Slipping through
the back door, I spotted him, sixth row center. The seat to his right was
empty—my seat. Dr. Heller had passed around a seating chart the second week of
class, and he used it to take attendance and give credit for class
participation. I would have to talk with him after class, because there was no
way I was sitting there again.
    My eyes scanned
the back rows. There were two empty seats. One was three rows down between a
guy leaning on his hand,