how to catch feelings

56

Well, I was certainly screwed all the way over.

I wasn't too surprised to hear that Harding had complained about me, but it still really got the old nerves fraying.

My sanity was really at that point a gigantic parade balloon being held by just one last little string.

The timer went off for my food, and I reluctantly pulled it out of the oven.

I was in no state of mind nor stomach to have lunch, but I couldn't bear the thought of wasting four precious bagel dogs. So I forced myself to eat, and then I went upstairs and curled up in my bed to die.

Except I didn't die.

Unfortunately.

Twelve-thirty slowly rolled around, and I was seriously considering bumping up the meeting time with Marcus and just skipping class.

It's not like we would be learning anything today anyway.

To hell with it.

I emailed Marcus again, some vague story about my class being cancelled and being available at one, if he was also available.

Surprisingly, for such a busy guy, he was.

Kill me so dead.

I went to the bathroom (gotta nervous pee, you know) and then gathered up my things to leave.

Then the trek over to Pennington Hall.

My stomach was just about squeezing itself up my esophagus as I climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Was I going to barf in the maze of third floor admin offices?

My brain said probably not, my stomach said strong possibility.

I found the Campus Communications office, feeling my pulse absolutely pounding in my throat as I approached the front desk.

"Hi, I have a meeting with Marcus?" I said.

The secretary checked her computer and then nodded. "He'll be right out."

Oh dear Lord, he was going to make me wait.

I checked the time.

Okay, fair, I was a couple minutes early.

I sat down in the chair next to the door, my right knee bouncing like crazy.

Frick, frick, frick—

"Natalie?" Marcus appeared in the hallway. "We can chat in my office."

I was definitely going to drop dead before reaching his office.

Okay, actually, no, by some miracle (curse?) I made it down the hallway alive.

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk and then had a seat himself.

I really, really wanted to throw up.

"I seem to recall sending you an email last month about pursuing the Dax Sharp case," he said.

I nodded.

"Coach Harding said that you were asking him questions about Dax. Specifically about a private conversation."

"I heard about it from another member of the baseball team. I just wanted to confirm the story," I said as innocently as I could muster. I think my actually being terrified really added to the act.

Marcus sighed quietly and laced his fingers together on the desk. "Coach Harding has asked that you refrain from harassing members of the baseball team about their teammate's death. You can understand it's a difficult time for them."

I wanted to argue, but knew it wouldn't get me anywhere.

"I'm also given to understand that you were disrespectful toward Coach Harding and ignored his request to talk at a later date."

"He had office hours that day. Aren't office hours supposed to be kept open for students to drop by with questions?"

Marcus sighed again. "Questions about coursework, or athletics. Those time slots are not meant to be utilized as opportunities to ambush faculty members."

"Can I at least play a recording of the meeting?" I asked. When Marcus raised an eyebrow, I rambled on. "Michigan is a one-party consent state. Given that he and I were the only two in the office and I consented to the recording, it's fair game."

"Fine. Play the recording."

I pulled my phone out, had to enter my passcode because my fingers were too sweaty for Touch ID. A few taps later and the recording was playing, starting with Jared asking if I was ready, ending with Harding telling me again that he was busy.

For a moment after the recording ending, Marcus didn't speak.

Finally he said, "Just don't bother Harding again, alright?"

"So I can keep following the story?"

"Like Harding said, you aren't the police. I understand that this is an exciting story for a university newspaper to get ahold of, but this is not your investigation. You may report what the police are willing to share with the press, but you cannot continue to investigate on your own. That is not your place. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I'd suggest you go email your professor to ask about what you missed."

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