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“Put your hand down.”Like a whipped dog, I dropped my hand. What does this guy want from me? I wondered resentfully.“What’s your name, Mr. Arrogant?” Professor Joska asked the guy next to me.“Whitman,” the guy answered simply, having learned from my mistake.“Mr. Whitman,” Professor Joska repeated as he made a note. When he turned to the next person with a hand up, he used his pen like a baton and waved derisively at the guy. “Not you, either. Put your hand down.”The guy tensed up and scowled, but lowered his hand.Then Joska turned to a girl in the front row. She was the only girl with her hand up.“Do you know how few women architects there are?” Joska asked. “Miss...?”“Fisher,” she said.I waited for him to lambaste her for being a woman or something equally irrelevant. I felt a momentary pang of guilt because I was glad he was picking on her instead of me. But it was only momentary. I already didn’t like him, and I didn’t want to say something in the heat of anger—something that. Her parents held a small ceremony. Natsumi attended and wept the whole way through. She wasn’t so much crying for Sakura, who was gone and could not be hurt any more, but for herself, who knew she had drowned the girl as much as if she had held her underwater herself. How could be so stupid, taking her vulnerable and betrayed best friend and thinking only of sex, thinking only of her stupid dyke crush and not what Sakura needed right then? Natsumi’s cell phone hummed with messages of commiseration – Hayato, Yui, Rin… she didn’t respond to any of them. What was there to say? — It was three long, excruciating days of satying by a telephone, hoping against hope that he was going to get the call. In those three days every cup of instant ramen seemed cheaper, the apartment walls looked to be closing in on him, and his wallet felt constantly lighter. As the money and stability of an actual legitimate industry job were jerked farther and farther away Terry desired them more and more. In the.
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