Mind Games

She’d told herself she’d learned a hard lesson, and one she’d never, ever repeat.

She wouldn’t step in pig shit again.

Love didn’t always mean trust or acceptance or understanding. And what she had was hers, and no one else’s business.

But that was then, and she’d gotten through it.

She’d made a small circle of companions—not quite friends—which made her sophomore year a much different and happier experience.

She’d learned, and learned a lot—improving her art skills, her coding skills, her writing skills.

And not once had she gone back to that prison cell, not once had she gone into the mind of the man who’d killed her parents.

She’d felt him try to slip into hers, and the cold chills or flashes of heat those attempts brought with them.

She’d kept the window closed, and a charm bag over her bed.

And she’d learned home was Redbud Hollow.

Now, with her last final of her junior year behind her, and her bags already packed, she wanted nothing more than being there. Being home.

One stop left to make, she thought, and tried to tamp down the worry that her Game Design professor had texted he wanted to meet.

If she’d screwed up her final, she had to hope he’d give her a chance to fix it. She’d worked so damn hard, bringing that long-ago dream of adventure and magic into a complete story with solid graphics, testing the coding, the levels and play countless times.

If she’d tanked it, she’d fix it.

She had another day to move out of the dorm, and she’d have it to herself. She’d fix whatever she’d screwed up.

Even if she blew the final—ill-conceived idea, poorly executed—she wouldn’t fail the class. Her grades throughout the semester would pull her through.

The building, nearly empty, as most students had headed out and summer classes had yet to begin, echoed in her head.

Anxiety, she admitted. She couldn’t push it back.

Professor Cheng’s office door stood open. He sat behind his workstation, frowning at one of his three monitors.

When she knocked on the doorjamb, he looked up. His eyes behind his square-lens glasses showed nothing but annoyance.

As her stomach sank, he held up a finger for her to wait.

He swiped something on the touch screen, then sat back.

“Come in, Ms. Fox. Shut the door.”

He never called a student by their first name, but the directive to close the door had her stomach sinking even deeper.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“I wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, would I? Sit. We need to discuss your final project.”

“Yes, sir. Professor Cheng, I believe my work in your class has shown I put in the effort. Up until the final, I’ve carried a ninety-six percent average. I hope you’ll give me the chance to correct whatever errors I made in the final project, whether in the engineering or in the concept, design, and development.”

She cleared her nervous throat. “I took your class this term to help refine my skills. I hope—I think—I hope to find a career in game design and development.”

He sat in silence, then lifted an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”

“I— Yes, sir.”