”“I think since you are fucking my husband you can call me Margaret.”She stumbled over her words, as she invited Mrs. Dinks, or as she had asked, Margaret, into her apartment.Margaret strolled in, head held high, and with a grace and elegance she attributed to royalty. Closing the door she asked, “What can I do for you, ah, Margaret?”Margaret surveyed the room and turned towards her and said, “A small room. Smallest in the building I think. You should talk to Jim, he should be able to move you to a larger room. Preferably one with, two bedrooms. So your son won’t be woken by the sounds of love making.”She was about to counter the barbs thrown at her, but held back. Fighting with words was not going to do anything but cause the situation to worsen, best for her to take the barbs then to poke the bear. But, she wouldn’t shrink away either.“If the situation was different, I would have never slept with your husband.”“I’m sure that’s what all the harlots say.”“What can I do for you. I could handle the basics fine. But once they started throwing art work instead of numbers at me, my brain fried. Beth was a rotten tutor.I usually got most of my homework done during study hall so I didn't have to worry after practice. Last year, I got the monitor to help with the math crap but this year, I was in one of the unmonitored groups. Which meant they trusted me not ta act uh fool, great, but sucked for my math grade."Why the fuck do we even study this shit!" I groaned one afternoon about a month in."Calculus is useful in engineering." I glared in the direction of the speaker. "Among other things."Brandon Dixon. Often called 'Brandy' when the assholes need someone to fag bash. I had seen him around the school for years but I didn't know him well. For the first time I noticed just how much like a girl he really looked. He had honey blond hair in thin wisps down past his shoulders, a round face, almond eyes and he was slender to the point of frail. Suddenly, I thought of.
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