Page 41 of Error Handling

“Hi, Dad.” I rest my forehead on my arms.

“Did you take the check to the bursar’s office?”

“I dropped it off on Monday.”

“They haven’t cashed it yet.”

“I’m sure they will.”

He grumbles.

I dare to point out the obvious again. “You know electronic transfers are instant, right?”

“It’s not real money.”

“Neither are checks.”

Grumble.

“Never mind,” he says. “Just thought I’d make sure. You forget sometimes.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I want to see your paintings when I come down.”

My stomach twists. “Sure.”

Of course he does. He’s paying a lot of money for them. I hope he doesn’t expect any return on his investment. Not in the sale of my paintings, anyway. I’ve learned more than how to (or how not to) paint, namely how to run an entrepreneurial business. I’ll carry that knowledge into the real world, and if I ever have the gonads to start my own business, the first thing I’ll do with my profits is pay back my dad.

“Call me if that landlord gives you trouble,” Dad says.

“I will.”

We say goodbye again.

Now I have a headache.

My phone rings.Again.

“What?!” I answer, and instantly regret it. Even when my dad makes me feel stabby, I try not to take aim at him.

“Um.”

The voice on the other end does not belong to my dad.

“I’m sorry. Who is this?” I say.

“It’s Chris.”

My heart quickens. Why is Chris Butcher calling me? Is he going to ask me out? Wait. How did he get my number?

“How did you get my number?” I have no filter when I’m tired.

“Your landlord gave it to me.”

“Oh.” This is about my apartment, then. Or maybe he wants a date with me so badly that he pried my landlord for my phone number.

Probably not.