Davina sat in the very back of her graduate class. Last row of seats. Usually, she sat front and center, poised to take perfect notes on her ancient battle-scarred MacBook. Several students paid cash for copies of her notes. Ten dollars a page.

Now in the back row of Intro to Statistics, Davina had some personal business to attend to. An important text to compose and send. She would attract too much attention in the front row.

Anyway, Professor Yamada had made it clear on the first day of class. Texting during class was forbidden and would result in some form of public humiliation. Like handing over your cell phone to a frowning instructor with her hand outstretched while your classmates laughed outright behind you.

“What are you doing back there?” It was Ashton, a struggling student and her best customer. On his face was an expression of anxiety, nearing panic.

She shrugged. “No worries. Just taking a break from the front.” She held up her computer. “Taking notes from here.”

He nodded as he sat down at his usual place, in the middle of the lecture hall and on the far right, where he believed he would be invisible to the instructor and her probing questions about required reading.

No one was seated to Davina’s immediate right or left. Perfect. She chewed her thumbnail, thinking. Ten minutes into the class, she knew what she wanted to say to him. Direct. Honest. No time like the present, right?

Making sure her cell phone was hidden in her lap, she typed:

I think it’s time we take our relationship to the next level. Spend the night together. Maybe go away somewhere for the weekend. I feel like I’m ready, how about you?

“Davina?”

At the calling of her name, she jumped and heard the sound of a low swoosh as the text was sent. Shit, she thought. I wanted to read it over one more time.

Dr. Yamada was standing in front of the class, hands on hips. She peered up at Davina above her glasses. Frowning.

“What are you doing up there?” she asked. The entire class shifted in their seats to stare. By now, her cheeks were probably bright scarlet and reflecting light from the overhead fluorescents.

Dr. Yamada continued. “Are you on your cell phone? Is that it?”

Davina faltered. The text had been sent and she wasn’t on her cell phone at the moment. Summoning courage, she spoke up. “No, I’m not.”

“Well.” The professor folded her arms across her chest. “We need to continue, sound good to you?” She waited until Davina nodded, mute.

Dying to check her phone for a response, she waited a full fifteen minutes, until Dr. Yamada had her back to the class writing a series of numbers on the board, before activating her phone.

There was a text on her home page!

She squinted. What? Why was her dentist texting her? Was the old man cancelling her dental appointment tomorrow?

Wait. Why did he text her those three emojis? A thumbs up followed by a dancing man and woman? Was this about the cavities she needed to have filled? Weirdo, Davina muttered under her breath.

Keeping her phone under the lip of her computer, Davina opened up her text messages. Why hadn’t he responded? He wasn’t at work for another hour. She had expected a response from him within seconds of her text.

It was then, with horror, that she realized what she had done.

She had made a horrible mistake.

The text, the text intended for her weekend-boyfriend golden-haired demi-God James never got to him. No, in her spastic reaction to Dr. Yamada, Davina had pressed the wrong contact number and sent the text by accident to someone else.

Yes, it was true. Davina had invited her dentist for a weekend romp.

Oh God, she thought. What should she do now?

After all, she knew a basic global truth.

Good dentists are so just so hard to find.