“Oh yes! I know very well what the students call this class behind my back, no worries there! Do you know why this class is included as part of our core curriculum?” he asked.
“No sir,” I began, but then stopped. “Well, maybe...”
He nodded at me to continue. I took a deep breath.
“The curriculum is designed to help create a well-rounded individual,” I quoted. I saw a small smile appear on his face, and it gave me courage to continue. “At least, that’s what all the pamphlets say. Some students come in with academic blinders on and feel like they know exactly what they want to focus on, and don’t see the value in broadening their horizons. Taking Art History, and Literature, and all the other core classes makes them consider… alternatives.”
“Yes!Yes! Exactly! Alternatives…” He muttered a moment and glanced through his papers. “So, you are an engineering major, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“Whatalternativeshaveyoulooked at?” he questioned.
“I—I haven’t really, sir. Looked at any, I mean,” I stuttered, feeling silly for having quoted the pamphlets, but proving myself a perfect example.
“Hrmph. I thought not. Maybe you should, Mr. Devereaux...” He said. He turned to set his coffee cup on the lectern, looking up at the slides of famous paintings that ran on the screen behind us. He began to say something, then paused before asking, “Wait,Devereaux? Are you the Kaine Devereaux that won the Diversity Amateur Photography event last year?”
I blushed and nodded. Not many people knew I had won the photography prize put on by the art department of the university. I’d always been fascinated by photography. When I was placed in foster care after Mrs. Rohring died, it was one of the few things I’d been able to take with me. After Nicki’s parents moved them to Florida, I’d taken a class in high school with Bishop as a way to distract myself from Nicki’s absence and since then it had become my primary hobby. Not that I really had time for a hobby right now, but I’d occasionally taken photos for friends or family events. In many ways, I found I had turned into a kind of family historian, documenting all the important events that happened in our lives.
The picture Professor White was referencing had been of my parents in the kitchen of our home. Mama D’s arms were resting on Mama K’s shoulders, a dish towel hanging from her hands as they had leaned in to kiss. I had caught them right in that moment before their lips had touched. It was a great shot, but I felt it had been more luck than skill that I’d captured the moment. Anna and Bran had seen the picture on my camera when I went to take some pictures of them with Gracie and had encouraged me to submit it to the contest. I’d done it, more to get them to shut up about it than anything else. To my surprise, I’d won. It wasn’t something I put on my resumé or anything, but itwassomething I was kind of proud of. My parents had a framed copy of the photo hanging in their bedroom.
“I’ve seen many students come through these halls in my lifetime, manyengineeringstudents, Mr. Devereaux. They had no soul, for the most part, young man.Noappreciation for beauty,” he turned back to me. “Youdo. I see in you a deep appreciation for art. Oh, maybe not this!” he said, waving at the slides of Picasso on the screen behind him, then looking at me contemplatively. “But… something. I can’t see you spending your life as an engineer. It’s just not in you.”
My spirits fell as he said the words that had been percolating in my brain for several months now. Iwasn’tan engineer. I craved the stability that life as an engineer would provide, but I doubted I’d ever live up to my father’s goal for me.
“Professor White, may I ask… Did—did Dr. Tate say something to you about me, sir?” I asked.
“What! No! That... woman... and I have not spoken for many years,” he said, his mouth turned down in an uncommon frown. His obvious dislike of Dr. Tate surprised me. I had thought she was generally held in high regard amongst her peers. Professor White continued. “Hrmph. I should have phrased that differently, that was not at all professional. Dr. Tate and I have not spoken about your performance, and I doubt we will. Our paths… do not frequently cross.”
He gathered the last of his materials and came around the low table to stand in front of me.
“I think you should take some time and consider what alternatives are available to you at this university, Mr. Devereaux. The world is in front of you! Pick the pathyouare passionate about! Not just the one youthinkyou should be passionate about!”
I stood there for several moments after, thinking about his words. Maybe he was right? Maybe I should consider alternative majors, instead of focusing on only engineering.
My phone dinged, and I saw a text from Gary.
AIRGORDON: You have thirty seconds to get that ass out here, or I’m taking off.
ME: OMW
I sprinted to the hallway where I saw Gary leaning casually against the far wall. He flashed a knowing grin at me.
“Professor White chew you up and spit you out?” he asked.
“Sort of…” I said, shrugging. Gary was backing away from me down the hall, his finger crooked at me in a “come hither” gesture.
“What are you…” I began, but he shook his head.
“No way, smarty pants. It’s only ten thirty, and I’vealreadyhad enough lecturing to last me the whole day. No more words…” He reached out and grabbed my hand, dragging me over to a storage room. Gary’s dad was a maintenance guy for the university, and he had master keys to just about every door in the new building. Which meantGaryhad master keys to almost every door in the building.
He swung the door to the storage closet open and flipped the light on, dragging me inside. He closed and locked the door behind us and then Gary was muscling me up against it, his beefy hands gripping my hips and grinding our cocks together.
“You are perfection, Devereaux,” he groaned.
“Not so bad yourself, big guy…” I gasped, my own hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently. I remembered from previous encounters that Gary liked having his hair pulled.
The heat from his body was ferocious, especially when he leaned in and captured my mouth with his own. His kiss was hot and demanding, but it left me feeling oddly… cold and empty. Almost… numb. My body was into what we were doing, don’t get me wrong. My cock was hard, and a groan escaped my lips as he palmed my erection through my jeans. It just felt so… so meaningless. He was a nice enough guy, we just didn’t care about the same things.
