“Ms. Anderson, please bring your winter essay to the stage and pick up a Visio Aternae pamphlet so we can move on with the lesson.”
Silence.
When I look up, I see her staring, frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights.
“Essay?” she calls out.
“The one on the differences between live and screen acting? I sent the prompt out weeks ago.”
“Over break?”
Sighing, I scrub at the underside of my jaw. “Ms. Anderson, are you planning to question everything I say the entire semester?”
“Well, if it requires expansion, yes. Asking questions is important.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Almost as important as a person’s name.”
For some reason, my blood feels like it’s boiling. “After a certain point, questioning becomes disruptive. Insubordination won’t be tolerated.” A long pause, and I glance around the rest of the auditorium, looping them back in as if this is a public lecture and not a conversation I wish I was having in private. “Do you have the essay or not?”
“No. What kind of professor assigns homework to a class he hasn’t met? How would a late addition even know what was going on?”
Someone snickers, and I know without looking that it’s fucking Lexington. Maybe even the boy next to him.
“If you have a problem with the way I run my class, Ms. Anderson, I encourage you to take it up with the dean. Though I expect he’ll give you the same answer as I’m about to.”
“Which is?”
God, why does the way she talks back make me dizzy?
“This is a monarchy, not a democracy. I’m the king, and what I say goes.”
A few students chuckle.
“Sounds more like a dictatorship,” Elle spits back.
I shrug. “Call it whatever label you prefer. Either way, you’re unprepared, and I’m done with this conversation.”
She doesn’t come to the front to get a pamphlet, so I quickly move on to the rest of the attendance sheet, noting that if I spend too much time going back and forth, it’ll look suspicious. I can already feel Sabrina’s eyes peering into my soul, trying to determine why I gave such an unflattering welcome to a new student when I’m typically more relaxed about interruptions.
There’s no way I’d be able to explain it, so I just ignore her stare, slapping my hand on top of the stack of essays once I get to the end of the list.
“Beautiful. Now, take a good look at the person sitting directly to your left. They’ll be your warm-up, improv, audition, and set design partner for the rest of the semester. Exchange names and emails on your own time, and take out your syllabus. We’ll go over the bullet points and my expectations, and then we can talk about what I know we’re alldyingfor: the final play of the semester, which is the only way you pass the course.”
Lexington’s friend raises her hand. Meg, I think her name was. “Will we get to vote on the play like previous classes did?”
I nod. “While this may not be a democracy, certain aspects are community efforts, and therefore I like to let thecommunitydetermine them. But we’ll talk more about that in a minute. Turn to page two in the syllabus?—”
A hand shoots up, and I know whose without even looking.
“Ms. Anderson,” I drone, clenching my jaw tight. “Do you have yet another question? This might be a school record you’re breaking.”
“I don’t have a syllabus.”
My fingers crinkle the corner of my packet. “So not only were you late, but you’re lacking even the most basic materials? Is unpreparedness a common theme I should anticipate from you?”
If a pin dropped from anywhere in the room, I expect they’d be able to hear it in the hallway.
Elle tucks her hair behind her ears. “Well, my roommate’s printer wasn’t working.”
“There are three libraries on campus. Not to mention an administration building and a plethora of student services. You could have asked anyone.”
