His shoulder blades are sharp as he scrubs the board, ruffling the material of his forest-green button-down. I shift in my seat and retrieve a pencil from my bag, nibbling on the eraser to stopmyself from imagining what his bare muscles would look like, especially glistening with a sheen of sweat.
My eyes track the movement of his jaw when he rolls the orange fruit, the accompanying slurp as he devours it making my stomach twist.
After a moment, he finishes, tossing the pit into a nearby trash bin.
“Shakespeare’s earliest published work,” he calls out to the class, notating the playwright’s name on the board. “Who knows it?”
A few students titter, and then a hand goes up near him. “‘The Rape of Lucrece.’”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms and slumping down in my seat.
Sutton scribbles the title beneath Shakespeare’s name. “And his first printed play was?—”
“Um.” I shove my hand into the air, sitting straighter when he continues. He doesn’t call on me, so I clear my throat and speak over him. “‘Venus and Adonis’ is technically even earlier than Lucrece, though admittedly not by much.”
Sutton—Professor Dupont—eyes me, his face devoid of expression. “That was no longer the question, Miss…”
He waits for me to fill in the blank as if he doesn’t know my name. Dozens of gazes turn toward me, their stares amplifying the spotlight my body so often craves.
Normally not in such a contentious way, but I’m flexible.
I will not be humiliated again.
Defiance sizzles against the surface of my skin. “That may not have been the question, but I think it’s odd you’d allow an incorrect answer to embed in your students’ minds, Professor.”
“Perhaps letting misinformation marinate is a way to help them differentiate between fact and fiction later.”
“Sure, but how many of us are going to be thinking about Shakespeare later?”
“Well, this is an acting class,” he notes. “I’d hope you think about him a little. Especially since we’ll likely do him at some point.”
“Okay, but who’s going to be thinking about you later?” I continue, unable to stop myself. Someone snickers, and I clear my throat, amending my statement. “Your class, I mean.”
“I’d imagine the students who did their due diligence in order to earn a spot on my roster, versus the girl who apparently thinks her last name gives her a pass to do and say as she pleases.”
Whispers erupt across the auditorium, and a furious blush fans my face. His remains expressionless, but I can tell by the vein pulsing in his forehead that I’m getting under his skin.
I smother a grin. He makes it too easy. “So you do remember my name then?”
Silence falls over us like a blanket of snow.
Sutton stares at me for a severe stretch of time, his intense perusal almost enough to make me squirm in my chair. But I keep my feet on the floor and my eyes on his, refusing to give in.
He can despise me all he wants. Controlling my emotions, though, is out of the question.
Never again.
“Andscene,” Sutton suddenly announces, pulling two fingers together in a downward motion before his face. The students blink, looking at one another, as he finally rips his gaze from mine. “Your first lesson on stage acting—the ability to switch in and out of character at the snap of the director’s fingers will be paramount to your success as a live actor. Distractions abound, and as Ms. Anderson has demonstrated, sometimes nuisances can grow quite cumbersome. It’s important you remain in character, no matter what, until cut is called.”
Annoyance bubbles in my veins. I grip the armrests of my chair, grinding my teeth together while he uses the outburst as a segue into his lesson.
“Here I thought you weren’t prepared,” Meg whispers, turning to a fresh page in her notebook. “But you’re literally part of his teaching plan.”
My shoulders slump, but I give her a grin anyway.
At least he didn’t kick me out this time.
12
