As if she can sense my stare, she lifts her gaze, meeting my eyes. A smirk forms around the pen, and she sits up a little straighter in her chair.
Christ. It’s pathetic the things I’d beg her to do to me if we were alone right now.
Breaking her stare, I lift my wrist and check the time on my watch.
“Thoughts on options for the final?” I ask, drawing the students from their studies. “From the list of choices, what are we thinking?”
“You gave us a list of Shakespeare plays to choose from,” Lexington drawls from the second row. “Isn’t that kind of limiting?”
“Anyone have an opinion on what play they’d like to do from the list and not an opinion on how I’m running my class?”
Meg adjusts a brake on her wheelchair, raising her free hand. “He has a point, Professor. Why vote when it’s clear you just want us to doHamlet?”
“Which is, like, the most clichéd of all plays,” Lexington adds.
“Cliché has purpose,” I remind them, glancing at the options written on the chalkboard. “It’s not always a bad thing. And accessibility goes a long way with audiences. Need I remind you all that the theater department runs on donations and ticket sales, and our ability to continue next semester relies heavily onhow well the play does? Your average Fury Hill citizen knowsHamlet. They enjoy the existentialism, the court drama, and yes—the familiarity.”
“Doesn’t make it any less mundane for us,” someone grumbles.
I know that grumble though.
My eyes fall on Elle. She doesn’t even flinch.
“All right.” I fold my arms over my chest. “What production would you suggest then, Ms. Anderson? For a group of students who spend half their time onstage waffling in and out of character and seem mostly undriven by the prospect of the spotlight. I can’t be sure these are the same students who auditioned for a spot in this class.”
“Sartre’sNo Exit. MaybeVera; or, The Nihilistsby Wilde.”
I try to stifle my surprise at how readily she had an answer. For some reason, I keep forgetting that she’s not as much a novice as her peers. “Equally as existential asHamlet, I’d argue. No less mundane in that regard.”
“Sure, but it’s fresh. By the time they get to college, every theater kid’s done Shakespeare a dozen times. Nothing wrong with that, of course. He’s popular for a reason. But since this course is mostly theater kids or a variant of them, why not mix it up, have us explore new themes and soliloquies? I bet the audience would love it too.”
Pursing my lips, I nod, considering this. “You may have a point, but either of those would require permission from Avernia’s board of trustees as well as procurements for scripts and extended costume budgets. I’m not sure we have the time to wait. The plays are already slotted in for performances at the old campus theater.”
Elle rolls her eyes. “Then did you even need to ask?”
“If everything we did in life was relegated to necessity, the human experience would be boring.” I clasp my hands together,clear my throat, and return my attention to the rest of the students. “Class dismissed.”
They begin packing up, a hushed chatter falling among them. I catch snippets of their conversations—worries about midterms, ghost sightings in Erebus Hall—and even manage to absorb Elle’s interactions with the group she’s become quite friendly with.
“—the observatory is always closed by the evening,” Percy tells her, leaning his elbows on the chair in front of him. “Which, yes, seems like a dumb rule considering you can’t really see stars except at night.”
“Most of Avernia’s rules are dumb and arbitrary,” Meg says. “That’s, like, a thing with higher education. I think it’s meant to distract from the actual discriminatory policies.”
“Maybe they’re trying to protect us from something shady,” Elle jokes, smirking even as she says it—though I swear there’s an edge to her tone, something sharp in the way she glances at the three of them, like she’s waiting for some sort of confirmation.
“Nah,” Lexington replies, shaking his head. “The only thing the school wants to protect us from is the Anderson curse, and I don’t know if the observatory is a target.”
“The Anderson curse?” Elle asks. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“That’s what we’vebeencalling it, babe,” he says, leaning forward to poke her cheek.
My nostrils flare as I watch the interaction happening in my peripheral vision. Swallowing, I dare to turn their way, feigning nonchalance.
Lexington’s staring right at me.
A small grin pulls at his features, and he slowly drops his hand.
Fucker.
