Since he really wants to talk and I’ve got a minute to spare, I’ll drop by his office and dangle “Twenty-Seven” in front of him again. Or mention that my mom is very interested in his class—she isn’t. She only knows I’m taking it because the subject came up once last fall. But I don’t feel bad about using what I have to get what I want. It’s Taylor’s own fault for not treating his students equally. The kind of bullshit I pull with him wouldn’t work with someone like Professor Pettit, who teaches Corporate Finance.
I walk over to Taylor’s office. The famous chorus from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is blaring through the open door.
Eyes closed, Taylor is leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk. He strokes his mustache, and the blissful expression on his face is more fitting to a man masturbating than listening to Beethoven. He’s waving his index finger like a conductor’s baton. Sadly, he’s off-beat.
There’s another reason I quit going to his class, other than the guaranteed A. I don’t want to see his slimy face with a bad nose job. I mean, no nose could look that ugly naturally. He must’ve found a plastic surgeon offering a fifty-percent-off coupon.
“You wanted to talk?” I say, walking into his office and closing the door behind me.
His eyes fly open, and he puts his feet down flat on the floor and immediately straightens his posture. “Grant! Of course, of course. Good of you to come by.” He gestures at one of the chairs with a grin so big, it makes him look like the Joker. “Please. Have a seat.”
“Thanks. Hopefully, this’ll be short. I have to get to polo practice.” A lie. I just don’t want to talk to him more than is absolutely necessary.
“Of course not. I know your time’s valuable.” He leans forward, his eyes overeager. “Before we start, I want you to know that I was quite impressed with the paper you did. Exceptional work. Your insight on the tango’s impact on Latin America is quite insightful. Truly excellent.”
He thinks I wrote the paper?
He continues, “I wanted to tell you in person. When I was assigning topics to students, my gut told me you were the person for the tango.”
I smile to hide my distaste at his toadying. I’m saving it for the class evaluation at the end of the semester. “My name wasn’t on the paper, was it?”
“Of course it was.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
Taylor laughs. “Of course! I saw it myself.”
“Did you compliment Aspen on the paper, too?”
“Oh, please.” He laughs. “Generosity and team spirit are sterling qualities in a young man such as yourself, but there’s no need to praise her for typing up what you dictated, unless you want to give her credit for no typos. She’s lucky she got an A+ just for working with you. It’s not as though someone from her background knows anything about culture or music.”
This guy’s crossing the line. And his general snobbishness is irritating. So what if Aspen isn’t rich? That doesn’t mean she’s stupid. “Actually, I didn’t do anything for that paper. She did all of it.”
“Grant, you’re simply too kind. I’m sure all she did was ask endless questions. She’s good at that, you know,” he says. “Clearly considers herself a brilliant thinker, challenging authority and all that, when what shereallyis is an annoying know-it-all.”
My esteem for him drops even lower, if that’s possible. “She never got to ask me anything, since I didn’t show.”
“Smart of you!” He beams. “It would’ve been a waste of your time otherwise.”
The idiot isn’t listening. He’s almost as bad as my dad’s assistant, Joey. “I deserve a zero on the paper.”
Taylor laughs it off. “Nonsense. It’s group work, so everyone gets the same grade.”
“Not when one person did nothing.”
“Your nameison the paper. She put it after hers, as if that would make me think she did more of the work.” He laughs.
Sudden disappointment settles over me. Aspen probably found out about who my parents are and freaked out, thinking she made a mistake in calling me irresponsible, an idiot and an asshole. This is probably her way to making up for that transgression.
She’s just like everyone else.That shouldn’t bother me, but for some reason it does. “Well,” I say with a sigh. “Her name is on the paper too, so she should get the same praise.”
“I don’t know why you’re bothered by this. Wait… Did she complain?” His tone says,How dare she!
“No. I just want to set the record straight. I thought you would understand and appreciate that. Don’t you care about fairness?” Why do I care so much about him treating Aspen better? I’ve never given a damn about fairness before. Life’s supposed to be unfair—you can never have everything you want.
“Of course.” He inhales, with all the patience in the world. He looks at me fondly, like an adult might at a child too innocent to know any better. “Grant, I appreciate your honesty. As a matter of fact, I’m giving you extra credit for this.”
“Are you not listening? The extra credit you’re about to give me should really go to Aspen.”
