“Nah. If there’s another assignment, you can just talk to me right here instead of chasing me down,” he says magnanimously.
He looks innocent, but I don’t buy it. Not after blowing me off on the polo field. Why would he change all of a sudden?
Professor Taylor walks in. He’s in a white dress shirt and black slacks that fit too tightly around his hips. They aren’t flattering—his ass is as flat as a year-old balloon.
His pale blue eyes skim the audience, then flare with shock at the sight of Grant. He falters for a second, then frowns when he notices me, like somehow I’m the cause of whatever’s bugging him.
“Today we are going to review some of the more interesting papers I received,” he starts. “Sadie and Bronte, why don’t you start?”
They clear their throats and tinker away on their laptops. Sadie starts on the impact of flamenco on other cultures and dances. She reads about half the paper out loud, then Bronte handles the rest. They don’t do much to hide the fact that they’re bored reading it.
But Professor Taylor beams proudly like they just recited theOdysseyin the original Greek. He gives us a long and unnecessary rewording of their paper, and makes us watch a few clips of flamenco dancers. Then he looks around the class with a huge grin. “The tango would be an excellent follow-up, since it’s been influenced by flamenco. And the paper done by Grant and Aspen is particularly insightful.”
Huh. So now he remembers my name.
I pull up the paper I wrote on my tablet so I can read it out loud.
“For this particular subject, it’d be more interesting to have the dance demonstrated by someone who seems knowledgeable.” Instead of moving toward the control for the huge screen behind him, he takes a step forward and extends a hand toward me. “Come on up.”
“Me?” I squeak. I steal a quick look at Grant, but he seems uninterested. He’s probably daydreaming about horses. And hitting a ball.
“Yes. You did the paper, so I assume you know how to tango.” Professor Taylor cocks a supercilious eyebrow.
I start to stand. So does Grant.
Professor Taylor waves him down. “No need, Grant. Aspen and I will do it together.”
Ugh. So annoying that he’s speaking like he’s doing Grant some huge favor. I’m certain the professor expects me to make a fool out of myself.Asshole.
Grant frowns a little, but sits down.
Everyone’s eyes are on me now. I walk stiffly to the stage, then stand next to Professor Taylor. He gestures animatedly, his fingers and arms flying everywhere. “The one we’re about to demonstrate is an Argentinian tango.” He drones on for a bit, reading directly from the paper thatIwrote.
Why can’t he just stick to the paper, rather than have a demonstration?I’m not dressed properly. I’m in sneakers, and they’re the worst because of excessive traction. If I’d known, I would’ve put on a loose knee-length skirt and strappy heels suitable for smooth gliding and turning.
“Now, Aspen. Get ready.”
Professor Taylor fiddles with his phone, pairing it with the Bluetooth speakers in the class.
He extends a hand, and I place mine on it. His palm is slightly sweaty and unpleasant to the touch, but I keep my expression neutral. He might be just nervous. He puts the other hand at the small of my back. My whole body tenses. Something about his touch makes my skin crawl. His gaze doesn’t help because he’s staring down at me like I’m a bug he’s dying to crush.
I exhale. Most tango music doesn’t last longer than three minutes or so. I can put up with him and his stare for that long.
The familiar strains of “La cumparsita” start. I keep my eyes on him, waiting for some signal that he’s about to start.
Suddenly, he yanks me hard to the side as he takes his steps. I catch myself and follow along. Abruptly, he changes direction, without any sign that he’s going to do so. He doesn’t seem to understand that leading doesn’t mean yanking me around. My guess is that he took maybe one or two tango classes a long time ago. If he didn’t quit because he decided he was too awesome, he probably got kicked out for being a dick partner, just like Barry in my grandparents’ class.
When I nearly stumble for the third time, Professor Taylor stops and lets me go, pushing me away like I’m a piece of trash. Irritation burns through me. What an ass. Who the hell dances like this?
Professor Taylor looks out toward the other students, “Aspen writes well enough but obviously hasn’t learned how to follow a tango lead properly. Unfortunate, because it is a beautiful and elegant dance when done correctly.”
Giggles and snickers come from the students. Sadie in particular seems to be enjoying herself.
Humiliation burns my cheeks. I open my mouth to tell him that I was taught by my grandparents, who’ve won several tango competitions. But Grant stands up first.
“She probably needs a better partner,” he says to Professor Taylor. “Why don’t you let me try?”
“That won’t be necessary, although I admire your desire to defend your project partner,” Professor Taylor says. “We wouldn’t want to impose on you that way.” He winks at Grant like they’re in this together.
