His wide grin makes me squirm, as do the dozens of eyes on me.I fiddle with my rings, sliding my finger over my mood ring.
“This isn’t high school.”Words I meant only for my inner monologue slip out and find the mic.
I clear my throat again, in and out, and consider my work with Dr.Broderick, how she stresses empowerment and finding my voice when I’m mistreated.“This isn’t high school… and immature remarks like that won’t be tolerated.Your name?”
He looks confused.“Brent Thomas.”
“Mr.Thomas, I’m removing you from the class, and I will speak to your advisor.You may go.”
The woman in the first row smiles.Someone else claps.He rises, mumbling and huffing and mouthing the wordbitch.But he leaves.
Then, there were twenty-four.
“Anyone else care to offer commentary about my father or my appearance?”
Silence.
“Good.I trust that you have accessed the syllabus online and downloaded the materials,” I say.“Let’s begin with Dr.Blake’s notes in part one.”
My fingers shake as I move my cursor and prompt the material, which I read aloud, verbatim.By the time my phone chimes to indicate the class is over, nearly three hours later, I’ve read through three sections of materials, and four students are asleep.
Someone in the back row raises their hand.
“Yes?”
“So, is this how the class is going to be?You reading notes?”
“Um, well…” My voice trails off as the other students peer forward as if they have the same question.I should have elaborated with anecdotes or spoken on some of my research projects, but following the words on the screen kept me from racing out of here.Each sentence marked another moment closer to the end of class, and that was my goal—to make it to the end.
“I don’t know.”
“Is attendance mandatory?”someone calls out.
No one moves, awaiting my answer.I don’t know what to say.I didn’t take attendance at the start of class, as perhaps I should have.Making anything mandatory sounds brutal, reminding me of my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs.Harlow, who forced me to sit up front and take dictation of her lectures, word for word, even though I already knew the material.“To keep you quiet,”she said.My fingers would cramp after every class.
“No, nothing is mandatory,” I say.
Everyone rises, and the room empties.In the quiet, I rest my head against the podium, knowing that I’ve failed to make a good impression.
But I stayed.
At noon, I exit the building, grateful for the sun on my face.I’m exhausted and irritated with myself.I’ve ridiculed so many teachers for being boring and failing to engage me.The last few hours have turned me into a hypocrite.
I slump and sigh.Tomorrow I’ll have to do it all over again.It’s going to be an intolerably long summer.
Looking up, I see Henry spilling out of the library across the green.He shoves a book in his messenger bag, adjusts his glasses, and heads toward the food court, exactly where I was going.
I imagine sharing a table with him and discussing our classes—he suggested resuming our friendship.Perhaps he’d share some teaching techniques to help me do a better job tomorrow.I step in his direction, relieved at the idea, but then stop abruptly when I recall his awkwardness and anxiety over my interaction with Olly.
Henry doesn’t want me in his life.His suggestion of friendship was just Henry being Henry, a good guy who doesn’t do one-night stands and eases his conscience by throwing words likefriendsaround.
Hungry and alone, I retreat to my father’s office.As expected, no one visits during office hours.
At home, I scarf down whatever I find quickly in the fridge—pickles, cheese slices, and a bunch of grapes.I lean against the sink, nibbling as I hold Christie’s paperback close to my nose.The princess is imprisoned in a high tower “for her own protection” against the angry coven of witches determined to destroy her and ruin her plans to marry the warlock.She doesn’t want to marry him either, but considers it her duty.The pirate who accidentally saved her once has set out to save her again, this time on purpose.He climbs up a rope fifty yards to reach the tower window—an impressive feat.She plays coy.“You’re a rogue!”she whisper-yells when she could easily raise the alarm.She secretly hoped he’d show and save her from the life she knows she doesn’t want, but feels she must accept.
I wonder if that’s all that romance truly is—a bond that counters reason.
But I reserve judgment until I achieve a larger sampling of novels.
