by Bella Grant
Theodore gave up. After scanning the class for an active brain—anyone who wasn’t staring determinedly at the wood grain on the table to avoid his eyes—Theodore looked at Amelia. While everyone else pretended to be deeply absorbed in their notes, she watched him, her large eyes scrunched a little in the corner, as if she was laughing to herself at the ridiculous spectacle this feigned concentration was.
“Amelia, thoughts?” Theodore asked, smiling to himself at her subtle recognition of the charade that was this class.
“Well,” she said slowly and nervously, as if composing her thoughts, “I think Wordsworth attempts to delineate the initial beauty of the natural world with something larger, something more powerful, something, um… ‘awesome,’ in the original sense of the word. The sublime is a force of nature, and in much of his work there’s an implication of God behind his depiction of this power. Like with the river, in stanza three,” she said, gesturing to the text. She tripped self-consciously over her words at the end and flushed bright pink.
Despite his best efforts, Theodore couldn’t stop staring at her for a moment. Who was this girl? Looking at her intently, he wondered what made her tick. He could see the glow on her face from where he stood at the board, but she kept her eyes locked firmly on the text in front of her, as if she was embarrassed for speaking up.
Theodore noticed that the students sitting around her looked relieved as hell that she had taken one for the team. They used her in every class to get out of doing any of the reading, and ordinarily, he resented that. But it didn’t matter, really, in the short-term. Amelia would go places, and they would not. His underachieving students thought they were gaming the system, but really, it wasn’t his problem. At this point, he was happy to teach the one person who cared. Amelia had the potential and drive to go all the way, and it astonished him.
“Excellent, Amelia,” he said, composing himself. “That’s exactly right. There is a certain ‘God-factor’ in the way Wordsworth depicts the sublime.”
Turning to Dan, who had so obviously dropped the ball, he said, “Would you start reading from line seven?”
After an excruciating two hours, the seminar ended and the students revived themselves enough to escape through the narrow doorway back to their lives of binge-drinking and carousing.
“Just a reminder,” he called from the front of the room, “If you signed up for the extra credit project, we’ll begin on Friday. And if you haven’t signed up, I hope you’re thinking very carefully about your papers, because I won’t be lenient with your grades if you tank the exam and passed up the opportunity to better your grade. Something to keep in mind…” No one listened to him except, of course, Amelia.
When he got home that night, his apartment was dark and filled with boxes that had not yet been unpacked. He’d been living in this place for well over six months, and every time he came home, a sinking feeling hit him. He had too much to do, and he was overwhelmed.
Theodore heated a plate of spaghetti in the microwave and stood at the counter, eating it while he read student papers, trying not to get pasta sauce on them. Occasionally, he’d scribble a note in the margin, generally along the lines of “unclear” or “where is this stated?” or “reference your source material.” God, this was depressing.
When he finished his leftovers, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and flipped through the stack until he found Amelia’s paper. It was longer than the others, not because it had to be, but because she seemed to consider every paper worthy of her full attention and academic prowess. She was the only one in the class who didn’t ask the minimum page count.
Even though it was long, Theodore was never annoyed by this. Reading her work was refreshing, his only beacon of hope lately. He needed to read her work to know that any part of what he said in that class was getting through to someone. Without her, he’d probably give up all together.
When he had mentioned this to David, his fellow professor and only real friend in the department, David had laughed. “You do realize that all those girls in your class only signed up for it because they’re hot for the teacher, right?”
David had found it amusing to watch his dismay as Theodore slowly put two and two together. It dawned on him why his class was filled with ditzy girls who hated Wordsworth, even though they knew it was a Wordsworth seminar.
Amelia was different. She cared, which motivated Theodore just enough, every week, to keep going back. Without her in his class, he might simply lock the door to his office and never come out. He thought about this as he scanned her paper, pulling out the insights into the texts that Theodore himself had not thought of.
Amelia was doing it, Theodore thought to himself. She was engaging in the academic conversation, and it blew him away how smart she was. She was writing grad-level papers as an undergrad, and in comparison to her peers, the difference was remarkable.
He leaned back in his armchair, took another swig from his beer, and tried not to focus on her. But when he closed his eyes, all he could picture was the way she had glanced at him through those long lashes, her big eyes sparkling with questions and thoughts, and her cheeks flushing pink against her long, dark hair. He imagined what it would feel like to run his hand through her silky strands, trying to pick out all the shades of brown woven through it, and graze her warm, flushed cheek with his hand while those shy, lively eyes looked hesitantly into his.
When he grew hard against his khakis, his eyes shot open. What the fuck was he doing, fantasizing about his student? This was madness. This was a one-way ticket to the ethics committee, and he couldn’t afford that. He needed to get himself under control. He needed… He needed to get laid.
It had been too long since Theodore had slept with anyone, but he didn’t have much of a solution. He didn’t know anyone in the area, and there was no one in the faculty whom he found attractive or even interesting. He certainly wasn’t about to troll the bars in town. He groaned and tossed her paper aside, unzipping his pants. He had to take care of this, or else he’d just think about her more.
The thought of kissing her was enough to make him finish, and as he threw away the Kleenex and grabbed another beer from the fridge, he vowed to himself that he would do a better job keeping his boundaries, mental and otherwise. He needed to treat Amelia like any other student.
As soon as he decided this, though, his resolve melted away. Amelia wasn’t just any other student. She was exceptional. Theodore didn’t know what to do with this, or how to reconcile his desire for her with his role as her professor. He felt exhausted and a little ashamed of his activities, and he was too distracted to work. Tossing the stack of papers back on the counter, he downed the beer and headed for bed.
3
On Friday afternoon, Amelia was dismayed to discover that the two girls who had signed up for the volunteer project with her were not in class. She spent the whole two hours of the seminar prior to their meeting glancing at the door, hoping they would come in.
When they didn’t, and the bells chimed the end of class, Amelia wiped her sweaty palms and noticed that her shoes felt too tight. As the students cleared out of the room, she saw Professor Bell waiting for her at the front of the class.
“I guess it’s just the two of us,” he announced, and Amelia thought that he looked a little uncomfortable. “I’m not sure where the other girls are, but it looks like they’re not committed to… um, changing the world?” He attempted a laugh, and she smiled.
“So, uh, where do we start?” Amelia asked, attempting a professional tone.
“There’s an evening class in here,” Professor Bell considered out loud as he gathered his books. “We could work in my office, if that’s alright with you?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, hoping to seem cool and collected. “I’m good wherever.”
He unlocked the door to his office and held it for her as she entered. “Take a seat anywhere you can find one,” he said, shuffling stacks of paper out of the way. “I think there’s another chair
here somewhere.”
Amelia laughed politely at his mediocre joke and took off her coat.
“So, um, what are we supposed to do for this panel discussion?” she asked. She rubbed her hands nervously on her thigh, and jiggled her foot under the desk. It made her a little uncomfortable, being here alone with him in his office, but Professor Bell had left the door slightly ajar. This was the closest she had been to him. It was the most intimate of their encounters thus far, certainly. Despite her best effort to be focused and cool, Amelia was excited by it. Excited but apprehensive.
Amelia couldn’t let Professor Bell see that she had a crush on him. That would be too embarrassing. Or worse, it might make him feel uncomfortable and adversely affect her desire for a recommendation letter from him.
“We’re trying to build a student panel to discuss effective teaching practices for introductory English classes,” he explained. “To be honest, I’m not sure you’re exactly the right fit for it, since you, uh, well…” Amelia watched as Professor Bell stumbled over his words. “Well, you’re extremely bright, Amelia. Perhaps it comes more easily to you than the others, and the others definitely aren’t as interested in volunteer work. But whether you’re too smart to be of much use discussing the struggles of the average student, you’re who I’ve got to work with, so we’ll stick with the best and the brightest.”
Professor Bell glanced at her and shrugged, giving her a little smile. “It really will look good on your grad school applications,” he said encouragingly.
“So… maybe we should work up an outline?” Amelia suggested, already losing focus on the end goal as she blushed at her professor’s praise. “Is that a good way to go about it?”
“It’s a great way to go about it,” replied Professor Bell, composing himself and focusing on the panel notes in front of him.
Amelia jotted down some thoughts in her notebook, making a list of texts she found helpful as a student and noting areas she struggled with. She paused after a few minutes, lifting her eyes to the ceiling as she mulled a few ideas over, and noticed the water stain that had spread like a Rorschach inkblot test by the light.
When she refocused her attention, she saw Professor Bell looking at her again. It was happening more often, and Amelia wasn’t sure what to make of it. He looked away quickly, and she felt a warm, tingling sensation spread through her stomach as her heart beat a little faster in her chest.
“What made you decide to be an English major?” Professor Bell asked curiously, surprising Amelia as he broke the silence that had swelled between them.
“Oh,” Amelia murmured, caught off guard by the question. “I guess I’ve always taken comfort in books. I… well, my parents died when I was an infant. I grew up in foster care and wherever I ended up, the first thing I did was get a library card. Sometimes, the situation I landed in wasn’t great, so I spent a lot of my childhood reading. It sort of stuck with me, and when I got here, I decided English was what I wanted to do with my life. Books were my family.”
She felt self-conscious about being so forthcoming about her past. She didn’t tell many people she was an orphan, and she hadn’t expected it to come up with her professor. She shifted in her chair, realizing she didn’t regret telling him. She was only surprised by her own admissions.
“I had no idea,” Professor Bell stammered, obviously trying to react correctly.
“It’s okay,” Amelia assured him, feeling a strong desire to put him at ease again. “It just doesn’t come up that often. It’s not a big deal, really. Anyway, I love books. You know, when I first got here I thought about going the Bio-Med route, but my passion won out over making tons of money in a high-stress job.”
“Don’t be fooled.” Professor Bell chuckled, more at ease. “There’s plenty of stress that comes with this job, too.” He gestured around at the stacks of papers heaped on the desk and various bookshelves.
“Right.” Amelia laughed. “Speaking of which, may I ask when we’re going to get our papers back?”
Professor Bell winced at the question, and Amelia felt bad asking it.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I don’t have them all graded just yet. I’m a bit snowed under at the moment. The newer you are here, the less time you have, and the more stuff they want you to take on. It’s like they do it on purpose to see if you’ll break. I just got roped into the faculty senate…”
Amelia was disappointed, and when Professor Bell looked at her, she got the impression that he noticed this. “I did read yours, though,” he told her. “To be honest, I always read yours first.” He looked a little embarrassed as he said this, as if he wasn’t sure if he’d regret it or not. Amelia, however, was extremely pleased, and her face flushed pink at the compliment.
“And?” she asked. “What did you think?”
“I thought it was exceptionally well-written,” he said honestly. “You made a number of salient points. And, more importantly, you really engaged in the academic conversation. I thought your paper was good enough to submit for publication.”
“Really?” she asked, skeptical.
“Really,” he assured her. “I’m talking peer-level writing, not ‘pretty good for a student’ kind of writing.”
He dug through the stack of papers on his desk and pulled hers out. She flipped to the last page automatically and scanned his comments briefly. She noticed he’d written ‘truly impressive’ in the margin and smiled to herself. He watched her read his comments, and she felt slightly embarrassed by his self-consciousness.
Putting the paper in her bag, she suddenly felt the need for a little fresh air. The room was warm—too warm—and it smelled like his aftershave. It smelled like him, her handsome young professor, and the desk between them was an arbitrary division to her. She needed to get away from his delicious smell, his deep, soothing voice, and the hypnotic warm air that filled the room.
“I’ll… um, be right back,” she said, standing abruptly and darting out of the room. She turned left at the end of the hallway and slipped into the ladies’ room. Turning on the faucet, she splashed her face with cold water, dabbed it with paper towels, and leaned against the counter, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
Amelia was surprised to find that she looked a bit wild, her reflection staring back with big, excited eyes. Her mouth was small and wasn’t sure what it was doing with itself, threatening to twitch spasmodically if she didn’t chill out. Her hair had fallen over her shoulder and partially covered her face, but her eyes were two pools of energy radiating back at her. She wondered if this look on her face was what Professor Bell saw, and if he could tell it was only a thinly veiled attraction to him.
She gulped some air, smoothed the long strands out of her face, and tried to look composed as she left the bathroom. She rounded the corner outside his office, not looking or expecting anyone else to be coming her way. She let out a little shriek as they made impact. His hands landed on her shoulders before she looked up and saw his face just inches from hers. He had been walking quickly around the corner, too, and they wobbled a little as they crashed into each other.
He steadied her, holding her upright while she regained her footing. She felt the grip of his hands around her arms and the warmth of his palms radiating through her sweater. He held her tightly a moment longer than he needed to. When she looked up at him, she saw his face studying hers and felt the warmth of his breath on her skin.
“Jesus,” he breathed, obviously startled by their encounter. “Sorry about that. I guess I came plowing around the corner a bit too fast.” He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets. Amelia felt the cold absence of his warmth on her shoulders. “Um, maybe that’s good for tonight,” he suggested anxiously, walking slowly back to his office with her. “We can pick this up again next week.”
He’s flustered, Amelia thought. She wasn’t sure how she felt, but she was certain the wild-eyed look on her face was back. She felt warm, a surge of prickly heat coursing through her body, making every h
air follicle tingle. Her face was burning, partially because she was embarrassed to have almost run him over, and partially because of the way he had looked at her, holding her close for a moment longer than he needed to. What the fuck just happened? she wondered.
“Yeah, next week,” she replied quickly, distracted. She needed to get out of there and into the cold, fall night, with space and quiet and darkness in which to process what the hell had passed between them. She pulled on her coat and gathered her books, and he stood back awkwardly as she left the office.
“Goodnight, Amelia,” he called to her, but she was racing down the hall, suffocating in the hot, empty building.
When Amelia got to the coffee shop for her shift the next morning, she told Frankie what had happened between them. “So you just bailed?” Frankie asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.
“Yeah,” she answered, confused. “What else would I do?”
“Um, like anything,” Frankie shot back. “Professor Sexy Pants almost knocks you over, holds you for way too long... You could have kissed him, but instead you just ran out of there? You’re killing me.” He groaned, wiping down the steaming wand on the espresso machine.
“It wasn’t like that,” Amelia persisted. “Anyway, what the hell was I supposed to do? It was so… uncomfortable.”
“Good uncomfortable or bad uncomfortable?” Frankie inquired, narrowing his eyes.
Amelia thought for a moment as she rinsed the silver pitchers. “Good uncomfortable,” she said finally. “Definitely good.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t stay,” repeated Frankie, shaking his head.
“And do what?” Amelia asked incredulously. “Just take him right there on the desk, scattering papers everywhere, 'oh baby, oh baby?'” She rolled her eyes.
