CHAPTER 4
Nate
After I settled into the office, I surged around the corner to Mara’s shared room, making my footsteps loud, so that she would know I was coming. I carried a stack of over three hundred essays from the first week of class, from both sections of my lectures on Las Vegas literature.
Coming to the Afterglow’s event to find me was an impressive move. The truth was that I was amused that Mara had gone to such great lengths to secure her place in the contest. It showed true drive, a particular kind of spirit. But I wasn’t one to let on such admirations.
Mara didn’t know she was playing a game with fire.
I threw open the door, my eyes immediately falling on Mara. She startled in her seat. Jessica, my current but soon-to-be-ex teacher’s assistant, was in there too. The graduate students turned to gawk at me. It was rare for me to venture into their territory. I locked eyes with Mara.
“I have a few non-negotiable requirements,” I said. Mara’s mouth was agape. I moved forward, her floral, citrus scent floating into my nostrils, making me think of a paradise, taking her away from here. Why was her scent so strong? I dropped the stack of essays on her desk, a loud thud sounding through the cramped space. Some of the papers fluttered to the ground, and the rest of the stack was a complete mess. I hoped, for Mara’s sake, that the students had numbered their sections in their headings. If not, it was going to be a nightmare to organize the stack once she finished grading. Mara’s eyes flittered from the essays to me, back to the loose pages on the ground.
“What—” She pushed the stack an inch forward, towards me. “What’s this?”
“Essays from the first week,” I said.
“But I—”
“If you want to work together for the contest, we must worktogether.” I let that last word linger in the air, staring down at her. “You will join my graduate seminar and take the position of teacher’s assistant for my two undergraduate courses.”
Mara stared at me blankly. Finally, she opened her mouth. “But Jessica—”
“Jessica won’t mind. Will you, Jessica?” I turned towards her swiftly, and Jessica shrugged. Jessica didn’t want to be my teacher’s assistant; she was pining for Dr. Smith’s class. I would help Jessica get it. I turned back to Mara. “You will also deliver a working thesis for the contest, or at the very least, topics of choice, and a thorough list of articles to analyze.”
Her eyes were wide and circular, her mouth open. For a woman that had been vocal from the moment we met, it was deeply satisfying to shock her. It was one thing to strive for your goals, another to actually achieve them. Mara had my commitment to the contest. Now, she would understand what that meant.
“You will sit in the front row of the undergraduate courses,” I said, my eyes boring into hers, “and next to me during the graduate seminar.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
“If we are collaborating, then I need to make sure you’re always up to par.” In reality, I wanted to keep an eye on her, to watch her, to read her for myself. She intrigued me, and I wanted to see if that interest held up. “Be ready for me to test you at any moment.”
Her eyes blinked rapidly, then she said, “The due date for the thesis and the graded papers, Dr. Evans?”
“Tomorrow by noon.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
I left the room and waited outside, listening to their discussion.
“You...want me to help you with that?” Jessica asked.
After a few moments, Mara answered, “No. It’s my job.”
“Well, let me print out the grading scale, at least. Hold on.”
It was a good response from Mara, my new student, my protégé. Taking responsibility for the tasks assigned to her. I returned to my office, content with the encounter.
My intention had been to jolt her, to make her concerned. To show her that any rumors she may have heard—that I expected a great deal more than other professors, that I was hard to work with—were true. She needed to question her decision, to make sure that she was in this partnership completely. I didn’t take breaking my rule of refusing to participate in the contest lightly; neither should she. We had until Wednesday to submit the proper interest forms, and because of that, she had time to back out. And even then, after the Intent to Submit form was in the right hands, we could always withdraw our entry later in the semester.
As for me, it was inevitable that I did the contest with some unlucky soul. It might as well be with someone I found intriguing, someone like Mara. And in the meantime, I would get some use out of her.
I scanned the books on the shelf, hunting for the topics I would find interesting for a collaborative essay. My fingers hovered over my own copy ofThe Rising Illusion, though my copy was completely weathered compared to Mara’s: the corner of the cover ripped, several pages dog-eared and notes sticking out from the side. It wasn’t my favorite of Berkley’s books, but it was one I had read quite often. I pulled outThe Death of Power: A Meditation on the Actual, the Ideal, and the Fantasy, which was my favorite, and flipped through some passages. Had Mara ever readThe Death of Power? It was older thanThe Rising Illusion, but it was still relevant in the world of humanities.
By noon, I had finished re-reading the assigned texts for my class load, and was about to upload essay prompts for the undergraduates, when a knock sounded on my door.
