Heat was gathering in my cheeks, and I realized I was clenching my fists. Jessica leaned in close to me. “You need to relax,” she whispered. “It’s just a class.”
But that smirk. He was testing me. Pushing me.
Did he want to prove me wrong for the sake of it?
“Sacrifice and denial are two very different acts; wouldn’t you agree, Mara?” Dr. Evans said. I glared at him.
He was trying to get me to go back on my own argument.
“I agree that sacrifice is a deliberate act,” I conceded, “but denial is also a deliberate act in its own way.”
“But this is about submission, Mara. Surrendering to power. Giving up. Itissacrifice. Sacrificing one’s own power for the greater Power. Giving the self to another.” He turned towards me, narrowing his gaze. “Perhaps you missed the fact that there is denial in sacrifice?”
Now he was using my argument against me? Morphing it into his own, as if I hadn’t been saying that this whole time. What were we even talking about here? As I opened my mouth to argue again, Jessica put a hand on my shoulder. “Let it be,” she whispered. Another student cut in, and I let them. Fine. This wasn’t the time or the place to have that kind of argument.
But this wasn’t over yet.
After class, Dr. Evans had a line of students waiting to ask him specific questions, and as I moved to join the line, Jessica stopped me.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret,” she said. I hesitated, turning to watch Dr. Evans pack his belongings. Jessica grabbed my arm and took me through the door, practically pulling me until we were halfway to the student union. Once we were in the clear, she sat on a bench and put on her sunglasses. “Seriously, he’s a dick. He does that with all of his students. No one is right; everyone is wrong, including himself. Come on, this isn’t week one—” She shifted in her seat, then pat the bench space next to her. “You’ve seen him do it before.”
It somehow felt personal though. Did he use the other student’s name, when he belittled them, addressing them directly? Was I reading into it? Or was I completely right, that hewastreating me differently? Did it have to do with our partnership for the contest?
Maybe it felt more personal because I had been under his control once, in a way. His hands touching me, even through the fabric, was intimate. I hadn’t let someone touch me like that before. Spanking me. Teasing me. The light pink tint to my ass had stayed for a few hours after he paddled me, and I had been surprised when it was gone the next morning. I thought for sure it would bruise. And I’ll admit, I was kind of disappointed that it hadn’t. His words echoed in my mind.
Offering is different. This is about submission, Mara. Surrendering to power. Giving up. It is sacrifice. Sacrificing one’s own power for the greater Power.
Why did it feel like he was somehow saying that about me?
“It’s part of why he’s a great teacher,” Jessica said, “Always pushing the limits of our understanding. But it’s also why no one wants to work with him.”
“He did it to piss me off,” I said, shaking my head. “It was petty.”
“And if he did, who cares?” Jessica said. “Take your anger out on him the old fashioned way. Blackmail.” She winked. A flair of heat burst through me and dissipated at the mention of blackmail. That wasn’t what I wanted to do. “By the way, what’s the password for that club again? I promised myself I’d go once I felt better.”
“I’m not sure; I’ll have to ask again,” I lied.
In the steps leading down to an outdoor theater, a guy with shaggy hair was playing a guitar, and two girls had stopped to listen. It seemed so simple to see them indulging like that, but my mind couldn’t help but think of the ways I had seen people indulge at the Afterglow. How they lost themselves in their fantasies…
“Some of us are going to Fremont Street again this weekend. I think I mentioned it a while back,” Jessica interrupted my thoughts. Last time she had asked, I had conveniently not answered Jessica’s text, because the standing dinner date I had with Mom was a convenient excuse to decline the offer. “You could meet the students in other years, and talk with some of the other professors, any of them that make it out. Who knows. Maybe you could find a new partner for the contest.”
I had honestly already looked into how late I could make changes to the partnership. But we had turned in the interest forms a few days earlier, so there was nothing I could do now, except for drop out. I wasn’t going to do that.
“Can’t switch after the Intent to Submit form,” I said.
“Well, maybe you can find someone to TA for next semester,” she said. “The universe knows you and Dr. Evans can’t survive another semester.”
Maybe that was true. But as long as we made it throughthissemester, I didn’t care.
My phone rang and I excused myself, telling Jessica I’d let her know about Fremont Street. I answered the call; it was my mom.
“Hey honey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
Should I unload the awfulness of Dr. Evans on my mom? The infinite amount of grading he shoveled off on me, the way he patronized me using my own argument against me, as if I was the idiot all along? Or should I let it go?
“I’ve got a teacher from hell, but other than that, it’s good.” All true, I guessed. “What about you?”
“One of the other teacher’s called out sick, so I have to chaperone the Back to School Dance. I’ve gotta cancel dinner.”
