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A couple girls in the room let out shrieks of terror and I nearly peed my panties as I whirled around to face the threat. I expected to see some terrorist toting a lethal-looking weapon or something equally dramatic. But what stumbled into the room was worse.
So. Much. Worse.
Clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them, an unshaven Noel Gamble sent me a huge, sloppy grin as he tripped toward an open seat in the front row.
“Sorry I’m late, Professor.” He slurred his words badly, and the scent of a brewery punctuated the air as he passed me to collapse into his chair. “I slept in.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, holding them an inch apart, “jus’ a lil’ bit.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. “You’re drunk,” I spat, appalled, stupefied, and frankly scared out of my mind.
Dear God, this was going to end badly. Panic gripped me, but I managed to keep it cool as I glared daggers at the man tearing my chest open in the front row.
“Shh.” He smashed his index finger against his own mouth. “I won’t tell if you don’t. It could be our lil’ secret.”
As people in the class around him tittered, having no clue what he really meant, I blanched. I could kill him for this.
Noel glanced at the girl to his right who was still giggling, and his grin widened, encouraged. “Hey, you’re kind of cute. Have we had sex before?”
Damn it. I was going to kill him. Right here and now.
When the girl blushed, giggled some more, and told him no, he set his hand over his heart, tsking. “Now, tha’s a damn shame. We should toe’ly hook up.” Then he glanced at me, his gaze mocking. “Tha’ okay with you...Dr. Kavanagh?”
That’s it. This was more than I could take. “Mr. Gamble,” I shouted, unable to control my rage. My hand shook as I pointed toward the exit. “Get out of my classroom. Right. Now.”
His drunken grin died and glassy eyes narrowed. “But I’m here to learn, Professor. So jus’ go ahead and teach us somethin’ useful. Like...like maybe about that Hemingway guy.” Eyebrows furrowed in thought, he shook his head. “No. Tha’s not right. Hemingway? Hathaway? Hawthorne!” He snapped his fingers, or at least tried to. “Yeah. Hawthorne. Why don’t you talk about his red-letter book some more, or whatever it’s called. I think I could relate to some of those fucked up characters.”
Jaw clenched, I bit out, “You don’t even take this class. Now leave.”
His smile was bitter and his laugh even harsher. “Wow, you really get off on coming up with new ways to get rid of me, don’t you?”
When I met his gaze, a vulnerable pain glinted from his eyes, nearly killing me. I needed him gone before I broke completely, shattering into a million pieces.
“Mr. Hamilton,” I called frantically, my lashes beating like hummingbird wings to hold back the tears. Scanning the room, I searched the sea of faces for his friend I knew who took this course. “Could you please escort your teammate from my room?”
“Quinn?” Noel whipped around until he saw the other guy stand up and start toward him. “Hey, Ham!” he cheered, pushing to his feet to greet his pal with a pat on the back. “I didn’t know you took this class too, bud. Why don’t you go sit back down?” He waved Quinn away. “I’m good here. I got this.”
“Come on, Noel,” Quinn said somberly.
“But I’m here to learn some literature.” When Noel resisted and tried to pull his arm out of Quinn’s grip, a couple more bulky, football-player-looking guys leapt from their seats to assist.
This time, when three guys lifted him into the air, he just smiled and pointed at the girl he’d hit on. “Hey guys, have you met my new friend here?” he asked his fellow football players. “We haven’t had sex yet but I’m sure we will.” Glancing at her over Quinn’s shoulder, he mimed a phone and pressed it to his ear. “Call me.”
I fisted my hands down at my sides, holding my breath. At the last second before his teammates propelled him from the room, he reached out and grabbed the doorjamb, like a cat refusing to go into its carrier.
“Wait!” He struggled against the players until his gaze met mine. “I came to say something to you.” Emotions boiled from the depths of his intense gaze.
My stomach knotted.
“Fuck you,” he said, gritting his teeth as if he meant every letter of those two words with everything he had. “Fuck you for being a coward and giving up. Fuck you to hell, Dr. Kavanagh.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket, wadded it into a ball and threw it toward me. I watched it land on the ground and knew I didn’t what to know what it said.
When the door shut, silence fell over the lecture hall. Pressing my hand to my abdomen, I turned to face my students. I’d never seen so many people so adamant to hear what I had to say next.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. Clearing my throat, I ducked my face and tried again. “Sorry for the interruption. You may be excused now.”
For a breath, no one moved. Then I lifted my eyebrows, and they suddenly couldn’t leave fast enough.
One girl was even nice enough to bend down and fetch my note for me. I took it with a stone-faced nod and curled it into my fist. After the place cleared out, I packed my briefcase and walked to my office before shutting myself inside alone. I collapsed into my chair and sat there another five minutes before I opened my hand to read the note crumpled inside.
It was another quote for my board: “You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love the best in the world.”- S.E. Hinton (from That Was Then, This is Now)
