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ChapterFive
Emelia
Professor Barclay’s office is housed in Reed Hall in the center of campus. The historic white brick building is just off the Green, and the sprawling lawn is packed with people enjoying the afternoon. Frisbees are being tossed, lunches are being unpacked, peals of laughter taunt me as I continue my trek toward my demise. To make matters worse, it’s a beautiful autumn day. The temperature is hovering in the low 70s, and all I want to do is go to my favorite bench, take out a good book, and sunbathe like the rest of the students around me.
Unfortunately, I have a meeting to attend.
“It won’t be that bad,” Sonya assures me, trying a smile on for size.
When she sees my face, she lets her smile fall.
We’ve taken our time getting here. We stalled back at class. Packed up slowly. Used the bathroom. Dawdled. Even still, I couldn’t come up with any way of getting out of this.
Professor Barclay’s office is on the first floor of the building. Sonya and I walk through the hallway slowly, and I let her take the lead. Shockingly, she’s quiet—a rare occurrence for Sonya. She’s already apologized profusely, and already my annoyance with her is dwindling. To her, this was all one big joke, the teasing, the photo, all of it. She didn’t mean any harm, and that’s what I’ll tell Professor Barclay.
When we arrive at his closed door, we knock, but no one answers. I assumed with all of our stalling, he would have beat us here, but his office is empty. There’s a wooden chair—like the one I sit on in class—beside his door. I wave Sonya toward it and lean against the wall.
Voices carry from down the hall, but we don’t utter a single word.
A door opens, and I hear confident, bold steps making their way toward us. My ears perk up, but I can’t bring myself to lift my gaze. If it’s him, I’ll know it soon enough. If it’s not, well, lucky me.
The person approaches, and I catch sight of a pair of tailored gray slacks and nice brown leather oxfords. His cologne is subtle and intoxicating…a warning.
“I’ll speak with you two separately. Ms. Mercier, wait out here.”
Sonya stands and follows him inside, and I only look up after I’ve taken the seat Sonya’s just vacated.
Somewhere, a clock ticks.
My palms sweat.
My stomach ties itself into a tighter knot.
I hear the faint murmur of their conversation but no clear words. At least he’s not shouting at her, I suppose, though to be fair, he doesn’t seem the type.
What kind of punishment is he doling out, I wonder, and will mine be the same?
It feels like I sit outside his office for hours wringing my hands before that door finally opens and Sonya steps past me. I know better than to try to speak with her. Professor Barclay is at her heels, holding the door open and waiting for me.
I stand quickly, duck my head, and brush past him. When his door shuts behind me, a shiver runs down my spine. I’ve trapped myself in a room with a monster.
“I assume you know why I asked to speak with you today,” he says, and I finally turn back to look at him.
He’s no monster, I’m reminded. He’s just a man with short brown hair, astute eyes, and large hands with veins that protrude in that lovely masculine way. A man who looks deeply annoyed to have me here in his private office.
He seems younger in this setting, more tangibly human.
I wish I hated his lectures. I wish he droned on endlessly in a monotone voice we could all barely stay awake for, but no—I sit in that auditorium enraptured by him.
Already, I’m working ahead in his class, reading multiple weeks’ assignments and trying to keep pace with him. I want to learn everything I can from him. I want to impress myself—and him.
“The picture,” I finally say, choosing to keep my reply succinct lest my mouth gets me into more trouble.
Disappointment clouds his features. What a shame that it’s all I seem to draw out of him: disappointment, annoyance, anger. It’s probably better though. Would I survive a smile?
He rubs his temple as he gives me a wide berth, moving to take a seat behind his desk.
I pivot and turn to face him, hands wrapped around my stomach.
