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ChapterFour
Emelia
Before Thursday’s class, I replay my conversation with Professor Barclay no less than fifty times in my head. Surely, it wasn’t as bad as I remember it. Surely, my brain is warping the memory and making it worse than it really was.
I show up with a plan to start fresh. I’ll sit right up front, zip my lips, take dutiful notes, and fly completely under his radar. Except, when I arrive a few minutes early, every seat is already full, which is absolutely ridiculous. The registrar wouldn’t overload the class. They know how many students this lecture hall holds.
I scan the room, looking for Sonya, and I find her up in the very front row alongside Annette. She looks back, spots me, and holds up her hands in an apologetic shrug, as if to say,I tried my best.I edge toward the back, trying to carve out some space on the floor or against the wall.
I squeeze by two girls in the corner who seem deeply annoyed to have me near them, but there’s not much else I can do at this point. I drop my bag on the floor and start pulling out my printed lecture slides.
“What class are you skipping for this?” one girl asks her friend.
“I’m supposed to be in o-chem right now, but the professor records his lectures so I’ll just watch it later.”
“Yeah, I have English comp. I think I’m missing a quiz, but who cares.”
Wait what?
I turn toward the girls and speak before I think better of it. “Are you two registered for this class?”
The girl closest to me, a sharp-featured brunette with a smattering of freckles, laughs. “No. We’re just like everyone else.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Half these people aren’t in this class.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shrugs, not the least bit bothered.
“What can I say? It’s aninterestingclass.”
“With a hot professor,” her friend adds under her breath.
They lose it in a fit of laughter while I grind my teeth, annoyed by my luck. It’s nearly impossible to take notes while standing, but if I sit down, I won’t be able to see the front of the lecture hall.
Professor Barclay is already up there, his presentation prepared and projected on the large screen hanging behind him. At precisely ten AM on the dot, he walks to the center of the room and begins his lecture about conservation as it concerns prehistory through the fourteenth century. I scratch down notes as quickly and legibly as I can, cradling my textbook in my arms and using it as a makeshift clipboard.
It’s hard to hear him all the way back here, and worse, everyone who’s not actually registered for this class has no reason to be following along with the lecture like I am. The girls beside me talk in hushed whispers while scrolling through their phones and then eventually start to shamelessly snap photos of Professor Barclay. I glance over and the girl catches me, angling her phone so I can see her caption.
Daddy.
I barely restrain an eye roll, and then I hear my name said from the front of the class.
“Ms. Mercier.”
Dread stops me in my tracks.
No way.
Surely, we are not here again.
Surely, I won’t look away from her phone to find Professor Barclay with his attention on me.
My stomach squeezes into a tight ball of anxiety as I lift my gaze, and sure enough, the entire classroom has shifted around to look back at me, including Professor Barclay.
“Is this going to become a habit?”
