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Of course, whenever she railed about this to Sophie, Sophie liked to point out that by that logic, Allison should be reading by candlelight and using a chamber pot as well.
Even Allison had her limits.
The marker squealed loudly as she wrote her name on the board, cutting through the students’ murmurs until the room went silent. When she faced them again, twelve sets of eyes were trained on her. (She’d have to put that trick in her back pocket. Teaching Tip #1: Obnoxious noises get students’ attention.)
Heat crept like a colony of ants up the back of Allison’s neck. She cleared her throat once, twice, trying to find her voice. There were so many people, and it was getting stuffy, and there wasn’t a window to open.
Two weeks ago, she’d been sitting at a desk, watching Professor Behi prepare to start their first class. Now Allison was the one on the other side of the table. How was she supposed to do this? She didn’t have any training. And nothing about this moment lined up with the fantasies she’d had in her head. No one was laughing or taking notes. There were no “Aha!” expressions on any of the students’ faces. Mostly they all looked bored. A bunch had started scrolling through their phones.
She wasn’t some bastion of knowledge here to change these kids’ lives. She was a scared twenty-three-year-old who barely understood what it was to be an adult.
No,Allison chastised herself, her hand tightening around her marker.Don’t prove your mom and Sophie right. Show them you can do things that make you uncomfortable.
Clearing her throat one last time, Allison forced herself to speak.
“Hey.”
Four students smiled.
She tried again. “How is everyone?”
Some shrugs. A few grumblings of “fine.” Then silence.
The weight of it pressed down on Allison, but she forced herself to keep going, even if it felt like she was slogging through tar. Making her way around the circular table, she handed a copy of Professor Frances’s recitation policies and a blank piece of construction paper to each student. Once she’d looped back to the front of the room, she asked them to write their names and, if they felt comfortable, their pronouns, on the paper. “So we can make sure we’re addressing each other correctly,” she explained.
Everyone took the exercise seriously except the boy sitting across from her. He stared Allison down, thick arms crossed over his wide chest, a smirk plastered on his face. He’d pushed his name tag forward as if he wanted to make sure she read it.
Name: Babe
Allison summoned every ounce of confidence she could muster and addressed him. “Write your actual name, please.”
“Babe is how I like to be addressed.”
Her teeth grinding together, Allison dug a pen out from her purse and rolled it the length of the conference table. It bumped up against his name plate and came to a stop. “Respecting how people choose to identify is something I take seriously. And I expect everyone else to do the same,” she said.
After what felt like three hours of silent challenge (though, probably, it was closer to a minute and a half), Mitchell, the guy sitting beside “Babe,” grabbed the yellow paper and wrote “Name: Colin Harcourt. Nickname: Cole” across the top.
Of coursehis name was Colin. Allison fought the urge to yell.
Mitchell shook his head at Cole as he set up the paper in front of him. “Don’t be a jackass,” he muttered.
Satisfied (and more grateful to Mitchell than she’d ever admit),Allison turned her attention to the rest of the class. It was a battle not to hold her notes in front of her face and read verbatim from them.
“I really want this to be a space where we can dig into these texts together. I know the language can feel hard, and the structure of the stories is very different from what you see in a modern novel, but once you adjust to these elements, you’ll discover that medieval literature and other older works are weird and fun, and explore a lot of the same questions we’re still asking today. Plus, withoutBeowulfand Chaucer and Sir Thomas Malory, we wouldn’t haveThe Lord of the RingsorGame of Thrones. Old English epics and medieval romance set the groundwork for the whole fantasy genre.”
Her heart tapped out a wild beat in her chest, but this time, it wasn’t due to nerves. For that one moment, Allison felt like an expert, someone who could actually help these students learn about (and, dare she think it, maybe even learn tolike) these texts.
Unfortunately, that was the one shining moment in an otherwise disastrous first day. Over the next two hours, Allison managed to
Call the same student the wrong name three times, even with her name tag in front of her. (Was it Allison’s fault if she lookedexactlylike a girl she’d gone to high school with?)
Offer a set of discussion questions that prompted absolutely no discussion.
Be accused (by Cole, of course) of “spoiling” a thousand-plus-year-old text by mentioning the death of Grendel coming up in their next section of reading.
Trip over her own feet while trying to pace at the front of the room.
Forget her own copy ofBeowulfin her car after lecturing the students for five minutes about making sure they had the book with them.
