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It felt as if Allison’s chair dropped out from under her. “Impossible. You’re my brain twin. My better half. You get what this”—Allison gestured toward her body—“is like.” Before meeting Sophie, Allison had never had anyone in her life who understood being plus-sizedbesides her mom. Having a friend truly share your lived experience was a gift. It made the world a hell of a lot less lonely.
“Still. They know all those million-dollar words that come out of your mouth. And they love books the way that you do and have read the same stuff.” Sophie held up a hand to quiet her protestations. “And even if that wasn’t the case, you can’t begrudge me a life and a career because you’re afraid of change. Providence is not a fashion town. I can’t get a proper internship here. I need to go to trade shows. I might need to take a job somewhere else. That has to be okay. I can’t fuck up my future because I’m afraid to hurt your feelings.” Sophie pushed to her feet and stooped to give Monty a pat on the head. “Especially if you’re going to hide things from me.”
The words hit Allison hard. “I wasn’t,” she lied. It was too natural a reflex these days. “I won’t. Not anymore.”
As Sophie eased into the hallway, a sad smile tipped over her face. “I just don’t understand why you’d do this to yourself again. That’s all. There’s so much more at stake.”
She was gone before Allison could respond.
Chapter 27
Allison scanned Wendy’s email for the fifth time since she’d sat down, as if the words might have rearranged themselves in her absence.
She’d been doing the same thing over and over since the email had arrived the previous afternoon.
Their professor had scheduled their big presentations for British Literature’s Greatest Hits. In three weeks, Allison would have to prove to Wendy, the class, Colin, and—most importantly, herself—that she could present a lecture and engage students.
Murmurs drifted toward her from the hall’s stadium seating, a reminder that she had an audience. She set her phone down and schooled her face into a neutral expression.
At least she was going second. That would give her an extra weekend to prepare. And the chance to make adjustments to her own presentation based on how well Colin’s went.
She had the upper hand. She’d be fine. Great, even.
When they’d been on the phone last night, Allison had made sure Colin felt that confidence. “I’m going to totally out-lecture you,” she’d insisted. The laugh he barked through the phone had caused Allison’s ears to ring.
Then, with a voice sultry and warm like a good cup of cocoa, he’dwhispered, “I guess we’ll have to see.” The soft click as he’d hung up had coaxed a shiver through her.
If he was trying to use the fact that they were hooking up to throw Allison off balance, it was working. She’d spent a good hour afterward dogged by sleep as she tried to chase off the mental image of Colin leaning languidly against his bedroom wall as he whispered into the phone.
Damn him.
Shaking her head, Allison watched the clock tick over from 10:55 to 10:56. At the front of the room, Wendy’s podium still stood empty. Colin’s chair beside Allison remained so as well.
Where were they?Like a reflex, she began churning out scenarios involving Colin and Wendy bonding without her. She wrung her hands beneath the table. Clearly, this whole dating-while-rivals thing would be a thorny briar patch to navigate.
Eyes fell upon her as the students waited, expectant, some of them with bags in their laps, ready to jet. Cole had put his coat back on.
Maybe Allison should dismiss them. That would be the best way to avoid a black-plague-ravages-medieval-Europe-level disaster. What was she going to do with a room full of sixty students when she couldn’t teach fifteen? And she didn’t have any material prepared.
10:59.
She cleared her throat, ready to set them free. They’d probably like her better for it. And what were student evaluations, if not a popularity contest? Even as the biggest of overachievers, who had always been deeply invested in her own education, Allison used to give higher scores to the professors she found funny or nice, regardless of whether they challenged her or helped her learn.
That settled it. Free period for everyone.
As she pushed to her feet, a few strokes of her handwriting from her open notebook caught her gaze. She’d filled pages with ideas about “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” (their reading for the day) and its potential feminism. The sparkles from the purple gel pen (Allison believeddeeply that girliness had its own sense of power and was not mutually exclusive from feminism) winked at her under the fluorescent lights.
She might not have a prepared lecture, but she had plenty to say. And, in its most literal sense, as a teaching assistant, her job was to assist with the teaching. What was more assisting than taking over the class if Professor Frances couldn’t be here? It would be a disservice to herself and the students to take the easy way out.
Straightening her shoulders, she did her best to act like the empty dais was not a surprise. “Okay. Well, um, everyone, take out your anthologies and spend a few minutes reviewing the reading for today. Find, like, five lines you think are significant.” That would buy her a few minutes to gather her thoughts.
Her anthology hit the table with athudshe hoped sounded imposing, and not like it had slipped from her trembling hands.
One of the most interesting things about “The Wife of Bath’s Tale” was the way in which they spoke to each other around the idea of women and knowledge. Allison could focus on that and, maybe, pull in “The Tale of Melibee” as a contrast. “Melibee” wasn’t an assigned text, but that meant Allison could teach the students something new. Maybe Wendy would be impressed.
There. She had a plan. Swallowing back the bile clawing its way up her stomach, she prepared to address the class.You can do this,she told herself.You WILL do this.
She never got the chance to find out if that was true.
