Found in Understanding: Refuge Series Book Three by Debbie Zello (7)

Chapter Seven

Classes began on Monday. I found my way to my first class easily, my map coming in very handy and thankfully accurate. I already missed my high school locker. Carrying all of my books in my old backpack is difficult. To add homework and anything extra that I’d need, it would be a back-breaker. I’d be bent over like I was ninety in no time.

Lunch was a piece of pizza on the run in between calculus and ancient history. Then I walked into my last class. English Literature with Professor Miller and Mr. Kane.

I found an empty seat halfway up the lecture hall. There were at least one hundred seats so this would be a large class. There wouldn’t be much interaction, just one lecture after another. That was probably for the best.

In walked Mr. Kane, all rumpled like he ran to make it on time. It was my understanding that he was working on his doctorate so I’m sure he was very busy. He tossed his books and papers on the desk at the front of the room and fired up the computer. His presentation appeared on the screen behind him. He turned to make sure it was there and then he began.

“For any of you that missed freshman orientation on Thursday, I’m Royce Kane. Professor Miller will be here in a week or so. He is teaching an American Literature course at Oxford University in England.

“Professor Miller is a task master. He will not accept any excuses other than your imminent death, so let this be your warning. If he says your paper is due on Thursday, it damn well better be here on Thursday.

“This course runs for two semesters. Get used to your surroundings. You’ll be here for eight months. So will I. With that in mind, your first assignment is an essay. It must be at least one thousand words. I want you to tell me who you are and why you’re here. Bring it with you to class tomorrow.

“You will also familiarize yourself with Shakespeare’s play, The Comedy of Errors. Be ready to engage in a discussion of all six acts.”

I very tentatively raised my hand.

“Yes, Miss…” he said.

“Dillon, Neomi Dillon. You said six acts. The Comedy of Errors has five acts, I believe.” I said, sorry that I even opened my mouth. His stare tunneled into me. I felt for a brief moment there was no one else in the room but him and me.

“Miss Dillon, I believe that you are right. There are only five acts. How many scenes are in each of the five?”

“Acts one, two and three each has two scenes. Act four has four and act five has one, I believe.” I said, my voice shaking.

“Who is Angelo?”

“A goldsmith.”

“And Solinus?”

“He is the Duke of Ephesus,” I said, praying I was right.

“It would appear that you don’t need to read tonight’s assignment. Well done,” he said smiling. I prayed that no one heard the hammering of my heart. It was quite loud to me.

Shortly before the end of class, Mr. Kane unbuttoned his cuffs and began to roll up his sleeve. His tattoo ran the length of his forearm. It had wide and narrow strips of black ink that curled at the ends. It looked almost like armor and it was stunning in its composition. It was art and design.

I was exhausted when I got back to my room. My classes were all early. So were Crystal’s. Emma’s and Ashley’s started later and as a result ran later. I sat in the library at the computer staring at the one paragraph of my essay that was completed.

How can I tell him about myself? That’s why Sky had me come here. To be me and not them.

What if I just copy the paragraph several times until it totals a thousand words. Is he really going to read these? Probably! Okay, I will give him my life story in an abridged form. I’m not mentioning where I grew up or anything about my family. I was hatched in the chicken-coop.

“That’s all for today. Your papers on the works of Shakespeare are due on Monday. Miss Dillon, will you see me after class, please?” Mr. Kane said. I looked up at the mention of my name. I couldn’t decipher the look on his face.

My classmates emptied the room quickly as I made my way to the front of the room. I stood by the desk as Mr. Kane answered a question. He watched the students leave before turning to me. He took a paper out of a folder and handed it to me. “This is crap, Miss Dillon, and I think you know that. Your assignment was to tell me about yourself. This paper tells me everything I need to know about your hometown, school and its farm market. What it lacks is anything about you. Why is that?” he demanded.

“It says something about me, Mr. Kane.” I look at my paper and read from it. “I am nothing special and therefore I choose to write about what is special.”

“Why do you feel that you are nothing special?”

“Sometimes a rose is just a rose. I’ve accepted that.”

“I’ve known you four days, Miss Dillon. I don’t know why you’re taking this course. You could teach it. If you don’t want to tell the world who you are, that’s fine. Even a rose has secrets buried beneath its petals. You’re allowed yours too. But, you will find as you write that some of you will come out, inadvertently. It can’t be helped because it is who you are.”

“You gave my paper an A. Why if you didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I said it wasn’t what I had asked for. I gave it an A because nothing less would do. After reading it, I felt that I came from there. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blue. His eyes were deep ocean blue. I thought they were dark brown from across the room, but they’re not. They suck you in up close, just like the tide. I wanted to touch his arm to feel the ink that lies just under his skin. I wanted to see if I could feel the difference but instead I nodded, turned and walked out.

I went the long way back needing the extra time to clear my head before running into Crystal or someone I knew and having to talk. At a crosswalk on College Street, I saw a sign in a window that read ‘Help Wanted.’ I crossed the street and walked into the coffee shop. “Can I help you?” a man behind the counter asked.

“I saw the sign in the window for help. I need a job.” I said, nervously.

“Have you ever worked in a restaurant before? Fast food or anything?” the man retorted.

“No, I haven’t. I worked at a farmer’s market, if that counts.”

“I guess it would. You know how to wait on customers. The problem with this job is it’s the early shift. We open at five in the morning,” he explained.

“That would work for me. My classes start at eight-thirty.”

“So if you’re out by eight can you make it in time?”

“I could!” I responded excitedly.

“Then you have a job…Miss…I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Neomi Dillon.”

“Neomi Dillon, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Paul Masters.”

Mr. Masters gave me a short tour and showed me basically what I would be doing. I filled out paperwork for my first paying job. I was almost giddy. I’d have spending money! He gave me three shirts and aprons to wear as my uniform. He said black jeans were fine to wear. I have a few pair of them.

I bounced into our common room but halted when I saw Ashley crying on the couch. “What’s wrong?” I asked, flying to her side.

“I met a guy last week when we were moving in. He is mad gorgeous and rich. We met for coffee and made-out in the TV room downstairs. I slept with him this morning. When he left he said ‘thanks, that was number one.’”

“I’m so sorry, Ashley. He’s a jerk,” I said, with my arm around her.

“That he is. I feel awful. I’m going to take a shower.”

“That’ll help. I always feel better after a shower.” She got up from the couch and went to her room. I sat there a few more minutes with my thoughts wondering why she would sleep with someone she barely knew. My mom said sex was reserved for someone you love. I guess Ashley loves a lot quicker that I do.

I passed my second weekend reading ahead and getting started on two long-term projects. I hate being late. I hate not being prepared. I hate having to rush to finish.

Wednesday, I walked into English Lit to find Professor Miller had finally arrived. Mr. Kane nodded in my direction when I walked in and Professor Miller’s head snapped to look in my direction. Mr. Kane said something to him but I couldn’t hear what was being said. Nor could I lip read. Failing at everything I simply took my seat.

Once the lecture hall filled, Professor Miller began. “I want to thank Mr. Kane for keeping our ship at sea while I finished my program in England,” he said. I smiled at his nautical metaphor. “We will continue where he left off.”

Now that Mr. Kane no longer had to engage every student in his lecture, he had the time to periodically stare at me. I would be taking notes and look up and there were his eyes. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, like I was being evaluated on my appearance. If that was the case, I would surely fail.

My job at the coffeehouse was so much fun. The everyday working people that came in were kind and generous tippers. I was going home with thirty to forty dollars in tips every day. It was a good thing because it was chilly in the morning and I needed a coat. Where I come from a sweatshirt or sweater was all you ever needed. My suitemates thought I was crazy saying ‘you don’t need a coat until November.’

I found a perfectly-good, almost-new, coat in the consignment store down the street. I walked in to our suite and spun around to model for them. They clapped and I took a bow. Then Ashley handed me my new ID and shouted, “Now we party!”