CHAPTER NINE
The school year came to a close in mid-May when the weather was just becoming mildly pleasant. Meghan and I had moved our study session to the quad, a large open green space in the center of campus. The scent of fresh-cut grass engulfed us; the afternoon sun shone bright above, and I could feel my bare shoulders starting to burn.
The area was filled with other couples similarly lounging on blankets. Most of the blankets were only bed sheets, but they served their purpose. I grew wistful and a little bit remorseful watching happy couples in the final days of exam week, enjoying their last days together before geography separated them. I was twenty-years old, and I’d never had a serious relationship.
“You okay?” Meghan asked.
I realized I’d loudly sighed without intending to.
“Yeah. I’m good,” I promised.
“Why the sigh?”
“I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“We only have one more year of this. One more year until we’re out in the real world,” I mused.
“I know. If college is supposed to be the best days of our lives, I don’t have much to look forward to,” she complained.
“It’s not that bad,” I tried to assure.
“We study our asses off, do everything right, but what do we have to show for it?”
I didn’t have a satisfactory answer.
“We should do something.”
“Like what?”
“Something unexpected.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Every discipline has an end-of-the-year party. We should go to all of them,” she declared. “Free food and alcohol.”
I laughed, not really taking her serious.
“For real. You know how each department hosts their graduating seniors at someone’s house? I say we hit up all of the parties. Professor Witlan hosts biology, Drake has poli-sci, Graft does English.”
I didn’t hear the rest of her exhaustive list. Professor Graft hosted a party at her house?
“I’m in,” I blurted. Out.
“For real?” Meghan gasped.
I didn’t let myself dwell too long on what I was agreeing to. There would be time to freak out later. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Meghan clapped excitedly. “I can’t believe it. We’re actually going to do this.”
My heart skipped inside my chest. I was actually going to do this.
“Heads up!”
I looked up from my textbook just in time to see a blue flying disc land next to me on the blanket I shared with Meghan.
A sweaty, shirtless boy in green board shorts hustled over to where we studied. His lean, muscled figure blocked out the sun. He wore a piece of athletic gauze around his forehead to keep his hair out of his eyes.
“Little help?” he prompted.
Meghan grabbed the Frisbee and tossed it back to its owner.
He flashed a broad, toothy smile. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you,” Meghan replied.
His nose wrinkled. “Uh, sure.” He jogged away to rejoin his friends, flip-flops smacking all the way.
“Number of bones in the vertebrae.” I returned to quizzing my study partner.
“Thirty-three.”
“Name the five regions.”
“Cervical, thoracic, lumbar, and sacrum.”
“One more.”
Meghan’s head clearly wasn’t in it. I followed her gaze back to the Frisbee boy and his friends.
“Coccyx,” I supplied.
“Coccyx,” she murmured. “My favorite one.”
I snapped my textbook shut.
The sound jarred my friend and reined in her attention. “What?”
“We should go back to the library,” I decided.
“What? Why?”
“There’s too many distractions out here, and this exam is tomorrow,” I needlessly reminded her.
“I’ll be better. I promise,” Meghan insisted.
“How many bones in the foot?” I asked.
“Depends.”
I sighed. “On what?”
Meghan smiled cheekily. “Does the patient have five or six toes?”
I grabbed a clump of grass and threw it in her direction.
+ + +
I inspected my outfit in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door. The skinny jeans were nothing special, but the purple camisole had been hanging in my closet for weeks. The temperature wasn’t quite warm enough to wear it on its own yet, but I had a light jacket and imagined we would be inside for the majority of the evening anyway.
“I like that color on you,” Collette approved from her corner of the globe.
Ever since we’d started video chatting it had become our preferred way to communicate. It was immediate compared to instant messenger, and it made multitasking easier. Colette could work on whatever art project she had to complete, and I could study for my next test while we chatted.
That night, however, there were no tests to study for. Exams had been completed and final papers had been submitted. Final grades would be available in a few days time. The only thing left to do was celebrate the completion of another academic year before my friends and I returned to our respective hometowns for summer break.
I twisted my torso and gave myself another once-over. “You don’t think it’s too revealing?”
“That depends—are you going to church or a frat party?” Colette posed.
“Neither. I’m going to Professor Graft’s house.”
I didn’t look in the direction of my laptop, and I tried to keep my tone casual despite how the words got stuck in my throat.
“Come again?” Colette demanded.
“It’s not as intimate as it sounds. Meghan and the others want to house hop tonight. Some of the professors host end-of-the-year parties at their houses. Professor Graft hosts the English department party.”
“You’re going to be in her house. The place where she sleeps. The place where she keeps all of those pencil skirts.”
I felt my cheeks warm at the mention of my professor’s skirts. I should have kept those details to myself.
“Stop it,” I admonished. “You’re going to make me nervous.”
“Do you have a plan?” Colette asked excitedly. “How you’re going to make your move?”
“There’s no plan,” I denied. “There’s no moves.”
“Besides stalking her.”
My voice pitched. “It’s not stalking! Everyone’s invited.”
Technically only graduating seniors in that particular major were supposed to go, but I wasn’t going to tell Colette that.
“I’ll expect full details when you return,” Colette informed me. “Take pictures. Get a selfie with Elle.”
The casualness with which Colette referred to Professor Graft made me blush harder. Only in my dreams did I become bold enough to refer to her by her first name. Otherwise it was always Professor Graft.
I gazed at my reflection again and tucked hair behind one ear. She wasn’t my professor any longer though.
Colette broke into my thoughts: “Seriously, Hunter. She’s just a person. Try to remember that,” she urged. “You’re smart and kind and funny, and one might even call you good looking.”
I turned to my laptop screen and arched an eyebrow. “One might?”
“Sure. Not me, though. I don’t want you getting any funny ideas. I’d only break your heart.”
I grabbed my purse off my bed. “I’ve got to get going. Don’t wait up.”
+ + +
Meghan picked at a veggie tray in the center of the table. She stabbed a carrot stick into a suspicious looking dip in the center of the platter. “I pictured this as being more fun.”
Meghan, Cheryl, Erica, Taylor, and I hovered around the antique dining room table in Professor Drake’s home. I’d never had a class with the Professor of Political Science, but he had a reputation of drinking with his students and apparently sometimes came to classes still smelling like the previous night. Despite his reputation of being a bit of a partier, the departmental gathering at his house was dull, and his house was stiff and unwelcoming. I couldn’t determine if the interior reminded me more of a museum or a tomb. The two-story bungalow had probably been built in the early 1900s and looked and smelled like it hadn’t been updated since its original construction.
Classical music played in the background, just loud enough to be heard over the spattering of conversations around us. It reminded me of an even more awkward middle school dance with professors on one side of the room and students on the other. I’d agreed to a house hopping evening, but if our first stop was any indication of the rest of the night, there was no way I’d have the opportunity to actually talk to Professor Graft.
“It’s still early,” Taylor noted with her usual optimism. “I’m sure things will start to pick up soon.”
“I don’t even like interacting with teachers on campus. I don’t know why you’d think hanging out at their houses would be any fun,” Erica interjected.
“I don’t see you proposing a better idea,” Meghan shot back defensively.
“We should take some of these wine bottles to go and make our own fun,” Cheryl suggested in a subdued voice. “There’s a hill on upper campus with our name on it.”
“I think it’s kind of interesting seeing our professors’ houses,” Taylor interjected. “Like, it makes me realize they’re just people, too.”
“Yeah, really boring ass people,” Erica grumbled.
“What do you think, Hunter?” Meghan asked.
I shrugged noncommittally. I had no interest in the free alcohol or observing how the other professors at my college lived. Seeing teachers outside of the classroom was akin to seeing a wild animal outside of the zoo. I had gotten my hopes up of getting the opportunity to see Professor Graft again, but I couldn’t justify dragging my friends to one boring gathering after the next just for the chance to make small-talk with my unattainable crush.
“How about one more house?” Taylor proposed. “If it’s a snore-fest like this, we take the alcohol to go.”
“Which one?” Meghan asked.
I scanned my friends’ faces to judge their interest levels before finding my voice. I didn’t want to appear too eager. “How about Professor Graft’s party?”
I hoped I wasn’t blushing too obviously.
“English? That’s gonna be even more dead than poli-sci,” Cheryl anticipated.
“What about biology?” Meghan suggested. “We’ve taken some of those classes so we might actually know more people there.”
“But the English professors are all cultured and stuff. I bet they’ll have a great spread,” I reasoned. I worked to maintain an even tone tailored to appear impartial. “Bacon-wrapped figs and fancy wines.”
“I do like bacon,” Taylor mused.
“Graft’s house it is,” Cheryl decided for the group. “And if it’s a bust, we’ll take the bacon to go.”
I smiled at the outcome, but not too wide.
+ + +
The departmental party hosts had been chosen for their homes’ proximity to campus, so we didn’t have to pile into anyone’s car to travel from one party to the next. I didn’t know where any of our professors lived, but Meghan had researched the directions to each party and led the way with the help of her phone.
Cheryl walked beside me and crunched on a handful of pretzels she’d taken from the previous party. “Any big plans for the summer, Hunt?”
“Not really. Living with my parents and working, mostly. I got a summer job with a landscaping company. You?”
“Traveling. The entire month of July it’s just gonna be me and my backpack in Europe.”
“Wow,” I marveled. “That sounds amazing.”
“You should think about doing it, too,” she pressed. “You’re only young once.”
I didn’t think I’d ever been young, but I kept that comment to myself.
“I have to work,” I explained. “I need the money.”
My parents took care of all of my bills, but that wouldn’t last forever.
My attention drifted from our conversation when Meghan turned down a walkway that led to a two-story home with a blue door. She marched with confidence towards the house as if she belonged.
This was it.
Professor Graft lived not too far from my apartment. The cape cod had massive curb appeal with a generous covered front porch and a long cement walkway that led up to the front door.
Instead of following my friends, I paused in front of the house, almost reverently. I hadn’t been nervous all night despite knowing that at some point in the evening we would be going to Professor Graft’s house. I quickly went over the talking points I’d rehearsed with Colette:
You have a lovely home. Is this real hardwood? How long have you lived here? Who is this a picture of? Are you close with your family? Do you live alone?
Your book selection is impressive. Who’s your favorite author? Do you prefer the movie or the book? Maybe we could go to a movie sometime.
Cheryl’s voice cut into my thoughts. “You coming, Hunt?”
Meghan, Taylor, Erica, and Cheryl stood expectantly halfway up the walkway.
“Oh, yeah. Uh, just had a rock in my shoe.”
I stooped to remove my ballet slipper and made a show of removing it and shaking it out to dislodge the phantom stone.
I started the short walk up to the house, taking in every detail. I knew Colette would expect a full report later. The lawn was manicured, and it was clear someone had painstakingly landscaped the front flowerbeds. The pavers on the walkway were evenly laid with bits of green moss sticking up from between the bricks. The house was painted light blue with dark shutters framing each window. Two large windows on the second floor looked like giant eyes keeping a watchful gaze on the street below. I wondered if one of the windows might belong to her bedroom.
I admired the twin Adirondack chairs on the covered porch. I pictured Professor Graft having her morning coffee in one of the chairs or a glass of wine at night. It looked like a perfectly lovely way to spend a lazy Sunday.
The five of us huddled together on the front porch.
Taylor voiced the question I was sure we’d all been thinking. “Do we knock?”
The door to Professor Drake’s home had been open, and we’d just walked in.
Meghan, ever the leader of the pack, struck her closed fist against the blue door.
A long, tense moment passed before the door swung open. My breath caught in my throat, thinking that Professor Graft would be on the opposite side. But my breathing came easier when a round man with a long beard and geometric sweater answered the door.
“Ladies! Welcome! Come on in!” he greeted as he ushered us inside.
My friends and I shuffled through the front door as if one amorphous being. The front foyer flowed into the open-floor plan of the ground level. I spied an upgraded gourmet kitchen and a cozy living room complete with a wood-burning fireplace. The house was warm and open and smelled faintly of vanilla. The scent triggered in me a Pavlovian response.
I stretched to my full height without exactly standing on my tiptoes, trying to find the party’s hostess.
“Where do you think they’re hiding the alcohol?” Cheryl posed.
“Not so loud!” Erica hushed.
“I’m going to make the rounds,” Cheryl announced. “I’ll be back with more intel.”
Cheryl slinked away, leaving Meghan, Taylor, Erica, and myself to fend for ourselves. We remained huddled awkwardly together.
“I know we all go to the same school, but do you guys recognize anyone?” Taylor murmured.
“Maybe we should have stuck to the science parties,” Erica opined.
I didn’t contribute my opinion. I was too distracted by the woman I’d identified across the house.
Professor Graft looked devastating in a sleeveless black cocktail dress that stopped mid-thigh. She always looked professional, but her outfit took elegance to the next level. Her long brunette hair was down and flowed in loose, curly waves that framed her face and the bodice of her dress. The cotton material clung to her hips and accentuated her narrow waist. Her long pearl necklace drew my eyes to the dress’s scooped neck. The shiny black heels accented the definition in her calves. God, that woman and those legs.
Her attention was consumed by a balding man with a full beard whom I vaguely identified as the poetry professor. I’d never had a class with him, but going to a small college meant you knew most of the instructors, if only by reputation.
I stared in her direction, hoping, but also dreading, that she might look my way. Her attention drifted from the poetry professor, and I found myself in her sights. As quickly as our eyes connected, however, she tore her gaze away in favor of the floor. It reminded me of being in her office a few days prior when she had all but refused to look at me. I stared in her direction for at least another minute, watching her interaction with her colleague, but her gaze never returned to me.
I grabbed onto Meghan’s wrist. “How long do you want to stay here?”
I’d hoped to at least have a conversation with her, but there was no need for me to punish myself if Professor Graft wasn’t even going to look in my direction.
Meghan frowned. “We just got here.”
“This party’s dead,” I grumbled, “just like the last one.”
Cheryl reappeared at my side. “I found the alcohol,” she loudly whispered. “It’s in the dining room.”
I glanced again in the direction of Professor Graft, expecting her attention to be anywhere but on me. But this time, her stormy blue eyes were leveled on me. And this time, when our eyes locked, she didn’t look away.
I watched her mouth move as she said something to the poetry professor, but her eyes remained focused on me. She touched a light hand to his arm, and disengaged from their conversation.
My friends continued to chatter around me, but I was too distracted by Professor Graft to register their conversation. A self-conscious smile tickled the corners of my mouth. Was she coming my way?
Butterflies jumped around in my stomach. I self-consciously smoothed my hands over my hair and my clothes. God, why hadn’t I dressed up more?
This was really it. I sucked in a breath and lifted my foot to take a step in her direction.
An older man in suit and tie stepped between us, cutting off the direct route between us.
I exhaled. Another detour.
Professor Graft continued to look in my direction. She split her attention between me and the man standing between us. She appeared desperate to shake him and avoid his conversation. It was such a revealing, human moment that I could forget for just a moment that she wasn’t part of my group of friends.
I felt a tug at my elbow. “Come with me,” Meghan ordered.
“Why?”
I momentarily panicked, wondering if she’d witnessed my non-verbal exchange with Professor Graft.
“Please,” she compelled.
I found myself being dragged in the opposite direction—away from, not toward, Professor Graft.
Instead of explaining herself, Meghan pulled me through the closest threshold, which turned out to be the first-floor bathroom. She shut and locked the door behind us.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Stay with me?”
I arched my eyebrows. “In the bathroom?”
Meghan leaned against the back of the bathroom door. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to go through her. “I saw someone out there I don’t want to see.”
“Who?”
“I don’t think you know him. He’s a senior. Creative writing major, I think. We made out once, and it must have been beer goggles, because I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “So you’re going to hide out until he leaves?”
“I’m not hiding; I’m having a private conversation with my good friend, Hunter,” she clipped.
“You’re being ridiculous.” My impatience to return to the party was clear.
“You’ve never not wanted to see someone?”
She was currently keeping me from the one person I desperately wanted to see, but she had no way of knowing that. I shook my head.
“We really need to loosen you up, Hunt. What’s the point of going to college if you’re not going to have some adventures and make a few mistakes?”
“Does hiding out in my professor’s bathroom count as an adventure?” I pointed out.
“That’s right; I nearly forgot you had Graft this year. How was she?”
“Fine.” I kept my response short and neutral. If I spoke too much about my teacher, I might give myself away.
Meghan quickly lost interest in my academic year, however. She pried open the mirrored medicine cabinet that hung over the sink.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“You’re not at all curious?” she defended her actions.
“About what?” My voice raised in pitch. I felt violated on behalf of Professor Graft. “What kind of chewable vitamins my professor uses?”
She shut the cabinet door and sighed. “I’m bored.”
“Then let’s go back out to the party!” I exclaimed.
I was going to miss out on my opportunity to talk to Professor Graft. We’d made purposeful eye contact, I thought, and Meghan’s avoidance of her one-night-stand was going to ruin everything.
“When did you even have the chance to make out with a random boy?” I asked.
Meghan lived on campus, but I’d assumed that she spent her free time—like me—studying, not going to fraternity parties.
“I had to do something,” she huffed. “College isn’t turning out at all like I thought it would.”
“Why is it so important to you that our college experience resembles something out of the movies?” I pressed.
Meghan dropped her eyes to the floor. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Try me.”
“High school was a disaster,” she began. “I had no friends. I was terribly bullied. And the only thing that got me through those terrible four years was thinking about college. I’d go away to school and re-invent myself. But college is turning out to be just like high school, minus the acne and getting book-checked in the hallway.”
I sucked in a deep breath, suddenly guilt-ridden for wanting to abandon my friend over trying to flirt unsuccessfully with my off-limits professor.
“But you’ve got us now,” I tried to reason. “Erica, Taylor, me … even Cheryl. That’s got to make college a little bit better, right?”
Meghan twisted her lips and looked wistful. “Yeah. I suppose so.”
“College isn’t all I thought it would be either,” I admitted.
The high school version of myself would never have been able to predict I’d have an unrequited crush on a teacher, let alone a female teacher.
“I suppose we should get back to the party,” Meghan sighed. “Cheryl probably thinks we’re making out in here or something.”
A loud, nervous laugh burst out of my mouth. I coughed to hide its volume.
“Will you look to see if he’s still there?” she asked.
“I don’t know who he is,” I pointed out. “Or what he looks like.”
“Glasses. Buzz cut. Ugly green sweater vest.”
I shooed her away from the door. “Move.”
I gingerly opened the bathroom door and popped my head outside. I scanned the occupants of the first floor, looking for an ugly sweater. Because it was an English party, there were many ugly sweaters, but none that were green and sleeveless.
“I don’t see him,” I announced.
But I no longer saw Professor Graft either.
Meghan rushed out of the bathroom behind me. “God, I need a drink.”
Instead of following my friend, my gaze inspected each and every face at the party. I saw the man in the suit and tie whom she’d tried to sidestep. I saw the poetry professor. I saw my friends. But where had Professor Graft gone? It was her party and her house, so I couldn’t imagine her leaving, but the longer I lingered by the bathroom by myself, the more I began to question why I was still sticking around.
I looked down to my ankles when I felt a furry bump. A long, lean grey cat had appeared from somewhere to run against my legs. A low purr rattled in its throat, and it head-butted my shin.
“Oh, hi.”
The cat seemed to chirp a hello in return.
I dropped to a crouch and scratched my fingers between the cat’s ears. The purring increased in volume, and its eyes shut.
“Who are you?” I asked, as if the cat might respond.
I wasn’t able to hold the cat’s interest for very long. It disengaged from my hand, and I watched it slip through a slightly ajar door down the hallway and slink out of sight.
Still crouched down, I scanned the party. Most of the other students had left. A few graduating seniors along with some faculty members remained. I exhaled loudly without really meaning to. What was I doing here? Wasn’t it pathetic enough that I’d run across campus to pick up my final paper just to see her one more time? Now I’d essentially invited myself over to her house.
A loud crash alerted me to activity beyond the door through which the grey cat had recently disappeared behind. It wasn’t snooping, I assured myself; I was only checking to see if the cat was okay.
I tentatively pushed the door open and blindly fumbled for the light switch. When the room filled with light, I discovered the origin of the loud noise. The grey cat squinted its eyes at me. Stacks of paper that turned out to be student essays were scattered on the floor. The broken shards of what had formerly been a ceramic coffee mug lay on top of the papers.
I could have left the mess, but I didn’t want to risk the cat or even Elle—Professor Graft, I corrected myself—stepping on the broken glass. I stooped down and began to carefully pick up the biggest broken pieces and deposited them in a nearby trashcan.
The cat continued to watch me, not helping but also not getting in the way. When I was satisfied I’d cleaned up the majority of the broken glass, I collected the essays from the floor. I didn’t know if they’d been organized in separate piles though; the best I could do was combine the papers into one tidy pile.
I placed the essays on a nearby desk before hearing someone clear their throat. I jumped at the unexpected sound. My hand flew to my chest, and I grabbed the space over my heart.
Professor Graft stood in the open doorway.
I continued to clutch at my heart. It felt like it had leapt out of my chest. “You scared me!”
Professor Graft said nothing, and her features were unreadable.
“I know this looks really bad,” I reached. “But it’s not what it looks like.”
She licked her lips and finally spoke: “What it looks like is you’re looking through the final papers for grades.” Her voice was chilled, not the warm, reassuring tone I’d come to know. “But that couldn’t be it because you picked up your paper. You already know what your grade is.”
She seemed to be working things out as she spoke aloud, and the ice in her voice revealed her continued displeasure.
“Unless you’re stealing papers to sell to some student essay mill,” she posed.
I immediately dropped the papers. “No!” I exclaimed, hands in the air. “I wasn’t, I—.”
My panicked exclamation was interrupted when the grey cat—the reason why I’d come into the office in the first place—suddenly reappeared. It jumped on the desk with a loud grunt, returning to the scene of the crime.
“I hope you’ve had your tetanus shots.” Professor Graft leaned against the doorjamb. Her voice had lost some of its ice, but she still didn’t sound like herself. “She hates everyone.”
I didn’t want to contradict my teacher, but the cat had only been affectionate with me. As if to demonstrate, I stroked my hand down the center of the cat’s back. It arched its back into my hand and made a pleasant chirping sound.
My pulse continued to race. At worst, I’d been accused essentially of trying to cheat the system. At best, she’d caught me rifling through her things. The overhead light felt like the heated rays of an interrogation lamp. I needed to avoid her stare, so I picked up the cat and sat down on a small red couch. The cat made itself at home on my lap, turning in a small, half-circle and kneading its paws on my thigh before finally settling down onto my lap.
Professor Graft continued to gape. Her eyes widened. “Are you the cat whisperer?”
I said the first thing that came to mind: “I like cats.”
“So do you always just make yourself at home in your teachers’ offices?” she inquired.
I continued to pay more attention to the cat than my professor. I couldn’t bring myself to look in her direction and see the judgment on her face.
“I’m not normally this nosey,” I excused. “I was petting your cat out in the hallway and it wandered away. Then I heard some crashing noises later, so I followed the sounds to make sure the cat was okay,” I tried to explain. “When I came in here, your cat was on your desk, knocking things over. I was just trying to pick up after her.”
“Don’t worry about Sylvia.” Her words said I’d been forgiven, but she continued to hover in the hallway. “She can take care of herself.”
My brain made the connection—an English professor with a cat named Sylvia. She must have named her pet after the author, Sylvia Plath. I didn’t know much about the author except the way she had died.
An ill-timed grin worked its way onto my face. “As long as she stays away from gas ovens.”
“My, my,” Professor Graft murmured, a smile nestled among the words. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You’ve been holding back.”
“I haven’t actually read anything by Sylvia Plath,” I admitted. “I just really liked the movie about her life.”
I glanced up for the first time since I’d sat down. Professor Graft was staring at me. Our eyes briefly connected before I averted my gaze again.
“You haven’t read Plath?”
Not waiting for my confirmation, she stepped into the room. She crossed the office to an orderly bookshelf stocked with thin novels of various sizes. Her fingers tickled down the spine of several books before removing one.
She thrust the book in my direction. There was still a temperamental cat on my lap, but I could reach the book without having to stand up.
The cover was worn, the spine nearly split in two. The pages were yellowed from age and sun. I flipped the book over to read the back cover. Words like “gripping,” “insanity,” and “haunting” jumped out at me.
“The Bell Jar is a masterpiece,” Professor Graft explained. She sounded positively giddy. “I’m letting you borrow my copy.”
I blinked up at her. The book was so worn, it looked like an heirloom. “Really?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Really.”
I was suddenly aware of how silent our surroundings had become now that the cat was no longer knocking things from desks and my professor was no longer scolding me. “Did everyone leave? Am I the only one left?”
Professor Graft scratched at the back of her neck, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah.”
Her physically discomfort caused my embarrassment and shame to return. “I’m sorry,” the apology gushed out. “Not only does it look like I’ve been snooping, now I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
Professor Graft said nothing, but a peculiar smile reached her lips.
I scratched between Sylvia’s ears. They flattened and her eyes rolled back. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I spoke to the cat, “but I’ve got to go.”
I didn’t want to leave—not at all. I wanted to stay and listen to Professor Graft rant about literature. I’d seen a glimmer of that when she’d given me the book. In class I could always tell when she was passionate about something. Her speech quickened, her pacing at the front of the room became more emphatic, and she gestured wildly with her hands. I could imagine the same scenario in her home office. I would sit with the cat perched on my lap while she paced the length of the room, spouting her opinion about Plath’s short but tragic and brilliant life.
I imagined that same passion spilled into other parts of her life … particularly in the bedroom. It couldn’t escape my notice that we were alone together in her house. We had been alone together before, but not in her house and not when I knew that somewhere in this house was a bedroom—not that any of my fantasies had included an actual bed. I swallowed hard at the residual imagery. It didn’t take much prodding for those thoughts to pop into my head.
But I had delayed my departure long enough. “Off you go,” I whispered to the cat.
Sylvia begrudgingly stood from my lap, much like I felt about leaving Professor Graft. She arched her back and her body slightly shook as she stretched her limbs. After a lingering moment, she finally hopped to the floor.
I stood as well and brushed at the cat hair that clung to the front of my jeans.
“Second-guessing making friends with my cat?” my professor seemed to taunt.
I looked up and held her gaze. I couldn’t help my cheeky retort. “I got a book out of the deal, didn’t I?”
She cocked an eyebrow, but had no ready response.
The Belle Jar in hand, I allowed Professor Graft to usher me from the office to her front door. I grabbed my jacket from a hook in the entryway, the only coat that remained, a reminder of how alone we were.
I found myself distracted by the staircase in the foyer. What would she do if I ran upstairs? Would she follow me to her bedroom? Or would she call the cops?
My thoughts were interrupted when Professor Graft opened the front door and a warm spring breeze rushed inside and ruffled my hair. I took that as my cue and stepped outside.
I wasn’t so much inside my head that I forgot my manners. I turned on her front porch. “Thank you for hosting a lovely evening.” I smiled to mask my awkwardness. “I had a nice time.”
The words were inadequate to describe the night. Even without Colette’s prodding, I would be replaying each detail of our interactions over and over again.
“Did you drive?” she asked.
I shook my head and tucked hair behind my ear. “No. I walked here.”
“It’s late. Are you okay to walk back alone?”
I thought her concern was touching—adorable even—but I didn’t want to put her out more than I already had. It was late, and I was sure she just wanted to get to bed. Ugh, I had to stop thinking about her in bed.
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted. “My apartment isn’t that far away.”
Another awkward moment passed. Our goodbye was torture. I didn’t want to leave, and she gave no indication either way.
I clutched The Bell Jar to my chest. “Thanks again for the book. How should I get it back to you once I’ve finished?”
She blinked and gave her head a hard shake. “Um, just e-mail me when you’re done. We can figure it out then.”
I ducked my head again. “Okay. Have a good night, Professor.”
I hopped down four wooden steps to the sidewalk that led up to her house. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other so I wouldn’t trip or stumble in front of her.
So far, so good, I breathed to myself.
When I reached the end of her walkway, I chanced a glance back. Like Orpheus’s mistake. I had expected Professor Graft to already be back inside, yet she remained in the open doorway. I couldn’t help my own smile.
With the distance, I couldn’t make out her features, but there was no mistaking how she slammed the door shut.
I floated home. The evening was warm and the night sky was bright. I had been tempted to take Professor Graft’s offer of a ride home, but we’d parted so perfectly, I hadn’t wanted to ruin what had turned out to be one of the more memorable nights of my life.
Sara was already asleep by the time I got home. The light in the entryway was on, but the rest of the apartment was blanketed in darkness.
I hadn’t eaten much of anything that evening beyond a few crackers and cheese cubes, but I bypassed the kitchen, too eager to crawl into bed with Professor Graft’s book. Putting the words “bed” and “Professor Graft” in the same sentence made me a little light headed.
I knew Colette would be expecting a full, detailed report of how my evening had gone, but instead of going online, I slipped beneath my sheets with The Bell Jar.
I used to read more when I was younger. Lately if I was doing any reading it was from an A&P textbook, not a work of fiction. I remembered reading underneath my sheets with the help of a flashlight when I was little. My mom thought so much reading might ruin my eyes or at least stunt my social life. But I hadn’t needed many friends when I was that age, not when I had Nancy Drew or the Box Car Kids to keep me company.
I ran my fingers over the cover of the worn paperback. I felt honored that Professor Graft would trust me with what was obviously a well-loved possession.
I started to read with the overhead light still on. I didn’t need to hide my reading anymore. The sooner I finished the book, the sooner I would get to see Professor Graft again.