The Lie(14)

The man is such a chauvinistic piece of shit. With his balding head covered in liver spots and the permanent scowl etched upon his wrinkled face, he’s the kind of teacher that obviously just crawled out of the stone age. Even though all we had to do during this lecture is listen to him and watch the film along with all the undergrads, the sexist remarks he made to me and Tabitha at the start of the hour were uncalled for. He told me if I want the students to respect me, I shouldn’t come to class like a slob. He said the same thing to Tabitha too, even though the woman is wearing a damn pantsuit. I think he said it because Tabitha is borderline obese, and he knows he’d get into some major shit if he commented on that.

Meanwhile, Devon with his penis and his nonexistent chin gets all the praise and glory, just for knowing a few answers.

“What are you still doing here?” Professor Irving says as he spots us standing around. He waves his hands at us. “Go on with your day. I’ll email you about the tutorials later.”

I turn around, happy to get the fuck out of there, when he says, “Wait, you. The girl who had a break.”

I stop and take a deep breath. How did he know about that?

Tabitha shoots me a sympathetic glance, while No Chin Devon looks a bit butthurt that he didn’t get called on.

I slowly turn around and give Professor Irving a big smile. “Yes, sir?”

He narrows his eyes at me, raising his chin in appraisal. It’s not a good appraisal. “You did take a break, did you not?”

I nod, rubbing my lips together. “I did. Four years.”

“And why was that?”

I have a prepared answer for this. It’s only half true. “I went to France to be with my father. He was sick.”

“I see.” He sticks his finger in his ear and wiggles it around. I try not to grimace, keeping the awkward smile plastered on my face. “You went to Met before and completed one year of your Master’s. Four years is a long time to mess things up, family or not, don’t you think? Do you think you’re ready to be back at school, at this school in particular?”

My smile falters. “Of course.”

He raises his brow. “Good. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. I expect a lot out of my students and a lot out of my TAs. You see, when I talked about my book, Iconography in Early Film Texts, you were the only one who didn’t comment. Have you read it?”

Ah, shit. I swallow hard. “No. I haven’t yet. I didn’t realize it was part of the curriculum.”

He chuckles rather nastily. “My dear, when you’re assisting my class, you’re grading the students. You can’t grade them until you know how I think. It’s only common sense, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suggest when you’re done here, you go to the bookstore and pick up a copy. When I see you next, bring it to me. I’ll sign it for you. Wouldn’t that be a lucky treat?”

Give me a fucking break. But I manage to smile. “Yes, it would. Thank you.”

Then I quickly get the hell out of there. I wish my first stop wasn’t the bookstore to buy his book, but I know he’s going to expect me to read the whole thing before the next class. I stop by the cafeteria to get something for my raging stomach, opting for a goat cheese salad over my usual meat pie and chips, and decide to text Melissa.

Where is your class? Did you make it?

It’s room 302. Teacher’s not here yet. Maybe I can skip, she texts back.

Stay where you are. How long is it?

It’s supposed to be two hours. I hope there’s a film.

Cool. I’ll meet you in two hours, then. I’ve got to read a bullshit book in the meantime.

Fun. You deserve a beer after that.

We’ll see.

Lo and behold, after I hole up with the book (the crap cost thirty pounds!) in a corner of the library (one of my favorite places), and before my brain starts to bleed from boredom, I think I might need a beer after all. If only the book didn’t cut into my beer fund so much.

I head to the third floor just as the classroom doors start opening and people start piling out.

I can see Melissa at the end of the hallway, wide-eyed and walking kind of jerkily toward me like she’s just done a line of coke. She’s mouthing something to me, but I think it’s just, “Oh my god, oh my god.”

She probably had a teacher like Professor Irving. So far we aren’t having the best luck with teachers this year.

But as she gets closer, hurrying now toward me and shaking her head as if in disbelief, my eyes drift over her shoulder to the classroom.

A man has just stepped out of the door.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Wearing a fine, tailored grey suit.