Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
LUCA
I’ve spent the last two weeks doing everything I can to avoid Professor Levine. It’s easier this way, honestly. It means I don’t have to feel my face go red every time he talks to me, and I don’t have to squirm uncomfortably in my seat when his eyes focus in my direction.
We moved from the lecture hall to the larger auditorium where the school puts on its performances—something about learning to project your voice so it carries through the entire room and perfecting stage presence.
The only reason I’m happy about it is because the space is huge, and half the time I make some mumbled excuse of going back to Professor Levine’s office to organize things after I get his notes for the day.
I think it’s frustrating him. It’s hard to tell; he’s hard to read.
And… I feel guilty. Guilty enough that I’m wondering if maybe we should just talk.
Maybe I should just put an end to this. I know his office hours—I made his office hours for him this week and wrote it neatly in his planner—and I know when he’s free.
So maybe the thing to do is just to go in and explain that I was confused, and I’m not anymore.
It’s a lie, but it’s better than playing avoid-the-professor every time he tries to look my way.
I have myself half convinced that the easiest thing to do is just resign from the TA position.
I’m willing to finish my filing system for him before I go, but I think it might be better for both of us if I just…
quit. Before I do something that embarrasses me and ends up putting us both in a position we can’t afford to be in.
I know the rules about teachers and students in relationships, especially when they’re working together.
Conflict of interest, mandatory disclosure, prevention of power imbalance.
Not that I think Professor Levine wants to be in a relationship.
Not that I want to be in a relationship with him.
“God… just tell him you quit, Luca,” I’ve muttered the same thing to myself about a dozen times.
And I mean to, I really do. I’m actually on my way to the office building to maybe let him know when a sound makes me pause.
I recognize Professor Hilman’s voice echoing down the hall, smooth and sure.
I’ve done my absolute best to make sure that I don’t have to be in the same space as him, which is hard when he works in the building where I’m taking most of my classes…
But…
Well…
I’m not going to break that streak now. Whatever bit of confidence I’d built up to talk to Professor Levine dissolves, and I turn on my heel, dodging out of the Arts building and into the light drizzle of rain making the campus smell like wet grass and cool air.
I take a shaking breath, trying to clamp down the misery threatening to crawl up my gut. Freshman year feels like forever ago, and I keep thinking I’ll get over what happened with Professor Hilman.
So why do I feel like I’m drowning all over again every time I hear his voice?
My fingers fumble for my phone as I take off in the opposite direction—I don’t want to go to my dorm, and I’m not having my big “I’m very professional and this is how it has to be” conversation with Professor Levine now.
But at least I know there’s one place where I can feel safe and relax. At least I heard him before I turned the corner.
My fingers automatically punch in the only number I have memorized, and some of the tension runs from my body when my grandma’s voice spills over the phone.
“Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t expect a call from you today.”
We have a pretty set routine. I call her on the weekends after I finish whatever papers I need to write, and she tells me how proud she is that I’m working so hard. I get to talk to my grandpa that way, since he still works during the week.
Honestly, the thought of disappointing her is one of the worst things I can imagine.
“I ended up having some unexpected free time.” I don’t add that it’s because I ran away when I heard Professor Hilman’s voice, because she doesn’t need to know that.
No one knows about it. I feel better with that shame hidden somewhere deep in my chest, behind my ribs. Maybe it aches sometimes, but it’s safe there. No one can see it.
No one can look at me differently because of it, or tell me it was my fault.
“Well, it’s nice to hear from you. Tell me about your week.”
I get lost in that—talking about tests and papers, research I’ve been doing for my psychology degree.
By the time I’m through, I’m settled into my favorite little nook in the library, a spot on the third floor where there are a few dusty old armchairs that no one ever uses.
My knees are drawn up to my chest, and the soothing “That sounds interesting, sweetie” that my grandma utters for what seems like the hundredth time lulls me into a sense of peace.
Which is probably why I accidentally let something else slip.
“I started a TA position.”
“Oh?” She perks up. “For what class?”
Oh. Oh, shoot. I didn’t mean to tell her about it, because I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to completely hide my… confusion… about the entire situation from her. I do my best to keep my voice casual when I answer. “It’s a theater class.”
The beat of silence that follows is pretty expected.
“Luca, I love you with my whole heart, and… I don’t mean to question your decisions… but didn’t you pass out in fifth grade when they made you get up on stage for your class play?”
I groan at the memory. “I don’t like being in front of people. Stage fright is perfectly normal.”
“Luca, you were a tree.”
“I—” I can’t really argue with that. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not?” She sounds genuinely curious.
I could tell her it’s worse, because I accidentally ran into my professor in a kink club I didn’t mean to go to…
that I feel like I’m on a stage every time his eyes turn to me, because it’s a performance not to let him know he makes me burn from the inside.
I could tell her a lot of things, but the words stay stuck in my chest.
“No. I’m mostly doing paperwork. Professor Levine wasn’t very organized before he met me.
” I sound a little self-satisfied, a little smug knowing that I’ve definitely made his life easier on that front.
And… the warmth that starts to blossom in my chest at the memory of how he’s told me as much has absolutely no place in my body while I’m talking to my grandmother.
“He’s lucky to have you then, Luca.”
Oh God. I really hadn’t meant to bring him up at all, but…
“I don’t know. I thought it would be good to add a TA stint to my resume for when I’m applying to grad schools, but it’s…” Confusing. Driving me crazy. Making my life—and other things—harder than it should be. “Distracting. I might drop it.”
Distracting is also a word that applies.
“Hmmm.”
My nose wrinkles at the sound, because I know that sound. “Don’t hmmm me.”
“It’s just that I never knew you to quit something once you’d started, Luca.
” If I ever needed proof that my grandmother is my parent more than my dad ever was, it’s the slightly disapproving but still affectionate tone in her voice.
All he ever did was yell and call me slurs. “It sounds like he needs you, anyway.”
My entire face goes hot at the words “needs you,” because I know she’s not talking about what I’m thinking about.
It’s even worse, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I know she’s right.
It wasn’t like Dylan asked me to do this because he thought I’d be the best fit.
He asked me because I was the only fit. I’m not even sure if Professor Levine could get another TA at this point, and it’s kind of obvious that he needs one.
I sigh. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she laughs. “I’m always right.”
The confidence in her tone finally pulls a chuckle from my chest. “Yeah, you are. I guess that’s why I called you.”
I hear her shuffling footsteps… and then the sound of pots and pans clattering. “I bet you haven’t been eating properly, have you? Always busy studying, and now a TA position.”
“I’m eating, Grandma.” Probably not as much as I should, and probably not as healthy as I should, but I’m eating. She’d probably take a tape measure to my waist when I went home to prove me wrong, but…
“I don’t believe you, Luca. I’m going to send a package to school for you. How does that sound?”
She phrases it like a question, but I can already hear her pulling things out of the refrigerator.
If I close my eyes, I can see it—the little room that always smelled like something was baking.
Grandma with her warm brown eyes and her white hair, yanking on an apron, even though she’d still end up getting flour all over her dress.
It was a small house, but it was full of so much love… and that thought more than anything makes my body relax against my chair. “It sounds perfect to me. Thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to throw in an extra batch of cookies too, how does that sound? There’s nothing a few chocolate chips can’t fix.”
I don’t want to tell her I haven’t had a chance to taste anything she’s sent me since I moved into the dorm room with Zander unless I find it first. He absolutely devours everything, and after the first time when he looked so apologetic, I told him I didn’t like sweets.
It’s the biggest lie—I love everything my grandma bakes and sends to me… but I love Zandy more, so…
The last time she sent something, he took the leftovers and gave them to his friend, Russ.
“That sounds great, Grandma. Thank you.” It is great, even if it isn’t great for me.
“You’re a sweet boy, Luca. I know things are hard for you sometimes, and I know you keep things bottled up.
You always have, though.” That’s the understatement of the century, but I’m not going to tell her about everything plaguing me.
I don’t know how she’d react to the knowledge that I’m starting to think I definitely like men.
My dad had no idea, but I’d heard the way he talked and the words he used to insult me enough to know exactly how he’d feel about it.
I do know if she didn’t take it well, it would crush me more than anything else could.
So.
“I’ll be okay, Grandma. Especially if I have you to call for advice.” I can feel the slight wobble in my voice, and the soft, soothing shush she gives tells me she can too.
“I’ll always be here for that, sweetheart. You know I’m just a call or visit away. Come home soon, hm? Grandpa and I miss you.”
I miss them too. I love school, and I love learning… but there are definitely times that I miss our house in the middle of nowhere, the stretch of stars above us…
And the ability to actually eat the cookies my grandma bakes me.
“I’ll see you for Christmas, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too, Luca.”
After I hang up the phone, I’m left staring at the screen. When my eyes lift to the window and the fat droplets of rain sliding down the glass, I sigh. My resolve to quit before things get weird is gone, falling to the ground like the water streaking down the windowpane.
Which means I have to figure out some other way to make sure I can survive the rest of this semester with Professor Levine and the memory of how it feels to have his body pressed to mine.