Chapter 22 Sutton #2
Breaking her stare, I lift my wrist and check the time on my watch.
“Thoughts on options for the final?” I ask, drawing the students from their studies. “From the list of choices, what are we thinking?”
“You gave us a list of Shakespeare plays to choose from,” Lexington drawls from the second row. “Isn’t that kind of limiting?”
“Anyone have an opinion on what play they’d like to do from the list and not an opinion on how I’m running my class?”
Meg adjusts a brake on her wheelchair, raising her free hand. “He has a point, Professor. Why vote when it’s clear you just want us to do Hamlet?”
“Which is, like, the most clichéd of all plays,” Lexington adds.
“Cliché has purpose,” I remind them, glancing at the options written on the chalkboard.
“It’s not always a bad thing. And accessibility goes a long way with audiences.
Need I remind you all that the theater department runs on donations and ticket sales, and our ability to continue next semester relies heavily on how well the play does?
Your average Fury Hill citizen knows Hamlet.
They enjoy the existentialism, the court drama, and yes—the familiarity. ”
“Doesn’t make it any less mundane for us,” someone grumbles.
I know that grumble though.
My eyes fall on Elle. She doesn’t even flinch.
“All right.” I fold my arms over my chest. “What production would you suggest then, Ms. Anderson? For a group of students who spend half their time onstage waffling in and out of character and seem mostly undriven by the prospect of the spotlight. I can’t be sure these are the same students who auditioned for a spot in this class. ”
“Sartre’s No Exit. Maybe Vera; or, The Nihilists by Wilde.”
I try to stifle my surprise at how readily she had an answer. For some reason, I keep forgetting that she’s not as much a novice as her peers. “Equally as existential as Hamlet, I’d argue. No less mundane in that regard.”
“Sure, but it’s fresh. By the time they get to college, every theater kid’s done Shakespeare a dozen times.
Nothing wrong with that, of course. He’s popular for a reason.
But since this course is mostly theater kids or a variant of them, why not mix it up, have us explore new themes and soliloquies? I bet the audience would love it too.”
Pursing my lips, I nod, considering this.
“You may have a point, but either of those would require permission from Avernia’s board of trustees as well as procurements for scripts and extended costume budgets.
I’m not sure we have the time to wait. The plays are already slotted in for performances at the old campus theater. ”
Elle rolls her eyes. “Then did you even need to ask?”
“If everything we did in life was relegated to necessity, the human experience would be boring.” I clasp my hands together, clear my throat, and return my attention to the rest of the students. “Class dismissed.”
They begin packing up, a hushed chatter falling among them. I catch snippets of their conversations—worries about midterms, ghost sightings in Erebus Hall—and even manage to absorb Elle’s interactions with the group she’s become quite friendly with.
“—the observatory is always closed by the evening,” Percy tells her, leaning his elbows on the chair in front of him. “Which, yes, seems like a dumb rule considering you can’t really see stars except at night.”
“Most of Avernia’s rules are dumb and arbitrary,” Meg says. “That’s, like, a thing with higher education. I think it’s meant to distract from the actual discriminatory policies.”
“Maybe they’re trying to protect us from something shady,” Elle jokes, smirking even as she says it—though I swear there’s an edge to her tone, something sharp in the way she glances at the three of them, like she’s waiting for some sort of confirmation.
“Nah,” Lexington replies, shaking his head. “The only thing the school wants to protect us from is the Anderson curse, and I don’t know if the observatory is a target.”
“The Anderson curse?” Elle asks. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“That’s what we’ve been calling it, babe,” he says, leaning forward to poke her cheek.
My nostrils flare as I watch the interaction happening in my peripheral vision. Swallowing, I dare to turn their way, feigning nonchalance.
Lexington’s staring right at me.
A small grin pulls at his features, and he slowly drops his hand.
Fucker.
But in truth, I’m the idiot. I wonder just how obvious my attraction is or if Lexington is just particularly good at deciphering my feelings because he’s known me a long time. When you grow up around people, especially in towns as small as Fury Hill, their nuances are second nature to you.
He seemed to know about my attraction to people regardless of their gender before the rest of town did, sometime back when I was a teenager. It’d been a common question, as I devoted a lot of time to the Westwoods’ only son, Zachary, and folks are naturally curious.
Giving Zachary my virginity had only solidified the fact that it wasn’t just women I was interested in. I desired people and didn’t spend much time taking gender into consideration past that.
I’ve never felt the need to formally address my pansexuality, as if it were some secret that changed who I was. Many of Fury Hill’s residents are openly queer as it stands, so it isn’t as if this made me different.
Wanting an Anderson, though, would cause them to stumble a bit. Especially one as formidable and disruptive as Elle.
I don’t even notice she’s standing before me until she’s practically falling into my lap, leaning in with narrowed eyes. She rakes her gaze over me as though she’s searching for flaws or evidence of some misdeed.
Instinctively, I jerk backward, my knees catching on the edge of the stage. She shouldn’t be this close in general, but certainly not when there are other students still lingering in the auditorium.
“Someone’s jumpy,” she says.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“I’d hardly call approaching you in class sneaking up. It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. A migraine skirts around the outside of my skull, peeking in as Elle’s presence taunts me. “What can I do for you, Ms. Anderson?”
“I’ve been thinking—”
“Dangerous.”
She frowns, glaring at me. “I want to join Visio Aternae.”
“Haven’t we already discussed this?”
“No, you discussed it with yourself. You didn’t even give me a chance to make a case for why I’d be a good addition.”
“You wouldn’t,” I tell her, looking quickly around the room at her remaining peers.
“They’re a philanthropic student organization.
Unlike the Curators, whose focus is networking, or even the Daughters of Persephone with their secretive enrollment efforts, Visio Aternae is entirely merit based, open to anyone who wants to join, and focused on bettering the community.
But that opportunity cuts off at the start of the semester, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t be a good fit. ”
Percy pushes Meg up the aisle, leaving Lexington behind as he speaks with a couple of Curators toward the middle of the room. Sabrina sits right up front, her eyes glued to us, and I wonder how much she can hear.
Elle crosses her arms. “Factually untrue, and I have a résumé to prove it. From ages nine to fourteen, I spent every summer at theater camps that ‘benefited the community.’ We put on plays to raise money for animal welfare, food pantries, and arts subsidies. From fifteen to eighteen, I volunteered as a counselor at these camps, so I know how to organize and delegate. I’m familiar with the acting world, and I’m talented. ”
“Yet you’re the only student of mine who didn’t audition for their place in my class. Something I require for all incoming enrollees.”
“If you’d like, I can still do it.”
For some reason, that idea makes my heart thump faster. I look at Sabrina from the corner of my eye, then focus back on Elle. “Perhaps this conversation would be better suited for a different time.”
She blinks. “It sounds like you’re trying to brush me off so you can pretend I agreed to drop it.”
“I’m just suggesting that this may not be the best setting for a discussion that has nothing to do with our class. I like to compartmentalize so I don’t lose sight of my goals.”
She looks down and to the side for a moment, as if trying to understand where my attention drifted. Clearing her throat, she nods. “Fine. Tell me where you’d like to finish.”
Warmth spreads its limbs down the sides of my neck. I wonder if she even realizes how often she engages in double speak.
“You may visit during office hours. They’re posted on the schedule in the annex.
” I pause, groaning internally as Lexington turns, evidently waiting for her to join him.
When I speak again, I lower my voice. “Though if you want to prove you’re serious about the organization, you may want to reconsider the company you keep. ”
She glances over her shoulder, then back at me, her mouth twitching. “I wasn’t asking for advice.”
“As the faculty sponsor for Visio Aternae and the one who decides enrollment, I’m giving it free of charge. Lexington Abbott is trouble.”
He isn’t. Not any more than the other students, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. I didn’t like it in the Apollodorus basement, and that hasn’t changed.
“Don’t you think I’m trouble too?” she replies, lowering her voice as well.
I swallow, averting my gaze. “Different kinds.”
“Interesting.” She hums, leaning forward with her hands clasped behind her back.
My eyes snap to her, like she’s some sort of inescapable beacon, and the blush that stains her cheeks makes my pulse quicken.
“Want to know what my advice would be?” she asks. “Generally speaking.”
A knot lodges in my throat. I can’t answer.
“If you’re dead set on Shakespeare for the spring play, you should do Othello.”
“Why’s that?”
“I think existentialism already thrives in academia. Your students and audience don’t need help reaffirming themes of mortality and revenge but the dangers of isolation and the importance of identity.
” Elle taps her fingers on the stage, right next to my hip.
“And the risks associated with passion and jealousy.”
With that, she grins, then spins and bounces back toward Lexington. He beams as she approaches, and a sharp pang slices across my chest, anchoring deep.
“Everything okay, Professor?” Sabrina asks, appearing before me in the seconds after Elle leaves. She swings her ponytail from side to side, blinking up at me. “You look a little shaken up.”
Shit. I’m worse at masking than I realized. “I’m perfectly fine,” I tell her. “You weren’t at the last Visio Aternae meeting. Is everything all right with you?”
She nods, rocking on her feet. “Oh yes! I submitted an absentia request to your email a few days before, but I suppose maybe you didn’t see it.
I was helping the mayor with some spring equinox stuff and couldn’t get out of it.
I promise it won’t happen again, and I especially promise not to miss any fundraising events or rehearsals once they’ve begun. ”
“That’s good to hear. I appreciated your assistance with the mixer in the Apollodorus, either way.”
That makes her smile. “You know, with how involved Visio Aternae ends up being in the productions each summer, I’m surprised more aren’t in your classes.”
“Well, acting isn’t for everyone,” I note, shrugging. “However, there are plenty of support roles that go into a play. Anyone who comes will find something to do.”
My gaze wanders as I shift on the stage, bumping into something. I glance down at my hip, noting the little orange fruit sitting beside it that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.
Beckett had eaten my last apricot, and I didn’t have the chance to swing by the refectory for one on my way to class this morning.
I look up, meeting Elle’s gaze as she stares back with an unreadable expression.
“That’s because you’re such a great professor and director,” Sabrina gushes, a light blush staining her cheeks. “No one ever gets turned away from your shows because you recognize the importance of every last detail of a production.”
Clearing my throat, I cover the apricot with my hand and refocus my attention on Sabrina. “It takes many cogs to run a well-oiled machine. Keep that in mind if you don’t get a speaking role, Ms. Taylor.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she tosses a look over her shoulder, then turns back to me. “I’m prepared for anything. That’s the true mark of a talented actress: her adaptability.”
It’s clearly a jab, but I’m not sure I understand the intended mark. Though it hardly matters, since she skips away to join her friends anyway, and when I look back to the front row, Elle is already gone.