Chapter Four
FOUR
Aidan
When I walk into my classroom to teach my Shakespeare Yesterday and Today class, I see Micah sitting at one of the empty desks. I choke on the coffee I just sipped. She stares at me with a horrified look on her face as I cough and thump my fist against my chest. Glad none of my students are here yet to witness this mess of a scene.
She starts to stand up and move toward me, but I hold up a hand.
“What are you doing here?” I choke out.
She leans back, like she’s offended that I asked her such a question.
“I’m observing your class for my audit. We talked about this in yesterday’s faculty meeting, remember?” She purses her lips as she stands there and watches me cough and clear my throat.
I walk over to the desk and set my things down before taking a long gulp of coffee.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asks, frowning at the mug in my hand.
I ignore her very obvious dig at me and resist the natural urge to roll my eyes. “Shouldn’t you have told me that you’d be interrupting my class this morning?”
She looks shocked at what I’ve said. Then she blinks and she’s back to glaring at me. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to do my job, Professor Scott.”
“I’m not telling you how to do your job,” I say, matching her hard tone. “I just would have liked a heads-up that you’d be observing me today.”
“That’s not how I operate. I’ve already made it clear what my goals here are, and when I spoke to Dr. Wauncho, he said that I’m free to observe all the faculty as I please these next six weeks. I find that’s the best way to get an accurate read on day-to-day operations. It’s no good if I tell you I’m observing so you can prepare some inauthentic performance.”
“‘Inauthentic performance’?” I repeat, trying my hardest to hold in the incredulous laugh I’m aching to let out. “Are you seriously saying that I’d fake my work performance in front of you? In front of my students?”
“It’s possible.” She doesn’t even blink.
I huff out a breath. Barely eight in the morning and already my day is ruined because Micah the Auditor decided to show up to my class unannounced. Actually, these next six weeks are ruined knowing that she’s going to be hovering above me, poring over my every flaw and using that as cause to potentially recommend that the dean of the university fire me.
I think back to what she said at yesterday’s meeting.
By the end of my audit, I’ll have figured out the exact value of you and this department.
It was professional speak for I’m going to fucking end you . My skin pricks as the frustration builds inside of me. It’s clear she’s hell-bent on destroying me.
But more than that, it’s the way her words reminded of my biggest insecurity…my biggest pain…
The moment she said that, I was instantly transported back to that summer after freshman year of college, to that standoff I had with my dad in his living room. I can still see the disappointment etched deep in his face as we talked.
“You can’t be serious, Aidan. You’re quitting hockey? To become a teacher?”
“I’m serious, Dad.”
“Think about what you’re giving up. I know you won’t be a superstar if you ever make it to the NHL, but you’ll still be a solid player. Even if you get bounced back to the minors every year or so, you’ll still get to play pro.”
“I spent my whole life destroying my body for a sport I don’t care about anymore. I’m done.”
“You think that because you got A’s in all your English classes, you’re a genius? You suddenly think your value is in your brain instead of your body now? Pathetic.”
Pain radiates in my chest as I think about that memory and the fact that I’ve barely spoken to my dad since that day.
I shove it all away, refocusing on the moment. This isn’t about my dad. This is about my job and trying to reason with this auditor.
I check the time, noting that students will start filtering in in a few minutes.
“Look, would it help if we cleared the air a bit?”
She frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry about what I said in the elevator yesterday. About your name.”
She looks surprised at what I’ve said. “It’s fine,” she mutters.
“It’s not. I was rude and unprofessional. I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s fine.”
I sigh and shake my head. Clearly none of this is fine.
We stand there for a silent few seconds. I notice she’s looking at me expectantly.
“What?” I finally ask.
“Is that the only thing you want to apologize for?”
I frown, confused. “Yeah…”
She stares at me. I’m not sure why. Is she waiting for me to apologize for getting into it with her at the staff meeting yesterday? She’s the one who came in guns a-blazing, rubbing everyone the wrong way with her curt, unsympathetic attitude. How else was I supposed to react?
Micah lets out a bitter chuckle. “Okay. Never mind.”
She starts to turn away.
“Wait, what do you mean?”
“It’s nothing,” she says without even looking at me.
I step toward her. “No, really. Did I do or say something else that upset you? Because if I did…”
When she spins around, I’m taken aback at the flash of pain in her eyes. “I said never mind, Professor Scott. I’m going to observe you during today’s class. We’ll have a brief meeting afterward so I can give you my feedback.”
I take in the embarrassed look in her eyes as she turns back to her desk and sits down.
“You don’t have to keep calling me Professor Scott. You can call me Aidan.”
She ignores me as she scribbles something in her notepad. A second later students start filtering into the classroom. Guilt gnaws at the pit of my gut. Clearly I hurt her feelings. I think back to the argument we had yesterday during the faculty meeting, but I’m struggling to remember everything. Things definitely got heated, and I can’t remember exactly what I said to her. We were both pissed and snapped at each other.
A minute later the room is full with students. I clench my jaw before forcing out a breath. I can’t think about this now—I’ve got a class to teach.
“Morning, everyone.” I take my usual spot in the class, which is to lean-sit against the front of the desk. “Let’s dive right in, shall we?”
I swipe my paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet and hold it up. “What did we all think?”
When the room of twenty students stays quiet, I start to get nervous. Getting the silent treatment this early in the morning from a group of nineteen- and twenty-year-olds isn’t a surprise. I’m used to it, honestly. It normally takes a bit for them to warm up and start speaking. But knowing that Micah is sitting here, observing my every move, documenting everything that happens so she can use it to evaluate me—and that it could determine whether or not I keep my job—has me sweating.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot her scribbling something on a notepad. Probably about how it’s crickets in my class so far. Fantastic.
I do my best to push aside the doubt trying so hard to seep in. I make sure my tone is light when I speak again. “Tough crowd this early in the morning. No one’s excited to chat about this classic? I’m excited. I even brought my favorite Romeo and Juliet pun cup.”
I hold up my thermos, which sports a sticker of cartoon knife with a smiling face on it. “‘O happy dagger’? No laughs? Really?”
A few chuckles follow.
“Most of you already read this in high school, right?” I ask.
They all nod.
“What did you think of it then?”
When everyone is quiet yet again, I let out a loud groan that earns me a loud laugh.
“Come on, guys. Throw me a bone here. Honestly, what did you think of this play when you read it as a fourteen-year-old?”
A student in the front raises her hand, and I call on her.
“Honestly? I didn’t really understand it at that age. I thought it was boring.”
“Fair,” I say.
The student behind her raises his hand. “I agree. I didn’t really get it either. I thought it was kind of dumb that these two kids thought they were in love and were willing to kill themselves after knowing each other for not very long.”
Mumbles of agreement follow.
“Also fair,” I say.
A student in the back hesitates before raising her hand. “I, uh, always thought it was so awful how so many people called this play a romance. It’s, like, one of the least romantic things I’ve ever read.”
“I definitely see your point. Let me ask you all this—has your opinion changed about this play after reading it years later?”
I get a mix of reactions. Mostly shrugs with a few yeses and noes.
“We’ve got a good mix of reactions. Always exciting.” I pause. “Okay, so I think we all can agree that Romeo and Juliet isn’t a great relationship handbook, right?”
Almost everyone laughs. Except Micah, of course, who’s glaring at her notepad as she scribbles furiously.
“Do you remember what it was like falling in love for the first time?”
Affirming noises follow.
“You didn’t do anything as tragic as these two did. Thankfully.” I hold up the book. “But I bet some of you thought that you were head over heels in love after not knowing that person very long, right?”
It’s quiet before a good chunk of the class nod their heads in agreement.
“Tell me about it.”
“I can definitely relate to that feeling,” a student in the front says with a shy laugh. “I was totally in love with my high school boyfriend. We’re not together anymore, but fourteen-year-old me thought we’d be together forever. It’s pretty silly to think about now.”
“It’s not,” I say. “That’s the very definition of young love. It’s your first time feeling that way. It’s your first time feeling that heart-pounding excitement, that attraction, that intoxicating surge of emotions. That first time holding hands, that first kiss.” I make a mock-explosion sound while gesturing with my hands, which earns me a good laugh. “You thought about them all the time. You couldn’t get them out of your mind if you tried, right?”
They all nod. A couple more students share how they felt the first time they fell in love.
“How did it feel when people like teachers or parents questioned your relationship or your feelings for your partner?” I ask. “When they said stuff like, It’s never going to last—you’re too young . Or that what you were feeling was just hormones and not real love.”
Multiple students remark how hurt and mad they were.
“You can kind of understand where they’re coming from now though, can’t you? Looking back at yourself as a teenager, you can see why some of your relationships didn’t work out, right?”
Almost everyone says they agree.
“It’s still kind of a dick move though, to tell someone that their feelings aren’t valid just because they’re young, don’t you think?”
Everyone either nods or says “Yeah.”
I hold up the book once more. “I know this play is chock-full of flaws and it’s old as hell and it’s hard to relate to in modern times, for sure. All of those criticisms are valid. But I honestly think the emotions of the characters stand the test of time. Because we all know what it’s like to be young and in love and feel like it’s going to last forever. And we all know how bad it hurts when that love ends—when you get your heart broken for the first time.”
The entire class nods in agreement. Even Micah is looking at me. She’s not nodding, but she’s not actively glaring at me. I’ll count that as a win.
“Yeah, this play is a tough sell because the characters are young, and they haven’t known each other for very long before they’re willing to die for their love for one another. A bit dramatic and unrealistic, for sure. But there’s an emotional significance there that I think is pretty relatable when it comes to falling into and out of love. Maybe we don’t have to take this play literally for it to be meaningful. Maybe its value is in the raw emotions that it makes us feel when we think about our own experiences of being young and in love. That’s why this class is called Shakespeare Yesterday and Today. Yeah, he’s old-fashioned. Not to mention dead. But I think his writing still holds a lot of value even today. To me, that’s what makes literature special, when it can conjure up genuine feelings within you while you read it, no matter how old the text is.”
The students nod in agreement with what I’ve said.
“Enough of my yammering. Let’s break into groups so you all can discuss that more on your own.”
I break the class into small groups and tell them to chat about their thoughts on the play. Before class ends, I assign them the next play to read. When everyone leaves, I walk over to Micah, who’s still scribbling.
She looks up at me. “Would you like to go over my notes here or in your office?”
I’m thrown off by how no-nonsense her tone is. I shouldn’t be. Her entire demeanor is the definition of no-nonsense . But I guess the hopeful part of me wanted her to be affected by what I said in class today.
“Here is fine.” I sit down at the desk next to her.
“Did you realize that you didn’t take attendance?”
I pause, surprised at her out-of-the-blue question. “What?”
“You didn’t take attendance at the beginning of class,” she repeats.
“I don’t take attendance this far into the semester anymore.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t even blink. It’s like she’s got all of her questions loaded up and ready to go. She’s like a damn machine.
“Because at this point I know who’s showing up to my class.”
She pulls a sheet of paper out of her notebook and shows it to me. “It says on your class roster that there were four more students who were enrolled in this class, but I only counted twenty today.”
I skim the paper. “Those four students stopped showing up after the first week. It’s pretty common for some students to start a class, decide it’s not for them or they can’t handle the course load, then drop.”
More furiously scribbling. Jesus, is she writing an essay?
After a long moment, Micah looks back at me. “You’re clearly well-liked among your students. And you do a good job of breathing new life into such antiquated literature. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’re not good at retaining your students, Professor Scott.”
My mouth is open as I process everything she’s said. Damn, if that wasn’t some epic back-handed complimenting.
I shake my head. “Wait, so you’re using the fact that a few students have dropped my class as a reason to criticize me as an educator.”
“If that’s how you want to phrase it, go right ahead,” she says as she straightens her stack of papers. “And it’s not just this class. I looked through your rosters over the past couple of years. You’ve had a handful of students drop almost all of the courses you teach.”
“Most professors lose a handful of students each semester, no matter the class.” I can’t believe how blunt and short-sighted Micah is being. “I-I don’t understand…”
This time when she looks at me, she pins me with a hard, unyielding stare. “Tuition is the main source of revenue for a university, Professor Scott. The more students you enroll, the more tuition the university earns, the more money it makes. If a student drops a class, they don’t have to pay for it. That’s less money that the university makes.”
Frustration gnaws at me. “I know that. I’m not an idiot.”
“There’s no need to get hostile, Professor Scott.”
Frustration turns to anger. “You come into my classroom and insult the material I’m teaching and make it seem like I’m some moron who’s costing the university money because I don’t think to take attendance every day, and I’m the hostile one?”
I stand up from the desk and start to gather my things.
Behind me, I hear Micah let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not trying to upset you, Professor Scott. I’m just trying to help.”
I spin around to face her. “I said call me Aidan.”
Her saucer like eyes widen the slightest bit at the bite in my tone. “I’d prefer to keep this as professional and cordial as possible, Professor Scott.”
“Of course you would,” I mutter as I finish grabbing all my stuff off the desk.
“Excuse me, but what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that all your fixation on professionalism is BS. It doesn’t take away from the fact that you don’t care about anything other than nitpicking at any random thing you can find for your little audit.”
She scoffs. “How dare you say that. I’m just doing my job.”
I look her dead in the eye. “That’s crap and you know it.”
When her mouth falls open and all she can do is stand there and stare at me, I feel the tiniest burst of satisfaction.
After a few seconds, she resumes her signature hard stare. “With all due respect, Professor Scott, I’m trying my hardest to do a good job, whether you believe me or not.”
It’s not till she finishes speaking that I realize just how close we’re standing to each other. The tip of my shoe is touching the tip of her high heel. Our faces are just a handful of inches apart. I inhale to steady myself, but that’s a huge fucking mistake because I breathe in a lungful of whatever perfume she’s wearing. It smells like candy and flowers, and goddamn, it’s intoxicating.
A second later my brain catches up. That familiar surge of frustration bubbles in my chest, and I look her in the eye. “With all due respect, Ms. Mila, you’re right—I don’t believe you. You’re the worst thing that’s happened to this university.”
Her brow hits her hairline as I stomp out of the room, fuming.