Chapter 2
Two
Lucas
M y phone is clutched tightly in my hand as my heart nearly pounds its way out of my chest.
“Are you serious?” I ask, stopping in my tracks and waiting for the voice on the other end to reply.
My old friend and colleague from my job in New York laughs through the line. “I know better than to tease you about this, Luke.”
“I’m a finalist? Holy shit, Alan.”
He laughs again. “You’re on their short list. They were very impressed with your Marlowe article, and they’d love to schedule a virtual interview to discuss your ideas for the Stratford Project some more.”
I could scream. My jaw is practically on the floor. This can’t be happening.
I’ve been applying for the Stratford Project since grad school. To live in London, collaborate with some of this generation’s greatest minds, and do nothing but study the classics for months on end…would be a dream come true .
It would catapult my career. No more teaching introductory English courses at a small state university. If I get into this program, I’d be at Oxford. The Oxford. I could be teaching real literature courses. No more idiotic essays on Hamlet or Animal Farm written by communication majors struggling to pass ENG101.
“Don’t start celebrating yet,” my friend replies. “It’s a rigorous vetting process.”
I stop in the quad and adjust my satchel on my shoulder. “Of course. I understand, but, Alan, this is the furthest I’ve gotten—an actual interview.”
“Congratulations, Dr. Goode. Someone from the program will be in touch soon.”
“Thanks, Alan.”
When the phone line goes dead, I stare straight ahead at the bright-purple bougainvillea growing along the green pathways between buildings. This was the boost of confidence I needed. The past few years have been tough.
Finding work in New York was harder than I expected—even with a doctorate. It’s what drove me back to Texas. Accepting this job at Austin State was humbling, but on the bright side, it meant I could be closer to Caleb again. And I could watch my niece grow up.
That’s about the only silver lining I could find to living in Texas again.
Working at this mind-numbing job, watching my expensive education waste away, and seeing all of my potential and dreams of something greater vanish like dust in the wind.
Getting a place in the Stratford Project would change all of that.
With this renewed sense of purpose and possibility, I continue my walk across campus to the Humanities Building. It’s the first day of the semester—the first day of my sixth year teaching here. And hopefully, my last first day at Austin State.
When I reach the room, the lecture hall is raucous and full of fresh-faced students. For many of them, they’ve just sprung out of high school and this is their first foray into university studies. I’ll be lucky if half of them can even piece together an entire essay or read an entire book, let alone Shakespeare.
By now, this process is old hat. I get their attention, introduce myself, explain the coursework and reading list, and pass out the syllabus. Before I can even pick up a weathered copy of Paradise Lost , I’ve lost half of them to their phones.
“This will be our first reading assignment of the semester?—”
Leaning against the desk at the front of the room, I’m interrupted by the door crashing open. All eyes dart to the entrance as a tall redhead busts through, staring wide-eyed at me and the John Milton novel in my hand.
“Shit! Sorry,” she stammers as she tiptoes into the room.
It’s not that she’s late or causing a scene that has me tripping over my words. It’s that…I know her. I’ve met Sadie before. She manages the sex club my brother’s girlfriend owns. I see her from time to time at gatherings or their monthly book club.
For a moment, Sadie and I pause like two deer stuck in the middle of the road.
“Sorry I’m late,” she mutters while backing up toward the steps leading up to the empty seats of the lecture hall. Her eyes are still trained on me.
When I notice the students fidgeting in their seats, I blink my gaze away from Sadie. “That’s all right. Just…uh, have a seat, Miss…”
“Green,” she blurts out, stumbling up the stairs.
“Miss Green.”
As she takes her seat, I struggle to recover my train of thought. What was I just talking about?
I glance down at the book in my hand. Oh yeah.
“Our first reading assignment,” I manage, “will be Paradise Lost. If you have not purchased your copy yet, you need to do so by the end of the week. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I track her movement as she pulls a pen from her back pocket and scribbles something on the palm of her hand. As her eyes dance back up to where I’m standing at the front of the lecture hall, I notice she bites her bottom lip, and her brows lift expectantly.
I clear my throat. “We will have our first essay assignment due at the end of September about Paradise Lost , but you will choose your topic. You should be thinking about this as you read.”
She nods, then scribbles on her hand again.
If I keep going, she’s going to have the entire syllabus scrawled across her forearm.
“Miss Green, do you need a piece of paper?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
Her spine straightens as she releases her bottom lip from between her teeth. “Nope.”
The rest of the class types their notes on a computer or their phones, but as I continue discussing the readings and assignments, Sadie proceeds to use her body as her own personal notepad.
With a sigh, I freeze midsentence and turn toward the male student in the front row. He’s writing in a notebook and when I stare down at him, he glances up at me with confusion and a hint of fear in his eyes. Without another word, I take his notebook from his desk and flip to a blank page. Quickly I tear a piece out as the entire class watches in tense silence.
With the blank paper in hand, I march over to where Sadie is sitting in the third row. Her eyes are wide as I place it on her desk.
She glances down at it before shooting her terror-filled gaze up to my face.
“From now on, Miss Green, please come to my class prepared.”
I watch her throat as she swallows. “Okay,” she mumbles softly.
“And on time,” I add.
Her eyes narrow, and her mouth closes in a tight, straight line. She doesn’t respond, and in the back of my mind I consider that I should probably feel bad for how I’m treating her mostly because I know her . But I don’t.
She should know better than to show up in a college class without the bare minimum. I don’t know how she gets by normally, but in my class, I have expectations.
Turning her attention to the paper on the desk, it feels like she’s obstinately ignoring me as I turn back to the front of the room and continue my lecture on the class readings and assignments.
Toward the end of the period, the entire class starts to appear restless, packing up their things and checking their phones while I’m still talking. I glance up at Sadie, who is finally writing on the paper I gave her.
About five minutes before the end of the class, I announce to everyone that they can leave. They practically stampede out of the lecture hall, but Sadie hovers at her seat until the rest of them are gone. I’ve never spoken to her privately before, but after that little incident in class, I’m dreading this interaction.
I should apologize.
Shouldn’t I?
With a huff, she stands from her seat, snatching the paper in her hand.
“Look, I’m sorry for being late, but just because we know each other in real life doesn’t mean you can be such a jerk to me,” she says. My back is to her as I close my laptop and slide it into my bag.
“I assure you, Miss Green, I was not treating you differently because we know each other,” I reply without turning around.
“Oh, so you’re just an asshole all the time then?”
My head spins toward her. “Excuse me?—”
With a smirk, she interrupts me. “I assure you I would have said that to you even if we didn’t know each other.”
My eyes seem to be stuck, my jaw hanging open. Suddenly, I can’t tear my gaze away, and I realize I’m focusing too long on her hair, her freckles, her lips, her eyes. Which is weird for me. Normally, I avoid eye contact or staring at anyone for more than a split second, but Sadie has this gravity about her. I can’t look away.
Finally closing my mouth and crossing my arms as I turn toward her, I let out a sigh. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Green.”
“Please call me Sadie,” she replies with an eye roll.
Ignoring her request, I continue. “If you’re going to be in this class, Miss Green , then I think we need to set some expectations.”
“Fine,” she says, placing her hands on her hips. “I expect you to not humiliate me in front of the whole class.”
“And I expect you to come to my class on time and prepared,” I argue. “Is that clear?”
With a scoff, she flinches as if I’ve insulted her. After a moment, she shakes her head and rolls her eyes again. “Yes, Luke. Crystal clear.”
“Dr. Goode,” I snap.
Again, she scoffs. With her eyes trained on my face, she balls up the piece of paper in her hands and tosses it at me. I catch it as it lands against my chest.
“Whatever you say, Dr. Goode .” I don’t miss the way those words are seeping with cynicism.
Without another word, she marches out of the room, letting the door slam loudly behind her. A little struck by the entire encounter, I stand in shock for a moment before glancing down at the wad of paper in my hand.
Opening it up, I’m taken aback by the notes scrawled across the page. In her neat and meticulous handwriting, she has nearly every single word I spoke today written down. She even has a list of potential essay topics noted on the side— good essay topics too.
How would she even have these ideas? Has she read Paradise Lost before ?
I flatten the page out as much as I can and slide it into my satchel before slinging the bag onto my shoulder. Revisiting every moment of that encounter, I make my way across campus toward my car.
I was already dreading the start of this semester, and now I’m suddenly feeling ten times worse.