5. Lynn
— ? —
Lynn
The seminar room is smaller than the lecture hall, which means there’s nowhere to hide.
Which is a problem, because things with Professor Draven have gotten complicated.
He’s been coming to the library at night, earlier and earlier, until he’s practically waiting when my shift starts, and we talk for hours about books and myths and the Britney Spears discography he’s determined to misunderstand.
He never touches me. He just looks at me like the rest of the room has switched off, and I’ve stopped pretending I don’t look back.
Falling for my professor. That’s where I’m at. Cool. Great. Very sustainable.
I’m sitting in the back corner, my usual spot, close to the door in case I need to escape, with my notebook open and my pen ready and my heart doing things it absolutely shouldn’t be doing, because Professor Draven is ten feet away and he’s wearing that charcoal sweater again and I’ve been thinking about his hands for three days straight.
Focus, Lynn. Academic thoughts only. Scholarly interest. Professional admiration for his expertise in-
He looks up from his notes and meets my eyes.
, his expertise in ruining my life.
“Today,” he says, addressing the room but still holding my gaze, “we’ll be exploring courtship rituals in wolf mythology. The ways ancient cultures understood and represented the mating process.”
Someone giggles. He ignores it.
“I want to start with discussion. What do we think distinguishes mythological courtship from human courtship? What makes the wolf’s approach different?”
Hands go up. He calls on a girl in the front row, Jessica’s friend, I realize with a sinking feeling, which means Jessica is probably-
“Lynn!”
Yep. There she is.
Brittany and Jessica materialize beside my desk like coordinated nightmares, their matching ponytails swinging as they slide into the seats on either side of me. We’re not assigned seats. They’ve never sat near me before. This is calculated.
“So crazy that we ended up next to each other,” Brittany says, loud enough for the row behind us to hear. “I never sit in the back.”
“Me neither,” Jessica adds. “But I guess some people need to be close to the door. In case they have, like, an episode or whatever.”
My jaw tightens. I keep my eyes on my notebook.
“The instinct-driven nature of mythological courtship,” the front-row girl is saying, “seems to prioritize recognition over choice. The wolf doesn’t decide to court - it knows.”
“Excellent point, Ms. Okafor.” Professor Draven writes something on the board. “The concept of recognition is central. Now, how do these myths handle-”
“Did you do the reading, Lynn?” Brittany interrupts, her voice a stage whisper. “I know it’s hard for you to focus on long things.”
“I did the reading.”
“All of it? That’s so impressive for someone with your… challenges.”
My hand tightens on my pen. Don’t engage. Don’t give them what they want.
“I actually think it’s brave,” Jessica adds, dripping false sympathy. “Like, you know you can’t compete with everyone else’s brains, but you keep trying anyway. That’s really inspiring.”
“Ms. Taylor. Ms. Brooks.”
Professor Draven’s voice cuts through the room, cold and flat.
Brittany and Jessica freeze.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No, Professor.” Brittany’s smile is instant, practiced. “We were just helping Lynn with the material. She sometimes needs extra support.”
“Does she?”
He moves toward our corner of the room, slow and deliberate, and there’s something dangerous in his expression that makes the temperature drop.
“That’s interesting,” he continues, “because I’ve just finished reading Miss Crowe’s essay on transformation mythology, and I have to say-” He stops in front of our row. “-it’s the most sophisticated piece of undergraduate writing I’ve encountered in my career.”
The room goes silent.
“In fact,” he says, pulling a paper from his folder, my paper, I realize with dawning horror - “I’d like to share a passage. If Miss Crowe doesn’t mind.”
I don’t know what my face is doing. Probably something embarrassing.
“‘The werewolf myth,’” he reads aloud, “‘functions as a container for anxieties about the self - the fear that our truest nature is something monstrous, and the deeper fear that this monstrousness might be exactly what makes us whole.’” He looks up.
“That’s from page three. She goes on to connect this to contemporary disability narratives, arguing that the ‘curse’ of transformation often mirrors the experience of living with invisible conditions - the constant negotiation between the self the world expects and the self that actually exists. ”
My face is on fire.
“This analysis,” Professor Draven continues, his eyes finding mine, “demonstrates exactly the kind of original thinking I hope to see from all of you. Miss Crowe doesn’t need extra support. She needs classmates who can keep up.”
The silence is absolute.
Brittany looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. Jessica is staring at her desk. Everyone else is staring at me, and I don’t know whether to die of embarrassment or cry or-
“Now,” Professor Draven says, returning to the front of the room like he hasn’t just eviscerated two people, “let’s return to our discussion. Courtship rituals.”
I spend the next twenty minutes trying to remember how to breathe.
The clock is still ticking down when he changes tack. “For the final portion of today’s class,” Professor Draven announces, “I’d like to do a demonstration.”
The room perks up. Demonstrations mean less note-taking.
“Many wolf myths describe specific physical elements of courtship - scent marking, territorial displays, ritualized touch. These behaviors served multiple purposes: establishing compatibility, communicating intent, and strengthening the bond between potential mates.”
He scans the room. “I’ll need a volunteer.”
Every hand goes up. Including, I notice, Brittany’s and Jessica’s, because apparently their humiliation has been eclipsed by the opportunity to get close to the hot professor.
“Miss Crowe.”
I choke on my own saliva.
“What?”
“You’ve already demonstrated superior understanding of the material. Would you assist me?”
No, I want to say. Absolutely not. I’m not going to the front of this room to be your demonstration dummy while I’m still processing the fact that you quoted my essay like it was sacred text.
“Okay,” my mouth says, because my mouth is a traitor.
I stand on shaking legs and make my way to the front of the room. Every eye is on me. Brittany’s jaw is actually hanging open.
Professor Draven gestures to his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
I perch on the edge of the desk, painfully aware of how close he is, how small the space between us feels.
“In many traditions,” he says, addressing the class but standing beside me, “the courting wolf would circle the intended mate. This served as a display of interest and a way of… assessing compatibility.”
He starts to circle my desk.
He moves slowly, deliberately, each step placed with intention, his eyes never leaving me, and I feel the weight of his attention as a physical thing.
“The circling allowed the wolf to observe from all angles,” he continues. “To ensure the mate was healthy, alert, aware of the attention being paid.”
He completes the circle. Stops beside me. Too close.
“Following the visual assessment, many myths describe scent marking. The wolf would press specific points - believed to be scent glands - to establish a claim.”
He reaches out.
His fingers find the side of my neck, right where his mouth was in the library, right where he licked me, and press gently. The touch is barely there. It shouldn’t feel like anything.
It feels like everything.
“The throat,” he says, his voice dropping, “was considered primary. A vulnerable point. Touching it communicated trust - the mate allowing the wolf access to their most defenseless place.”
His fingers drag down to my shoulder. I suppress a shiver.
“The shoulder represented strength. A partnership of equals.”
Lower. To my wrist. He lifts my hand, turns it over, presses his thumb to my pulse point.
“The wrist showed honesty. The heartbeat unable to lie.”
I’m not breathing. I’ve stopped breathing entirely.
“You okay, darling?” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I manage a nod.
“The ritual would conclude,” he announces to the class, releasing my hand, “with both parties acknowledging the bond. A verbal confirmation of what the bodies already knew.”
He steps back. The pull between us hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything it’s worse, stretched thin and humming.
“Any questions?”
Someone in the front row is literally fanning themselves with their notebook. The guy next to them looks like he’s having a religious experience. Brittany appears to have stopped functioning entirely.
“That was… very educational,” someone manages.
“I’m glad you found it informative.” Professor Draven’s eyes find mine one last time, warm and knowing and full of something that makes my knees weak. “Miss Crowe, thank you for your assistance. You may return to your seat.”
I walk back to my desk on autopilot.
“Was that as intense as it looked?” the girl next to me whispers.
More, I think. So much more.
“Miss Crowe?”
I look up.
“One final question,” Professor Draven says. “Having experienced a demonstration of the courtship ritual - how would you describe your current state?”
The entire class turns to stare at me.
“Fine,” I say.
His mouth twitches. “Just fine?”
“Yes.”
I’m lying through my teeth. Fine is the opposite of what I am, which is a disaster of hormones and want.
But he knows that.
He knows that, and he’s smiling, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m already counting the hours until I see him again.