Transference - (Jonathan Crane, Harley Quinn)

Chapter 5

The weekend passed with Harley spending the entire time seeking advice and solace in women's magazines and Dear Cupid columns. By Sunday night, she felt ready to tackle anything Crane could throw at her. Ignore her, would he? Ha! She didn't even care! She was going to show up to class, be fabulous and then he'd be sorry!

(It did not occur to her that her sudden obsession with her professor was concerning.)

On Monday, she sauntered into class wearing a figure hugging turtleneck and jeans. Classic and a little girl-next-door. A surefire winner.

No reaction.

Tuesday, she wore a little black miniskirt with some white go-go boots and a leather jacket. A little rough and tumble, a little dangerous. That might appeal to someone so buttoned up…

Still nothing.

Wednesday, she went full on girlie girl with a pink lace dress and pearl stud earrings.

If anything, he seemed to ignore her more.

On Thursday, she got desperate enough to pull out all the stops in a little red wraparound dress that would have put even the best little black dresses to shame.

Crane didn't acknowledge her, but just about every other man and a fair few women on campus did.

On Friday she decided it was time for seriously drastic measures. One charcoal pencil skirt, a cream button down shirt with a little black vest and a pair of thick black glasses later, she had the look she wanted: sexy librarian.

For the first time in two weeks, Professor Crane actually looked at her. Oh, sure, it was only for a second, but he looked, and his eyes widened, and he very quickly went back to what he had been doing.

Yes!

He carefully avoided her gaze over the hour—not ignored, but avoided. After two weeks of being ignored, this was a major victory. Harley barely managed to keep from skipping out of the room when class was over. She felt so good, in fact, she treated herself to a strawberry milkshake.

Over the next week, Harley's wardrobe underwent a transformation. Her usual casual clothes were replaced with variations on the "librarian" theme that she'd perfected the Friday before and she watched Crane carefully for any indications of developing more cracks in his armor. There weren't any that she could discern on Monday, but that didn't mean anything. She'd obviously had some effect on him, that much she knew for a fact, and since she planned to replicate the conditions that caused his initial response for the foreseeable future, he was undoubtedly going to experience them again.

On Tuesday, he actually met her eyes for longer than a split second when she entered the room. She felt her heart skip a beat.

Wednesday, he handed her graded essay to her personally and said, ever so cordially, "Miss Quinzel." She discovered then how much she liked the way her name sounded rolling off his tongue.

Thursday he actually called on her when she put her hand up. She scarcely knew what to do with herself for the rest of the afternoon. He caredabout what she had to say!

By the time Friday rolled around, she was absentmindedly doodling little hearts in her notebook during class and trying out the names Harley Crane—Mrs. Professor Jonathan Crane—Mrs. Dr. Professor Jonnycakes Crane, Esq. in the margins of her textbook.

(She didn't like them much, but she could learn to live with one or another.)

When class let out, Harley closed her notebook and put her other things away in her messenger bag. She had every intention of shuffling out of the room with the other students, but Crane held her back.

"About tonight, Miss Quinzel…"

She tried not to look too eager. "Yes?"

"Seven."

"Seven what?"

"O'clock, Miss Quinzel."

"Oh." Harley laughed a little too loudly, a little too falsely. "Sure. I'll be there."

He looked her over. "Are you feeling ill?"

"Oh, no, I'm just peachy!"

He didn't seem convinced. "Seven o'clock then."