Shakespeare | Harry Styles

Part III

English class is your favorite class.

Since your paper, the past few weeks have been stuffed full of theory readings and poetry analyses. You've read Wordsworth, Woolf, and many in between. It's hard not to get caught up in a world of rhyme schemes and symbolism.

Harry has been overly-avoidant. He didn't look at you when you handed him your essay, and he hasn't since. You're just confused. It's not clear why his eyes skirt around you when his gaze pans across the classroom, or why they glue themselves to the sidewalk when you pass him outside. But every time you see him or the thought of him merely crosses your mind, all you can think about is that second or two when he was in such close proximity. You can almost smell his cologne and see the thin hair spotting his chin.

"I want you each to go through and mark the syllables—which ones are stressed and which are unstressed?" Dr. Glasser says. Today he's wearing a navy blue pin-striped jacket with brown pants, and you can't help but grin at the endearing return of mismatched socks.

You look down at the copied poem on your desk: "Delight in Disorder" by Robert Herrick. The classroom falls into silence, save for the scratching of pencils.

You scribble quickly across your copy to mark the syllables, mumbling each word beneath your breath. With a last flick of your pencil, you begin to read the poem, stumbling clumsily over the ends of the lines.

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribands to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see a wild civility;
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

An amused smile flits across your lips as you twist pronunciations to suit the rhyme scheme and realize what the poet was doing. You lift your eyes once they're done scanning the poem to find another jade pair trained on you. Just as you see them, they've turned away.

"What can you tell us about the poem, Y/N?"

Your neck twists around painfully as your fingers lose their grip on your pencil. There's a resonant echo of plastic on the tiled floor. Dr. Glasser stares at you expectantly from the other side of the room, eyes dancing with amusement, though his face looks serious.

"Did you like it?" he asks.

"Yeah, I did," you answer slowly, chewing nervously on the corner of your lip.

"That's good. So, what can you tell us about it?"

You can feel dozens of pairs of eyes watching you, can feel the one pair that stares a little more intensely than the rest. Swallowing down your nerves, you fasten your gaze back to the poem in question.

"The form reflects the content," you inform him, toying with the corner of the page.

"Very good," the professor commends with a short nod of his head. He paces around the room, on the inside of the circle. "The disorder in the poetry complements the disorder in the woman's appearance. Did anyone else pick up on that?"

A handful of hesitant arms raise and you let your eyes scan the room. A flush creeps into your cheeks when you find Harry watching you again with the ghost of a smile. This time he doesn't look away.

"Wonderful," Dr. Glasser praises with a smile of his own. He looks down at his wrist, where he's remembered to fasten his watch today. "That's all we have time for today, I suppose. We'll continue this talk on Tuesday. Don't forget your next paper will be due."