Quietus - Book III

Chapter 4: City of Stones

*August 26, 2010*

The journey from Crown Heights to Drexden was more abysmal than I remembered. I trudged through the old neighborhood, the buildings and children all so blurry to me. The trains were more crowded. Everyone was in a foul mood, profanity-laced conversations about the stupidest nonsense filled the train car. The stations were cramped turgid noisy hell holes.

As I climbed the steps up the 8th St. station, I deleted Phoebe's messages.

When I got to the old stomping grounds, I spotted Professor Porter in a white button-down and dark blue jeans on the first floor talking to a student. This was his "dress-down for the first day of class" look he wore last semester. He was laughing with a tall blond who could've been a freshman. He laughed too hard, in fact. She must've been Briana's replacement this year. With my head down, I tried to walk passed him, but he noticed me.

"Katherine?"

He pulled me aside, looked at me up and down with a shred of pity but didn't express it. Instead, he chastised me.

"You embarrassed me. Do you know how hard it is to run that internship program with Theresa?"

"I'm sorry-" I really was. Sort of. Maybe I was.

"That's not good enough. You've made it very difficult for those this year to have the same opportunity you did."

"I'll make it up to you. I promise." Please refuse.

"No, I think you've done enough," he said. "Theresa has a three-strike rule. I have one. You'll have to seek recommendations elsewhere."

"Maybe I never knew you. Katherine Miller, you're a stranger. I never saw you. I never loved you."

The words stung my right temple so sharply, I rubbed it with a low hiss. Porter raised both eyebrows.

"Are you alright?"

I frowned. His pity was condescending.

"I'm fine."

Thankfully, he flagged down another student, relieving me of his verbal assault and false concern. Head bowed, I dragged one foot after the other into the classroom. I hoped to never be in such close proximity to him again, choosing a seat in the back. The front of the classroom was reserved for the girl from last semester who wanted to suck up and get ahead. I would never be that girl again.

I pulled out my phone, scanning my screen, the words and images all a blur until I landed on the email Porter sent us this morning:

Submit a topic for the term project on books about the urban experience. In this course, we will look at writers such as Zadie Smith, Jane Jacobs, Abouet, and others to see how best to write about cities. We will examine the impact of globalization, technological advances, and economic inequalities on global cities. We will consider issues of local government, urban planning, and international corporate influence as they are reflected in official and unofficial narratives of city life.

"We" was seven dudes and three girls, except only nine of us were present. And guess who was the odd woman out when Porter asked us to pair up for the term project?

After the usual five minute grace period, Porter shut the door and headed my way. Oh joy.

"Because of her lateness, I'll come by at the end of class to listen to your ideas."

"I can come up with a topic on my own by the end of today's class." I hadn't read any of the texts on the summer reading list. How I'd be able to do anything when I was so behind was beyond me. "I really don't need a partner."