Something Like Shame (BWWM)

Chapter 15

Underwhelmed, the only description of where I was emotionally.

The next day, once I took my seat, I was met with packets of take-home quizzes, study guides, and group assignment after group assignment. Heaven forbid I even considered forgetting the essays. My cumulative grade had dropped to a sixty-eight seemingly overnight and, judging from the groans and rolled eyes from the back of the room, I wasn't the worst case.

He gestured to the wild notes scribbled across the board in blue marker. "After taking a few looks at my lesson plan, I noticed that, well, we're behind schedule. At some point during the trip," he said, turning away from my side of the room, "I somehow forgot that this is, in fact, a college course. So, we have to play catch-up for a while until the course-work levels out and I feel like you all understand the material. Now let's take a look at page thirteen of your textbook. Harley, start us out on the Parthenon."

Harley, a shy and quiet blonde girl, read the passage aloud as we followed. She stumbled over some words, but overall she had a knowledgeable air about her and that was all that really mattered.

Sebastian nodded, "Can anyone explain what she just read?"

I raised my hand and aimed my gaze firmly on him, waiting. He paced to the opposite side of the room, successfully ignoring me. "What all helped Phidias achieve the Parthenon's perfection? Thomas?"

"Well, he used the Golden Ratio..."

"Right and why? Imagine that I'm an ignorant seven-year-old, why?" He waited, I waited, raising my hand again. I was caught between being the over-eager student and trying to keep my cool, "Sharon?"

"Uh- it, um, I think-" Her pink face turned a deeper red, "I thought it was called the 'golden ratio' because it was perfect?"

"Yes. You are right." He nodded with trained complacence, "But, I want a little more from you." I ground my teeth, "Use as many details as you possibly can. If you two can study it tonight, come back tomorrow, and give a thorough presentation that convinces me that you understand what you're saying, I will shell out extra credit to your worst test grades. As long as you all try, I won't let you fail this course."

The bell rang and I stayed in my seat, taking my time as I gathered my things. Soon enough, the room was silent and empty except for the ticking of the clock. When everyone was out, I paced toward the door and shut it quietly.

He didn't move a muscle, just sat in his seat.

"They didn't only use the Golden Ratio as a tool." I said, shuffling closer to his desk.

Glancing up and back to his paper, "Excuse me?"

"There were all these great tools like Entasis and Stylobate. You never asked me, but Entasis was my favorite. It gave the same effect on the columns that you'd see in a body builder if he braced himself for the weight. So, why am I failing this class?"

"Um, have you attended your in-school suspension?"

"I remember you saying that I didn't have to go."

"And shortly after that, you said that you were obliged. Now, you've skipped all of them, knowing that it counts for participation grades, and run the risk of real suspension."

"But-"

He frowned deeply, "'But', what? You said it yourself. You've made the commitment to be responsible. Don't accuse me of putting the words in your mouth."

My face flushed, "But, you said all these other things and you were beyond affectionate..."

"You were listening with a pair of naive little ears, Henna," he lowered his voice as the wind whistled through the air vents, nearly muting him, "I also said that night was to be the very last occurrence of an inappropriate thing. Now I cannot and will not do that ever again. Don't try to change me because this is how I should be, Henna. I'm good and everything's better for it."

My heart was hammering its way up my throat, and I was shaking. There was something behind those deep hazel eyes- something strained beneath them, on the brink.

"There is no other interpretation that needs to be taken from this. Our relationship will be strained and cold. I want it that way. So, when you step out of here, don't twist or mangle my words to your benefit: you're no different from any of my other students and I am merely your teacher, nothing more, nothing less. You're not my responsibility beyond that."

"Okay." I said, biting my lip.

"I'll see you in detention." He pulled on his glasses and smoothed the creases of an envelop, sealing it.

The rest of our days were tense, to say the least. Keeping to his promise, he was terse when approaching me, practically a brick wall and at other times he was just confusing. Plain and simple.
Everyday before class, he stood outside of his room. Waiting with his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning against the wall, he'd stare down the hall at students, people-watching, and, to tell you the truth, it was beyond uncomfortable. I mean, what wouldn't be unnerving about being watched as you walk down the hall by such jarring eyes?

Of course, he was incredibly adamant about the extent of our disconnection, but that did not stop his stares. They weren't innocent enough to even be called glances; he leered at me, watched me. As careful as he was not to show signs of his presence, I felt every single inch of him.

One moment he'd be explaining Titian's style then our eyes would lock for a glimmer of a second and he'd get all flustered and turn away. Like, he didn't even know me.

And, contrary to what one may think, this separation brought forth a new form of growth for me. It pushed me to work and work and work some more- because that was the only way I was allowed to see him at all.

From what I observed as I mixed my jars of paint, he was scouting out new talent in bulk. Taking teens by the hoard as he orchestrated all these demos on screen printing and film making. From behind my easel, I watched jealously as he mystified these eager girls and boys with his tricks and techniques, techniques that I knew all too well. But I had to check myself, this was great for him. He had a colorful atmosphere full of kids with raw talent and everything was how it should have been. He had his job, I still had my hopeful future.

If there was any problem, it would be the fact that he was seeing too much of me. But, I couldn't help watching him throughout the day, knocking into him awkwardly, standing too close. He never bothered to speak to me or any of the other teachers in the hallways, though some of them noticed him-especially the females. Curious to know more about their boss's son, they asked us about him.

Does he like teaching so far?

Is he nice?

He's staying for good, right?

It seemed that way.

But, a little over a week after the rejection, as I passed by Dr. Wick's office, I heard Sebastian yelling. He was absolutely wracked with anger, I'd seen him simper, but never had I heard him raise his voice. His words were all the worse or it too.

"She can't be here. You just can't let her stay here. If you still have some form of belief in me, sir, send her somewhere else." I chewed my nail, almost twitching with anxiety. My principal knew about this. He knew about me. He knew about that night when everything felt like it was set ablaze and my body felt like caramelized marble melding to his and... My face burned. This decrepit man, who can change my life's path with one phone call, now has all that he needs to send me anywhere and Sebastian was begging him to do so and it hurt me to my core.

Dr. Wick cleared his throat, "Yet, she's going to be here. You sank yourself into this hole and she'll be stuck with you, Sebastian. Don't expect her to let you go and do not expect me to solve your 'lover's' qualms."

Through the bleary glass, Dr. Wick sat at his desk, still and silent, letting Sebastian vent his anger into the open air, slamming his fist on a nearby table. When his voice fell, I scurried back down the hall, he was angry enough already. I didn't want him to turn it on me.