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𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀, 𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒
ELEANOR
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'Apologies, I was visualizing duct tape over your mouth,' I managed to spew out with the building irritation. 'Any other inquiries?'
Candidly speaking, I never aspired to do this. To be put on the ritz with sixty youngsters staring me down and scrutinizing me with every word I said. All I wanted was my good-income work back to me, where it belonged, and start to work on a new article every other day. Apparently, brushing off a Stark-based editorial job and going neck-on-neck with the newest head of the exposition division was the embodiment of growth's consequential lemons. So instead of taking a long way around, I reaped the best of both worlds—my love for public speaking and writing—and applied for a substitute lecturer post at a state university. It was the worst of the best resolutions I had taken and besides, it paid me considerably. Before I was Elle Preece, commissioning editor but now I was, Eleanor Maeve Preece, a guidance counsellor for students with a knack for the press.
And when I did obtain the appointment, I aimed to be a professor who the students could get the drop on. Whatever witty repartee they had, I invariably had one better. I wanted to inspire them through the course with a vogue of sarcasm they could aspire to. I didn't want to rule by the authoritative hand—I was once a student myself, and I knew what it was like to feel belittled—rather comprehend and enact. But yes, all of my plans were going to shit by the very first month.
Just after I had asked my question, about ninety hands shot up in the air and some of their faces tipped into mocking snickers. Their titters were reverberating through the bowl-shaped ceiling, making it seem like a thousand rather than a number. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, resting my elbows over the podium and speaking into the elongated tubular mic with a sigh.
'Other than the subject of my relationship, please.'
All of the hands dropped as soon as they came. A wave of rushed murmurs travelled across the room, the name of my one and only attuned among the lot with brief glares. I spotted a bright-haired girl in the front-most row of the hall snap a picture and quickly tap her fingers over her phone, chuckling to her friend at the side.
'I've got one!'
Amid the monotone drone of the hundred tongues, this one sounded louder and more urgent. I tipped my neck to search the extensive building for the source of the voice and landed on the fervently waving from the balustrade behind the furthest row of seats. I crinkled my eyebrows, wondering if I should ask him to move into the light. Pushing the hair out of my eyes, I nodded.
