Baby Cage (3 page)

Time was really against me now. I had allotted some extra time in case I got delayed, only Angela seemed determined to make sure I used it all up.

“Look, I really need to get going…” I started.

Angela ignored me. “You know, you’re a very smart and funny person. I’m sure you’d be able to add a lot to the community here. We can help one another.”

Something about the way she talked reminded me of an over-eager kindergarten teacher. Exhaling through my nostrils, I focused on staying calm. “Thank you so much for that,” I said. “But I really need to go.”

“Okay. Just think about movie night. We’d love to have you there!”

By then, I was half way out the door. I waved back at her without turning around, heard the glass bounce shut, and trudged back through the winds. My strawberry blonde hair frizzed in the breeze, whipping around my face. Ignoring it, I rushed back through campus and was breathing heavily by the time I made it to Kaden Hall, the building which housed most of the general education classes.

At a glance, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the time.

Crap! I was two minutes late. Hopefully, my phone or the classroom’s clock would be off so Professor Rowland wouldn’t notice. His was the only class where I didn’t talk a lot. Unlike most teachers, he could recognize and had no problem calling out his students when they didn’t know the answer or couldn’t keep up with him. So far, I hadn’t been sure enough to take the chance.

Head down, I scampered back down the hall. It was empty, all the doors shut. As I passed one room, then another, I heard the voices of professors as they started their lectures. Crap, crap, crap, I kept thinking to myself.

I made it to the room, paused, and tried to steady my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest as I regretted ever being nice to Angela. She really, really didn’t deserve it, not if she was going to make me late for one of my favorite classes.

After a second to regain my composure, I took a final gulp of air and forced my lungs to move more slowly now. I opened the door and stepped inside.

Professor Rowland stopped talking. His eyes were on me. All of my classmates had their eyes aimed at me as well. I didn’t normally blush, but this time my body made an exception. Bright pink must have colored my cheeks. I felt the heat run through my skin, dancing in a storm of sensation as I tried to move as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Lena,” said Professor Rowland, “you’re late.”

“Sorry,” I said, mumbling. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look up to meet his stare. The disappointment I might find there scared me too much.

Few things managed to fluster me. Disappointment from one of my professors—one I respected, no less—definitely ranked up there on the list. I murmured another apology and quickly sat down.

I kept my face down through the process of retrieving my things: pen, paper, binder, textbook. When I peeked up like a nervous little animal, I hoped Professor Rowland would have moved on.

Nope. No luck there. He had his eyes on me. For an instant, I felt a flicker of something entirely different. Yes, the shame continued to pummel my insides, yet for an instant, I felt a flicker of desire. He was powerful and made me feel small and inexperienced, young and vulnerable. Those sensations should have turned me off. They should have embarrassed me further and made me want to smack him. But no, if anything, I felt a tick of arousal jump through my body.

Professor Seth Rowland stood above me by nearly half a foot. While I’m pretty small and lithe, more like a pixie than an Amazon, Professor Rowland was thin but muscled. He reminded me of one of the more ninja-like super heroes. He had short, dark hair, a strong jaw, and burning brown eyes. Brown should have made them seem more average and plain. Not his. He stared out the world, calculating and discerning. I wanted to understand and learn from him.

“You’ve been here for my mini-lectures on the importance of arriving on time. You’re all here to get jobs some day, and employers abhor tardiness. It makes you look bad in front of your colleagues, especially in situations where others might be depending on you. So again, Lena, tell us why you were late.”

“I got into a conversation,” I said. I hated the answer. It made me sound like some girl who just wanted to socialize. I hated those girls. College was supposed to make you a better person, not a chance to perfect your keg stand. All of those rebuttals flashed behind my eyes, but I didn’t speak. I couldn’t find any good way to articulate those ideas, so instead, I bowed my head again and said timidly, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you now?”

I felt my insides get hot at his haughty note. Granted, as a teacher, he had pretty much every right to look down on me. I mean, I was so much younger and inexperienced. But there was something else. He talked to me like I was an actual child. He made me feel like a little girl who just spilled a glass of milk.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” No one else could have made me feel so embarrassed, except for maybe Professor Kline, ironically enough, the teacher of my next class, Introduction to Psychology. “Please, I won’t let it happen again.”

He watched me for a short while longer, though to me it seemed like an eternity. “Okay,” he said. “Talk to me after class. We’ll discuss your punishment.” With his decision lingering on the air and his words echoing in my head, Professor Rowland spun around and continued the discussion.

He talked about the significance of symbols, both verbal and visual. He talked about how everything from clothing to brand names influenced consumers and citizens. As his paced back and forth and engaged the class in discussion, I tried to regain my sense of equilibrium.

It took me a good twenty minutes for me to reestablish myself as the smartest girl in the class. Seth looked out at us and asked, “Can anyone think of a symbol for individualism and self-determination?” We had talked about what the Nike swoosh and McDonald’s arches represented, but this new question scared everyone else off.

“I don’t think they would,” I said. My voice threatened to break into a nervous squeak again, but I closed my mouth, wetted my throat, and continued, “But we take it as something completely different now. The flag represents us. It represents who we are and who we want to be.”

“But aren’t those all abstract concepts?”

“They are,” I agreed. “But that’s why it’s so powerful. It’s like what you were saying about Nike. They say just do it, but they never tell us what we’re supposed to do. They don’t want to say so that their fans can fill it in. The U.S. flag is exactly the same. I’m sure you have conservatives out there who’d say it’s one thing. Liberals might say something completely different. It’s a popular symbol because it has no built-in meaning.”

I packed up my stuff, swung my backpack over one shoulder, kept my head down, tucked my hands into my pockets, and rushed for the exit with the rest of the herd. Professor Rowland was wiping off the white board when his voice rang out very clearly, “Lena, I don’t believe we finished our earlier conversation.”

I froze, my knees locking up. Someone who had been trudging behind me must not have paid attention because he walked into me, jostled off, and continued on. With a slow exhalation of air, I reminded myself that being late wasn’t really a big deal. My chest rose and fell as I steadied my thoughts and prepared my defense.

“Why’s that?” he leaned against the counter which faced the students’ desk. Crossing his arms, he looked interested and a bit condescending at the same time. His expression shouldn’t have affected me. Whether or not it should have didn’t matter though. Another tickle of nervousness started to work its way through my torso.

Again, I gave the same answer he taught us, “The audience determines if you’re effective or not. Whenever you write or say something, it’s to communicate at the very least. But at other times, you talk to get the audience to do something. In both situations, the audience is the one you have to influence. They determine if you succeed.”

Professor Rowland grinned and held up his hand as though he wanted to cover his mouth because laughing would have been inappropriate. Most college students see their teachers and think back to those feel-good teacher movies. They think college teachers go into universities to be the best teachers possible and inspire our young minds.

No, definitely not true. Considering my background, it made sense that I could read people fairly well. Sure, Seth Rowland enjoyed teaching, but he liked the challenge of prodding students and their views of the world. He also taught for a paycheck. I wondered what other ambitions drove him.

I was missing something. Another impulse drove him. He wanted to accomplish something else entirely. I cocked my head and found some comfort in trying to comprehend and understand this man. As I did so, my body flickered with desire for him. He was so much stronger and more mature than any of the boys in my classes.

I waited for him to explain some more. Like what sort of special interest? He didn’t and I started to feel the minutes click against me again. As the seconds hopped past, I had to say, “I have another class. Is there any way I can go?” With anyone else, I would have stopped there. But with Professor Rowland, I added a plaintive, “Please?”

For a half-second, I froze there. I wanted to spin on him and tell him again how I was an adult and couldn’t be addressed like that. He talked to me as though I were some toddler who needed special attention. My mouth hardened into a line, yet I continued. I pushed my way out of the door.

I was a few minutes late to my next class too. Fortunately, my instructor, Professor Kayla Kline, didn’t bother to comment on it. At the same time though, I had absolutely no doubt that she remembered. She didn’t say a word, only she didn’t need to.

Professor Kline continued her presentation. She quizzed a few people. Unlike my previous instructor, she didn’t bother with volunteers. Instead, she simply pointed and called on people without using names. Imperious and utterly ruthless with her students, Professor Kline controlled the room with an iron fist.

After she finished the lecture and dismissed us with a curt couple of words, every one hopped up and headed on out. I was about to leave when I spotted Professor Rowland right outside. The second he saw me, he shook his head and I paused.

At the same time, my psychology professor asked, “Lena, would you mind speaking with me for a moment?”

“Um, no, professor,” I said, turning back to her. At once, I felt as though I was surrounded by a pair of lions. It didn’t take long for the rest of my classmates to evacuate the classroom. Professor Seth Rowland entered, and I was all alone with my two most intimidating teachers.

My communications professor shrugged, “I thought she would be better able to decide on the proper course of action if she had some advanced warning.”

Professor Kline seemed to consider this for a moment. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine her running through a thousand calculations a second.

“You two are more than coworkers, aren’t you?” I asked, searching for some shred of leverage. Besides, getting a better understanding of them made me feel a bit more confident. If I could read them as people, then I didn’t have to continue asking stupid questions. They knew what they wanted, but they played with me anyway.

“Something like that,” said Professor Rowland. “We’re together, hence our involvement together on this project.” He sidled closer to Professor Kline and took her hand. For an instant, her icy façade disappeared, replaced by a flash of joy and affection for her boyfriend.

Professor Kline inclined her head, “Yes, I think you were right. She could definitely do well with this.”

“Do well as what?” I asked, leveling my gaze back at Professor Kline.