The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (10 page)

I stormed out of class in a huff, wishing I could fast-forward to the concert with Julie on Thursday night.

Chapter 9

Expectation

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
(
All’s Well That Ends Well
, Act II, Scene 1)

O
NE
T
IME
W
HEN
I W
AS
A K
ID
, I went to an amusement park with my parents. There was this cool ride, and I
had
to go on it. My parents advised me against it, but I refused to be dissuaded. Despite my efforts to be brave, within two minutes I wanted to scream, “Stop the ride! I want to get off!”

That’s how I felt as I crossed the quad on Friday morning. I was completely overwhelmed. I didn’t want to go to work, I didn’t want to go to class, and most surprisingly of all, I did
not
want to go to see
Hamlet
that evening. I had the strangest feeling of lethargy and dread combined. I wanted off the ride.

I could almost hear my parents’ voices. “You need to pace yourself or you’re going to get run down,” Mom would say. My dad would warn me against “burning the candle at both ends.” But what could I do? I needed my nine weekly hours of employment. I couldn’t make ends meet without the four hundred or so dollars a month those hours of work guaranteed me. There was no way I was about to start skipping classes either, not with the dean’s list right there—a brass ring, ripe for the grabbing. As for my social life, I’d only started enjoying some “me time” after months of what had amounted to self-imposed exile. I’d have to plough through.

I dragged my ass into the office, trying to talk myself into facing my day. Dean Grant was holed up with his door closed when I arrived, so I grabbed a coffee and sat at my desk, resting my head on my folded arms and wondering what the heck was wrong with me. I’d been home from the concert and in bed by midnight the night before, dropping off to sleep easily. When Dean Grant popped out of his office to grab himself a coffee, I lifted my head to look at him wearily.

“Good grief, Aubrey!” He stopped in his tracks. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m a little tired.” I tried to brighten my expression, turning to the computer and opening my student liaison email account. “Once I get rolling here, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Are you looking after yourself?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together with concern. “Eating properly, getting enough sleep?”

“I’m doing my best. I’m having one of those weeks where a few assignments are due at the same time. I went out with a friend last night, too. Probably overdoing it a little,” I confessed.

“It’s a good thing you only have one more week of classes before Reading Week. Make sure you get plenty of rest over the next few days,” he advised.

“I will. Thank you, sir,” I said with a grateful smile.

Was I PMS-ing or something? I honestly felt like I could cry. I was desperately in need of some parental love.

“If it’s not too busy, put aside the inbox items for Gisele to work through this afternoon. Help the walk-ins, but take it easy, all right?” he said.

“I’ll try to get a few things done, but I appreciate your concern.”

He smiled in a warm, fatherly way and went into his office, closing the door. It must have been a gift from God because there were maybe half a dozen walk-ins just needing help with straightforward issues. When I wasn’t helping those students at the counter, I stayed at my desk, sifting through emails, taking it easy, and trying not to feel guilty about leaving so many items in the “to-do” pile for Gisele. I worked my way through a couple of cups of coffee, and by the time I left for University College I felt a little better.

Julie was sitting in our row when I arrived at the lecture. I flopped into the chair beside her, unable to disguise my lethargy.

“Wowza, you look like hell,” she said.

“Thanks. I love you too.”

“You’re not hung over, are you? You didn’t drink that much last night. I, on the other hand…” She grimaced and rubbed her temples.

“I’m so bagged, Jul. Everything’s catching up with me, I guess.”

“Yeah, I feel your pain. I’m pretty beat, myself. Think I’ll catch a nap this afternoon before the play tonight.”

“A nap is definitely in the cards,” I said. “And you were full of win last night. You were turning heads like nobody’s business.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said, waving her hands with a “carry on” gesture.

I laughed, thinking about the way the guys had been sizing her up at the concert. She’d been a dancing machine. “So, do you want to meet in the Hart House lobby tonight, say quarter to seven?” she asked.

“Sounds like a plan, sweetie.” I stifled an enormous yawn.

When Professor Brown and Daniel arrived, I quickly made the very scholarly observation that Daniel’s wrinkly navy blue button-down shirt did fantastic things for his eyes. I kicked my own ass for caring and slumped back in my seat to listen to Professor Brown’s lecture. Within forty minutes,
The Taming of the Shrew
was put to bed. I had no doubt there would be a lively conversation about it during the tutorial, although I wasn’t exactly feeling up to the challenge.

With Professor Brown’s departure, I quickly pulled my things together and told Julie to hurry up. I was all for getting down to that tutorial room pronto so I could pick a choice spot. I planned to sit in the middle of one of the long sides, hopefully nowhere near Daniel. I leaned against the doorframe when I reached the room, ensuring I’d be the first one through.

Cara glared at me. She probably thought I was planning to stake out the same seat I’d sat in last week, hoping Daniel would sit beside me again.

Well, you are all kinds of wrong,
you tart
.

Finally, Daniel came sauntering down the hall. Yeah, Shawn might have a point. Daniel did have an air of arrogance. I’d been too intoxicated by his other qualities to pay any notice. As Daniel approached, he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Miss Price,” he said, rousing me from my thoughts.

I moved away from the door enough for him to be able to unlock it. Clearly I was still hovering too closely because he was forced to clear his throat again. I took another step back, and he pulled the door open wide. I bolted through and walked halfway down the table, pulling out a chair four seats from the end. Julie sat beside me.

Cara gaped at me. I drew the swift conclusion that there was a potential career choice for her if all else failed—a kickass human fly-catcher. She sniffed with an affected air of superiority and pulled out the chair I’d sat in last Friday, “saving” the seat beside her for her dingbat best friend.

As everyone took their seats, Daniel had the option of sitting at the end of the table closest to the door or making a scene by squeezing past everyone to reach the other end. He opted for the first choice, subtly moving his chair toward the other corner, closer to sweet-faced Mary. Cara didn’t notice. She was too busy looking around the table with a triumphant smile, although no one seemed the least bit interested in her so-called victory. She whipped her head around as Daniel began to speak.

“Well, I hope you’ve all had a good week,” Daniel started, meeting my eyes briefly, along with everyone else’s. “We’ve been enjoying the run of
Hamlet
, and I look forward to attending the show again tonight with those of you who have signed up for the final performance. However, I don’t want to spend time talking about that. There’s the risk of spoilers of course, and not everyone is even seeing the performance, so we’ll leave that for now. First of all, does anyone have any questions?” he asked, finding an empty page in his notebook.

“Um, yes I have a question,
Daniel
. When we were out for coffee yesterday—” Cara leaned forward to suggest some shared intimacy “—you said something about Metrucio being a foil for Romeo in the love plot and stuff like that, and I was wondering if you could explain that for me again.” She held her pen poised, ready to write.

I almost snapped my pencil in half
. Metrucio? You’ve got to be kidding!

“Our meeting yesterday was specifically aimed at your independent study topic, Miss Switzer. I’d be happy to clarify the way in which
Mercutio
acts as a foil for Romeo, but this isn’t the best time for that. We’ll book another meeting during my next office hours, okay?”

I smiled, hearing the slight inflection in Daniel’s voice as he corrected her pronunciation of the character’s name.

“Oh, did you get an office?” she asked coyly.

“Uh, no—figure of speech,” he explained. “But we’ll speak about this later, yes?”

She nodded, almost conspiratorially. I could barely contain my disdain for the girl. I longed to smack her in the face so hard her whole family would feel it. Daniel interrupted my violent daydream by opening up a discussion about
The Taming of the Shrew
.

Debate centered around the sibling rivalry between the two main female characters and quickly veered toward the relationship between the shrewish Kate and her suitor-turned-husband, Petruchio, I clenched my teeth. There was so much I could say, but I didn’t have the energy. I’d save my opinions for my essay.

As predicted, Petruchio was maligned by almost everyone. It was difficult not to react to the strongly anti-feminist themes in the play, and Petruchio was an easy target. But Mary, cherubic-faced Mary with her equally sweet voice, managed to capitalize on a lull in the discussion.

“I think Petruchio’s a misunderstood character.”

Daniel turned to her, a look of surprise on his face. “How so, Miss Langford?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath and steeling herself against the scrutiny of her peers, “I think he doesn’t know how to show love, that’s all. His instinct is aggression and violence. He doesn’t realize he would get much further by showing Kate some kindness.”

“An interesting observation,” Daniel said.

Mary became more confident after Daniel’s validation. “I don’t think Kate was really a shrew either. She’s always played second best to her sister,” she said. “Once Kate and Petruchio were able to chip away at each other’s pride and bravado, they both saw there was a wonderful person underneath.”

Mary’s words reverberated in my mind. Pride and bravado. Yep, she’d nailed it. But was I thinking about the play now, or was I transferring this analysis to my own life? I was becoming the poster child for pride and bravado. Crap, there went the PMS again! I wanted to throw my hands in front of my face and sob into them. What the hell was wrong with me?

“That’s certainly a valid way of looking at things,” Daniel said to Mary.

I could see him nodding in my peripheral vision. I resolutely kept my mouth shut, my arms crossed in front of me while my mind wandered. From time to time, I caught pieces of what people around the table were saying. Julie contributed her two cents’ worth now and then. I noticed Daniel gazing at me, a confused expression on his face. I trained my eyes on my notebook, doodling idly and whiling away the passing minutes. I shouldn’t have even gone to the tutorial. What was the point if I wasn’t going to say anything?

When two o’clock finally arrived, I sighed with relief. We poured out of the room, and Julie and I walked down the hall together. Friday was definitely in the air, but I wasn’t quite able to rise to the occasion. We shared a quick hug before separating at the front stairs, both of us looking forward to our afternoon naps.

That evening, as I was getting ready to head out to the Hart House Theatre, Matt was on the couch, eating pizza and drinking a beer, getting a head-start on the Kap party. I was beginning to worry about him. He’d purposefully moved into residence to escape from the constant binge drinking that went hand-in-hand with living in a frat house, but he seemed to be holding his own little frat party right here in our apartment several nights a week. I cursed Sarah for crushing his heart.