The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Read online

  I considered asking him what the big deal was. Did he feel like he was losing objectivity with me? Or was he warning me about my behavior? Could he overreact more? Yeah, I was confused, but I nodded dumbly, feigning comprehension.

  “Yeah, okay, I won’t mention it.”

  “Thank you. Well, I’m sure everyone’s waiting for me downstairs, so…”

  “Right,” I said, nodding vigorously.

  He took two steps and then turned.

  “Oh, and you might want to get some sleep in the next couple of days. I’m sure the tutorial will be interesting on Friday. I’d hate for you to nod off and miss all the fun.”

  Ouch! You overly observant bastard!

  He turned on his heel again and briskly exited the room. And as amazing as it was to watch his perfect ass swaggering away, I couldn’t help yawning once more.

  Yeah, I was that tired.

  Chapter 7

  A Woman’s Reason

  I have no other but a woman’s reason;

  I think him so because I think him so.

  (The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I, Scene 2)

  I SPENT VIRTUALLY ALL OF MY TIME on Thursday attending classes and forcing myself to focus, dismissing all thoughts of Daniel Grant and his fabulous ass. On Friday morning I contemplated the day ahead, the tutorial in particular. I was intent on owning it, if for no other reason than to remind myself that my number one priority was still my academic record.

  Of course, if I were to be completely honest with myself, I’d be forced to acknowledge the other reason I wanted to shine during tutorial: I wanted to impress the pants off Daniel—literally.

  So much for banishing him from my mind.

  I’d replayed the conversation we’d had on Wednesday several times over. I couldn’t dismiss the suspicion that there was more behind Daniel’s request that I not tell his father that I knew him than Daniel had let on. What if he’d been trying to let me know that my less than subtle eye-gropings were making him uncomfortable and I needed to cease and desist because I was making it difficult for him to do his job properly?

  I imagined a conversation he and Penny would have in which he’d tell his girlfriend all about me, this bright but misguided girl in class who kept ogling him. How he’d tried to be pleasant, but I wasn’t getting the message. Penny would laugh and kiss him, explaining that it was his own fault for being so damned gorgeous.

  Gah! Stupid Penny!

  I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. Joanna and Matt were sitting on the couch in the living room, drinking coffee.

  “Jo! Stranger! What’s up?”

  “Hey, Aubrey. Sorry I haven’t been around. I’d been so busy with school. After Stephen and I have dinner each night and then do a few hours of homework, I can’t be bothered to schlep back here. No offense, you guys,” she said, looking back and forth between Matt and me.

  “Hey, none taken,” I said. “I’d take schtupping over schlepping any day if I had a choice.”

  And how.

  Joanna rolled her eyes and blushed a little. Such a sweetie. I tried not to feel envious of her situation with Stephen. They were so happy together.

  “Hey, say the word, Aub, I’d be happy to help you out with your unlucky streak,” Matt offered.

  “Jesus, Matt, is your memory that short? You wanna be able to reproduce one day?” I glanced down at his package and shook my fist at him.

  “I’m just sayin’.” He laughed, cupping his crotch with both hands.

  Joanna narrowed her eyes. “Did I miss something?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said, turning back to Matt. “So, dude, you seem to be in better spirits. Good sleep?”

  “Oh yeah, even though twinkle toes here woke me up at midnight when she came crashing in.” He gave Joanna a gentle shove.

  “And you told Jo what happened?” I asked, dismayed by the thought of him having to repeat the story of his heartbreak again.

  She nodded sympathetically. “He told me the whole story. It’s pretty crummy.”

  Pretty crummy. So cute. The girl seriously wouldn’t say “shit” if her mouth was full of it.

  “Look, ladies,” Matt said, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “I’ll bounce back. I appreciate your concern, though.” He took a long swig of his coffee and then bobbed his head at me. “I didn’t see you at all yesterday. What time did you come home?”

  “I put in a four-hour marathon at the library after classes. When I got home at ten, you were out like a light on the couch. There’s no way you were waking up,” I told him.

  What I didn’t tell him was that seeing him curled up on the sofa the night before, all rosy-cheeked with the blanket pulled up under his chin, had completely tugged at my heart. I also didn’t tell him I’d ruffled his hair as I’d tucked the blanket more tightly around him, wishing I could force myself to feel something other than sisterly affection for him.

  No, I didn’t tell him any of that.

  If I thought I was going to have a leisurely Friday morning at work, I was sadly mistaken. I ran around the office like a maniac for three hours and was sweltering by the end of my shift. I briefly contemplated racing back to residence to change out of my black turtleneck, but a quick visit to the washroom after saying goodbye to Dean Grant changed my mind. My face was flushed, but the color did me good.

  I repeated my new routine, swinging by the coffee shop to grab a snack before class. I still made it a good five minutes before the lecture was scheduled to start. Julie had reserved what were apparently going to be our seats. We humans are such creatures of habit.

  “Hey, dollface. You look really nice! I love that sweater on you,” she said. “Makes your boobs look awesome, but not in a trashy way.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I laughed.

  “Hey, I have that concert ticket,” she said, pulling a small envelope from her pocket.

  “Great. I’m so psyched. How much do I owe you?” I asked.

  “Pfft, buy me a few beers at the show and we’ll call it even.”

  “Cool, I can do that.”

  We settled into our seats, awaiting the arrival of the dynamic duo. Professor Brown and Daniel arrived together in the midst of what appeared to be a fascinating discussion. Daniel was waving his hands around, highly engaged in the topic. He looked adorable, making it difficult for me to continue being pissed off at him.

  He reclaimed his position at the front table, and Professor Brown took out his lecture notes, spending the allotted time concluding our study of Hamlet. I snuck a few glances at Daniel, but he was busily writing away, so I ignored him.

  When Julie leaned over to whisper, “I don’t know what’s outside, but check out Daniel’s face,” I looked up, and sure enough, he was staring fiercely out the window as if he wanted to kill whoever was on the other side. I scanned the quad. There was no one out there. “Wasn’t he all smiley and happy half an hour ago?”

  I shrugged and shook my head, retreating to the safety of my notes and beginning to wonder in earnest if he had some sort of mood disorder. As class drew to a close, Professor Brown assigned the reading of The Taming of the Shrew and explained to the class that Daniel would be staying around for a few minutes to confirm dates for the following week’s viewing of Hamlet, but that his Friday tutorial group could proceed downstairs and provide our preferred dates during tutorial.

  “That’s us,” I said to Julie, gritting my teeth and collecting my belongings.

  She followed suit, and we went down the stairs to wait outside the seminar room. We both groaned as Cara and Lindsay strutted along the hall in our direction. Could this get any worse?

  “Oh, crap,” I groaned.

  “Kill me now, Aubrey,” Julie said.

  Sure enough, they parked themselves beside us, talking inanely about how much they’d had to drink the night before, each one blaming the other for waiting too late to sign up and being forced to pick Friday’s tutorial slot. After a few moments, there
were thirteen or fourteen of us milling around outside the room. Daniel finally came down the stairs.

  “Sorry about that, folks,” he said as he opened the door and stood back to allow us to enter.

  The expected jockeying for positions ensued as people insisted on sitting beside friends. Cara did her best impersonation of a speed bump, just standing and looking at the long table. Perhaps assuming that Daniel would sit at the head of the table, she took the seat at the corner beside the empty end chair. She and Lindsay exchanged a meaningful glance. Julie and I took that as our cue to sit at the opposite end of the table. I sat at the corner, and she plopped down beside me.

  Once everyone had taken a seat, Daniel came in and closed the door. He looked at the fourteen of us, seven at each side of the long table, and hesitated before dropping his bag on the floor and sitting down at one end.

  The one beside me.

  Cara fixed me with an angry glare from across the room, and I looked blankly back at her. I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of navigating the next hour sitting that close to Daniel, but Cara’s reaction made the situation bearable.

  “Well, it seems the best way to start today would be with an ice breaker,” Daniel said. “So take a moment to share your name and give a brief explanation of your area of study. Why don’t we begin with you, Miss Price?”

  He turned to me expectantly, and I took a deep breath. His proximity was making it difficult for me to remain unruffled.

  “Sure,” I answered with a small smile. “I’m Aubrey Price and I’ll be graduating this year. I’m specializing in English with a minor in French lit, and I’m affiliated with Victoria College.”

  I sounded like a beauty pageant finalist introducing myself to the crowd. And I’ll be performing a baton routine.

  “Are you a commuter or are you in residence at Victoria?” Daniel asked.

  “Residence. I live in Rowell Jackman Hall.”

  “Thank you, Miss Price,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.

  Again with the last name—obviously part of his MO. I wondered if we were expected to call him Mr. Grant. I’d never referred to a TA by his last name before, and Professor Brown had set a precedent, referring to him as “Daniel” from day one, but he seemed determined to avoid our first names. Was he being pretentious or overly professional? I opted for the former. Surely professionalism would extend to taking the time to wear clean clothes and groom his hair. At least his hair was washed today, I noted, although it was still hanging in his eyes. I longed to lean over and pull several stray pieces out of the way or, better yet, grab my nail scissors and make several carefully-chosen snips.

  “Next?” Daniel asked, looking at Julie. I leaned back in my chair so he could see past me.

  “I’m Julie Harper,” she said. “I’m double majoring in English and art history. I live in residence at Trinity.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Harper,” Daniel said.

  He took notes as everyone around the table took a turn. A number of the people in the group were new to me, although I knew Shawn Ward from previous English classes. He was a good friend of Matt’s from the frat house. I saw him at parties from time to time. Vince, the guy sitting beside him, was another fraternity acquaintance of Matt’s.

  Cara and Lindsay giggled their way through their introductions, batting their eyelashes at the frat boys. Did they honestly think guys were impressed by that sort of behavior? I took out my notebook, and after quickly jotting down everyone’s first name, I turned the page in preparation for the beginning of our discussion.

  The introductions over, Daniel dropped his pen and clasped his hands in front of him. “Well, the next order of business is a quick survey of your plans for next week’s Hamlet performances—”

  “Um, aren’t you going to, like, tell us about yourself?” Cara interrupted.

  And I never thought I’d say it, but I actually agreed with her. Some nods of agreement and murmurs around the table indicated we weren’t alone in our curiosity. Daniel shifted in his seat.

  “All right,” he said. “Well, as you know, I’m Daniel Grant. I’m in the midst of writing my PhD thesis. I’m actually back in the city after a long stay abroad. I transferred here in September.”

  “Where did you transfer from?” asked the sweet-faced girl sitting opposite me. Mary, maybe?

  Daniel cleared his throat uncomfortably. “As a matter of fact, I lived in England for the last eight or nine years. I did my undergrad and my master’s degree at Oxford, and I started my PhD there before transferring here,” he explained.

  Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather, and judging by my peers’ reactions, they were surprised too. Oxford? I was impressed. And I had noticed he occasionally said certain words with a slight lilt, a trace of an accent, but I hadn’t given it a lot of thought, too distracted by his lips and jawline.

  “And now,” he said, cutting his introduction short, “I am privileged to be sitting here with all of you. I think we ought to get down to business, though, or we’ll fall behind Wednesday’s group.”

  Back to business it was. He canvassed the room to find out people’s intentions for next week. Five people were taking a pass, claiming unavailability.

  “It’s a super busy time right now,” Cara explained. “I’m sure April will be totally more convenient,” she said, nodding confidently.

  “Absolutely,” Daniel said. “Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? That’s what I always say.”

  He spoke breezily, but his sardonic tone wasn’t lost on me. I bit my lip to keep from laughing, and Julie tapped me under the table with her knee. So discerning that girl was.

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” Cara said, all seriousness.

  I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle the guffaw building behind my lips.

  “Are you all right, Miss Price?” Daniel asked me, steeliness flashing in his blue eyes.

  “Yes, fine,” I answered, clearing my throat and regaining my composure but feeling like a sixth grader who’d had her wrist slapped.

  At the end of Daniel’s survey, four people from our tutorial group were attending on Wednesday, three on Thursday, and it was just Julie and me on Friday. He told us we would pick up our tickets from him in the lobby before the show on our appointed night.

  “I think you’ll enjoy this interpretation,” he said. “I’ve watched some rehearsals. It’s quite edgy, with post-modern undertones. It’ll be particularly interesting watching the play after having read it, and as you know, a play isn’t fully realized until it reaches the stage.”

  I thought about that for a moment and couldn’t help disagreeing. Of course, I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut, could I? “I’m not sure I agree with you on that, Daniel,” I said, trying out his name for the first time. He looked taken aback.

  “Could you elaborate?” he asked, leaning forward with interest. My classmates were all ears too.

  Oh, shit.

  “Well.” I tried to bring my opinion into focus. “If you say a play is only fully realized when it reaches the stage, doesn’t that undermine the value of what was originally written on the page?”

  I glanced around the room.

  “Sure, having the visual is beneficial, but the author’s original words are significant, too. You can’t discount the weight of those words without the performance attached. They’re two different mediums entirely. A reader’s unmediated experience with a text is pretty important.” I looked around again. A few people were jotting down my words. “I don’t know. That’s my opinion,” I added, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

  “You make some interesting observations, Miss Price,” Daniel said, his voice measured and controlled. “Where Shakespeare’s concerned, I’m not convinced I agree. In fact, I think I disagree entirely, but you’ve given us something to think about. Perhaps we’ll have to set aside some time to discuss your opinion in a future tutorial.”

  There was an edge to his tone, as if he wasn’t thrilled
about being contradicted. “In fact, I think I disagree entirely”? I briefly considered pursuing the point, but I had no desire to instigate conflict, so I nodded and kept my mouth shut. Daniel forged onward.

  “This is the assignment Professor Brown mentioned on Monday,” he said, passing around a sheet outlining the term’s independent study.

  I was relieved to have a moment to breathe. My heart was racing.

  “As you all know, one of the aspects of this course is the independent pursuit of a topic that interests you,” Daniel explained. “I won’t be evaluating this final product, but I’d be happy to assist if I can. I thought we’d take a moment to throw out some ideas and get the wheels turning. Anyone care to share?”

  Shawn spoke up, sharing his interest in the role of magic and the supernatural in Shakespeare’s work. Daniel recorded Shawn’s preliminary ideas in his notebook.

  “Good. Anyone else?”

  Silence ensued. He looked at me pointedly, eyebrow raised. A challenge?

  Okay, Aubrey. Game on.

  “I’m quite interested in exploring feminist themes,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Possibly misogyny. I imagine I would focus on Hamlet, Othello, Cymbeline, maybe Macbeth.”

  Daniel leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes and bringing his clasped hands under his chin. As he moved, his knee grazed mine under the table—an accident, of course—but he might as well have thrust his hand between my legs, considering the effect it had on me. My face began to burn.

  “Great topic,” he said. “I have some interesting books that I might be able to lend you.”

  He wanted to lend me books? Vivid memories of Dream Daniel’s seductive whispers ghosted though my mind as visions of bookshelves appeared before my eyes.

  “Let me ask you this,” he said, leaning forward again, twirling his pen between his fingers. “Do you think Shakespeare himself had a hatred of women?”

  I paused, unprepared to take a stand one way or the other, but eager to show him I wasn’t a dimwit.