The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Read online

“I’m not sure. He certainly explores the motif a lot, but an interest in a subject doesn’t mean one is a proponent of that ideology. Who knows, though? Maybe he was a misogynist and he felt safe spouting his views from behind the mask of his heroes’ behavior. I suppose that’ll be something I’ll pursue in my paper.”

  “I see,” he said, nodding meditatively.

  I waited for him to say something else, but he merely looked at me. Was he preparing a rebuttal? Everyone else in the room seemed to be holding their breath. Julie came to the rescue, quickly breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the use of non-secular themes in Shakespeare’s plays,” she said. “I’d love to take a closer look at the conflicting Elizabethan attitudes toward religion and how they play out in his work.”

  The tension eased almost immediately as everyone collectively let out a breath. I looked at her gratefully.

  “Another worthwhile topic,” Daniel said with a nod, surveying the faces around the table. “Anyone else, before we move on to talk about this week’s Hamlet lectures?” he asked.

  Apparently Cara felt the need to be heard, blurting out, “I totally want to look at the theme of love in Shakespeare’s plays. Like Romeo and Juliet. It’s so romantic.” She punctuated her statement with a breathy sigh.

  Daniel frowned. “Well, that’s a rather…broad topic, but I’m sure with a little work we can narrow it down,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully.

  Julie couldn’t contain herself. She wrote on the corner of her page, “Gah! Airhead!”

  I smiled and wrote on my notepad, “I know! The wheel may be turning, but the hamster is DEAD!” I angled my page so she could see my response, and she squeezed my hand under the table. Yeah, we were bitches, but Cara was too much.

  We spent the remaining half hour talking through some of the questions Professor Brown had asked us to think about. I had to give him props—Daniel handled the rest of the tutorial masterfully. He validated people’s opinions and dealt carefully with people whose comments were completely off-base.

  By the time everyone was packing up at the end of the tutorial, my ass was getting sore from sitting on the fence where he was concerned. Cara clambered around the table, jutting out her boobs as she asked Daniel if he’d mind answering a few of her questions privately, looking over her shoulder to see everyone’s reactions. As far as I could tell, no one was interested in her mindless flirtations.

  “I, uh, sure, yes, that would be fine,” he told her. But then he turned to me and said, “Actually, Miss Price, I need to speak with you once Miss Switzer has asked her questions. Could you stick around for a few minutes?”

  Julie looked at me with an expression that said, “Again? What is going on with you two?”

  I shrugged and mouthed, “No idea,” before I told her I’d call her over the weekend and reclaimed my seat. Cara looked at me in aggravation.

  “Well, can I make an appointment, then?” she asked Daniel. “I mean, I do need some help, one on one.”

  I rolled my eyes at the wall.

  “Why don’t you jot down some potential times, and we’ll chat after class on Monday to see if we can figure out something mutually convenient?” Daniel suggested.

  “Okay, thanks,” Cara replied, bouncing up and down slightly before heading out of the room. Daniel turned to look at me from the doorway. I stood up, throwing my bag over my shoulder as I rose.

  “What is it now?” I asked.

  “Actually, never mind. It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a frown. “Have a good weekend, Miss Price.”

  With that, he bolted from the doorway, leaving me standing in the seminar room, completely bewildered.

  Chapter 8

  The Lady Doth Protest

  The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

  (Hamlet, Act III, Scene 2)

  OH, NO YOU DON’T, I thought, slamming the door and rushing down the hall after Daniel. I elbowed my way around the clusters of students as I tried to catch up, reaching him right before he pushed his way through the front doors. When I grabbed his jacket to pull him to a stop, he wheeled around and gaped at me, no doubt shocked to see that I’d not only followed him, but actually had the nerve to physically restrain him.

  “What was that all about?” I asked, gesturing toward the tutorial room. “If there’s something you want to say, go ahead and say it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, drawing his head back in surprise.

  I laughed cynically. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  “So, what—in the space of two minutes, something goes from important to inconsequential? That’s absurd.”

  “You’re blowing this completely out of proportion.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around the hall distractedly. “I was going to tell you more about the books for your topic of study, but I think you need to flesh out your own thoughts before you muddy the waters with secondary sources. I changed my mind about the recommendations, that’s all,” he explained, his matter-of-fact tone blowing the wind out of my sails. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood.”

  “Oh. Well, you seemed kind of angry. If I’ve done something to offend you…” I trailed off, feeling small and ridiculous.

  “You’ve in no way offended me,” he said with an impatient sigh. “But if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have time to discuss this right now. Professor Brown is expecting me.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I stepped aside so he could pass by. Three long strides and he was out the door. Once I was sure he’d made his escape, I stepped outside in time to see him climb into his car and speed off around King’s College Circle. I plodded down the steps toward the sidewalk.

  I don’t have time to discuss this right now.

  Translation: You are of no significance to me. Please move along.

  After my embarrassing confrontation with Daniel, I wanted nothing more than to shut my brain off for a while. I had to stop fixating on him, so I contemplated my plans for the evening. Or should I say my lack of plans. As the year had progressed, I’d been secluding myself more and more, but I hadn’t felt the ill effects of isolation for the majority of the year, being consumed by work and school and otherwise quite content to mooch around by myself. Now I was in dire need of distraction.

  When Matt came home at five o’clock and I asked him if I could hit the frat party with him, he looked genuinely thrilled. “Wow, Aub, I’d love it if you came. Gotta admit I’m a little surprised. Last time you came to a kegger, you swore you were ‘so fucking done with this.’ Those were your words, right?”

  I snickered. He was right—I had said that. Truth be told, a keg party was the last place I wanted to go, but I was prepared to put up with the drunken idiocy of frat boys if only to escape from my own whirling thoughts for a while. Simply put, I was desperate.

  “Yeah, well, it’s been about six months since someone’s hurled down my back,” I said, recalling the vile events of a party back in September. “I figure I’m due, ya know?”

  “Aw, come on, you have to admit, it was freakin’ hilarious.”

  “Maybe for you, but you didn’t have some freshman’s Chef Boyardee Beefaroni chunks in your hair.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “It was gross. The look on your face, though? Absolute mint.”

  “All I know is I’m so glad Sarah was there. It takes a pretty special person to help you wash some pimply guy’s puke out of your hair.”

  Matt’s face clouded over.

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dropped the S-word.”

  “Naw, it’s okay.” He rubbed my arm gently. “You can stop walking on egg shells. It’s cool. Gets a little easier every day.”

  Out of nowhere, he pulled me into a giant hug, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist and burying his face in my hair. I should have pushed him away, or at least cut the embrace short, but aft
er the week I’d had, it felt good to be held by someone who genuinely cared about me. I sighed contentedly. When he finally pulled away, he looked at me tenderly. I felt a pang of guilt. I shouldn’t be sending him mixed signals. Luckily, he stepped back with a sad smile, retreating to his room and saving me the trouble of back pedaling.

  At nine thirty, Matt and I were standing in the crowded Kap common room, beers in hand while loud music pumped through the giant floor speakers.

  I had to concede, it felt good to be out socializing. I’d been taking myself way too seriously for too long. My determination to graduate with distinction didn’t mean I couldn’t have a life. I needed to take some time to unwind and blow off some steam once in a while. That was probably why I’d been so intense and reactionary, meeting Daniel and allowing him to occupy my thoughts exclusively. I was spending too much time in my own head.

  I had a few drinks, but with Wednesday’s hangover still fresh in my mind, I was reluctant to go overboard. A few people fawned over me excessively, claiming they’d thought I was dead. Charming. At one point, I bumped into Shawn Ward who high-fived me, saying my performance at tutorial that afternoon had been “fucking epic.”

  “Daniel’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think?” he said. “I mean what’s with all the ‘Mr. Ward, Miss Price’ crap? I’m thinking, ‘Dude…you’re like four years older than me. Get over yourself.’”

  Despite the humiliation I’d felt earlier, I had a strange compulsion to defend Daniel. Here I’d come to the party to get away from thoughts of him, but apparently there was no escape.

  “I don’t know; I think he’s doing okay. It’s probably his first time at this. He’s trying to maintain a distance. It would be hard being a TA when you’re so close in age to the students, don’t you think?”

  “Man, you’re the last person I figured would stick up for him,” he said. “Things got a little tense with you two today. Anyway, I don’t care what you say. I still think he’s an ass.”

  I shrugged and we both moved on, dancing, mingling, and stopping to chat with people here and there. By midnight, I was ready to bail. The witching hour was approaching. As everyone got drunker, the potential for projectile hurling would increase exponentially. I found Matt hanging with his friend Dustin and let him know I was leaving.

  “Want me to walk you back?” he asked.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

  “Can you text me when you get home? If I don’t hear from you in fifteen minutes, I’ll send out a search party.”

  “You’ll send one? You won’t join it?” I asked playfully.

  “Hey, the fun’s about to start here,” he said, looking around the room. “I don’t want to miss anything!”

  I laughed and punched his chest.

  “I mean it, though, Aub. Text me,” he repeated with a look of total seriousness.

  “I will. See you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll try not to wake you when I get home,” he promised as he leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

  Yeah, I was totally missing the boat on this one. How I wished I wanted Matt sometimes. Life would be so much easier.

  I actually felt something akin to cheerfulness as I crossed the quad on Monday morning, ready to tackle my three-hour shift. I had my school work well in hand, and I’d even taken some proactive steps to resuscitate my floundering social life. To top it off, I had a concert date with Julie to look forward to.

  As I was arriving at the office, Dean Grant was pulling on his overcoat and making his way out.

  “Good morning, Aubrey,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’m heading over to Wymilwood to grab a coffee with my son. You know, Daniel—the one who graced us with his ill-humor last Monday?”

  “Yes, right, I remember,” I said, cringing at my lie by omission. I didn’t relish the idea of having to keep my in-class relationship with his son a secret, but I’d made a promise to Daniel and intended to keep it. I’d also promised myself not to continue obsessing about Daniel, but that didn’t stop me from spending a good ten minutes mulling over why hadn’t come to the office to visit his father as he had the previous week. Was he actively avoiding me?

  I brought a decisive halt to my musings, renewing my vow to stop dissecting his every move, and spent the rest of my shift entirely focused on work. I even went as far as to arrive at my Shakespeare lecture early to secure two seats on the side of the classroom closest to the door. When Julie arrived, she frowned as she sat down, pouting theatrically. She wanted to stare at Mr. Shmexy.

  “Sorry, Julie. I can’t sit over there. It’s hard to think straight,” I whispered.

  “You’re telling me,” she said, chuckling under her breath.

  “I’m not talking about how gorgeous he is,” I hissed. “I’m talking about his moodiness. He was so weird on Friday. I don’t know what I’ve done to tick him off.”

  She tried to placate me by telling me she was sure Daniel’s attitude wasn’t personal. According to Julie, some men were wholly incapable of coping with smart women. In her opinion, Daniel found my intelligence threatening.

  I shook my head and shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. I avoided sneaking looks at him for the entire class and felt damn near euphoric at the end of the lecture when I realized I’d successfully steered clear of making eye contact with him.

  On Tuesday, I congratulated myself for managing to keep thoughts of Daniel at bay all day. Of course, the fact that I was swamped with reading and research was partially to blame for the limited space in my brain for wayward thoughts, but there was no need to admit that. I was quite enjoying patting myself on the back, thank you very much.

  Back in class on Wednesday, Julie and I sat close to the door again. I focused entirely on Professor Brown’s lecture, taking lots of notes that would support my use of The Taming of the Shrew in my independent study paper. As Julie and I packed up at the end of the class, my brain was still ticking over ideas for my essay when Daniel crossed the front of the room, heading down to the tutorial room for his Wednesday session. As he passed, he cast a pained smile in my direction. Although his gesture stopped me dead in my tracks, I gritted my teeth and willed myself to feel nothing.

  Rien.

  Niente.

  Nada.

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  What, even Hamlet’s mother was talking to me now? Shut up, Gertrude, I thought. Isn’t there a poisoned chalice around here you’d like to take a swig of?

  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)

  ONE TIME WHEN I WAS A KID, 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.