The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Read online

  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 tha
t 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.

  Watching him chug his beer made my stomach turn. Frankly, so did the smell of the pizza. Despite my nap, I still wasn’t feeling back to normal. I grabbed my coat and mitts, hoping the fresh air would make me feel better.

  “Hey, you,” I said to Matt. “Don’t drink too much tonight. We have a date in Swanksville tomorrow. I want you in fighting condition.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t be such a worry wart. Have fun at the thee-ah-tah,” he added with a mock snooty British accent.

  “Oh joy,” I said. “See ya later, dude.”

  I ventured out into the darkness, breathing deeply as I walked, filling my lungs with what passed for fresh air in Toronto. Crossing to the other side of Queen’s Park Crescent, I was approaching the front steps of Hart House when my phone vibrated in my coat pocket. Probably Matt checking to make sure I’d arrived safely. I made my way into the lobby, answering as I walked.

  “Hi, Aubrey?”

  It wasn’t Matt after all. It was Julie.

  “Hey, bun-head, you running late?”

  “Ha! I wish. I’m not running anywhere except back and forth to the bathroom. I just puked my guts out.”

  “You’re kidding! Are you okay?”

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious. It came out of nowhere. It’s like a flu bug or something. There’s no way I’m gonna make it tonight. I’m really sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Jul. I’m sorry you’re not well. Thanks for letting me know, though. I hope you feel better soon,” I added.

  “Thanks. Can you tell Mr. Shmexy I’ll do the make-up assignment in April?”

  “For sure. Don’t worry about that. You concentrate on getting better, okay?”

  “Thanks, Aub. I’ll try.”

  I switched my phone to vibrate and popped it back in my pocket, turning to scan the lobby again. I couldn’t see anyone else from class. It was only six forty-five and the play wasn’t starting for another fifteen minutes, but we’d been instructed to arrive ten to fifteen minutes early to get our tickets.

  I sat glumly on a red velvet bench by the wall, toying with the idea of leaving and selecting the Much Ado option as well. In fact, I was standing up to cross to the door when Daniel walked through it, eliminating my opportunity to escape. He saw me at once and wandered over, hands in his coat pockets.

  “Good evening, Miss Price,” he said.

  And I swear I’ve never used the word before, nor can I remember ever needing to, but he sounded suave. Suave, for Christ’s sake.

  “Hello, Daniel,” I replied coolly.

  “Where’s your Miss Harper?” he asked, scanning the lobby as if she might materialize magically from thin air.

  “She called to tell me she’s not well. Probably a flu bug. She won’t be coming.”

  An uncomfortable expression flitted across his face. “Oh, I see.”

  “Where’s everybody else?” I asked.

  “Miss Harper was everybody else,” he said dryly.

  “What? Only Julie and I were coming tonight?”

  “It appears that most of your classmates had other plans for this evening,” he explained. “A certain Kap party seems to have been the destination of choice.”

  I suddenly realized how my evening was about to play out.

  The two of us.

  Alone in a darkened theater.

  This was not good.

  “Well, here’s your ticket,” he said, handing it to me. “Did you want to check your coat?”

  “Um, sure, I guess so.”

  I removed my jacket, retrieved my cellphone and the small notepad and pen I’d brought, and jammed my gloves into the empty pockets.

  He held out his hand. “Let me take your coat for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling a little off balance.

  Why did he always have to contradict my expectations? When I expected him to be happy and lighthearted, he was miserable and surly. Now, when I assumed he would be abrupt and irritated, he was kind and considerate. He was beyond confusing.

  I watched him approach the coat check. He hadn’t changed out of his ratty jeans, but he was wearing a black, long-sleeved T-shirt instead of the wrinkly, button-down shirt he’d worn today. As he walked back to me, my eyes lingered momentarily over the hole in his jeans, right above his knee. I also noticed the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest. Lord, he was so hot. If there was a specific recipe for disaster, I felt certain the ingredients were currently lining themselves up quite nicely.

  “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing for me to walk ahead of him into the theater.

  I gave my ticket to the usher who handed me a program. We were sitting in the tenth row at the aisle. Daniel motioned for me to sit in the second seat, and he claimed the aisle seat. I did my best to angle myself away from him. As with last week’s tutorial, the proximity was overwhelming. Sitting this close, I swore I could actually smell his soap. Or was it his cologne?

  Sandalwood. There’s a word I had been storing somewhere alongside “suave.” What the hell was sandalwood anyway? In the dictionary beside the word, there would probably be a picture of me blissfully sniffing Daniel’s neck.

  I snuck a sideways glance at him. He was flipping through the program, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. It was the single most erotic thing I’d ever seen. Recipe for disaster, indeed.

  People were gradually filling the seats around us, and we had to stand a couple of times to let people by. Once our row was full—with the exception of Julie’s empty seat beside me—I tried to get comfortable, my left elbow bumping his right one in the process.

  I apologized, feeling like a fumbling idiot.

  “Not to worry,” he said. Then he shifted in his seat to face me. “You were quiet in tutorial today, Miss Price. I was expecting you to have a lot to say.”

  I looked at him, and without missing a beat, I said, “Well, I’ve come to realize it’s best not to have excessively high expectations. That way you’re less likely to be disappointed.”

  I turned to scan my program, feigning fascination with its contents. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was still looking at me. When the house lights dimmed and the stage lights came up, revealing a scantly lit scene which would introduce the ghost of Hamlet’s dead father, Daniel cleared his throat and faced the stage.

  I kept my body tilted to the right, making a conscious effort not to touch him with any part of my body, when all I really wanted to do was plunge my fingers into the hole in his jeans so I could feel the soft hairs on his leg. Okay, maybe I wanted to feel something more than that, but I would settle for the leg as a starting point.

  Focusing on the action on the stage took a superhuman effort. I could practically feel heat radiating from Daniel. Or was that me? I didn’t even know. After about forty minutes of trying to sit perfectly still and refrain from leaping onto his lap to straddle him, I began to feel even warmer. At one point, at the beginning of Act III, he leaned toward me to whisper, “This scene is phenomenal. Misogyny alert, Miss Price.”

  As his breath tickled my neck, I shivered involuntarily. Two inches…that’s all it would have taken. If I’d turned my head just so, I would have been centimeters away from his divine lips. I tugged at the neck of my shirt and struggled to stay composed.

  And then the nunnery scene unfolded. Hamlet hurled insults at Ophelia, and she cowered in fear. As he delivered his line, “I did love you once,” he plunged his hand between the actress’s legs, making her cry out.

  Holy hell.

  She whimpered her next line, and he threw her violently to the floor, scoffing at her for ever having believed in his love. Daniel was right; their performance was phenomenal. It was sexy and angry and sad and dangerous all at the same time. I sensed rather than saw Daniel turning toward me. I leaned over slightl
y.

  “They’re fucking incredible,” I whispered. I immediately felt the blood rush to my face as I realized I’d dropped the F-bomb right out of left field. He smiled before looking back at the stage.

  That’s when I started to feel really warm. This time it wasn’t a girly-bits-afire-take-me-now kind of warm. I was actually starting to feel clammy. Then I got a strange sensation in my throat and mouth. Oh my God—I was going to be sick! I stood up, covering my mouth with my hand and clambering across Daniel’s legs to dash up the aisle. I ran to the washroom, making it into a stall with five seconds to spare before throwing up violently.

  “Damn you, Julie,” I moaned, steadying myself on the sides of the stall.

  I pulled a long stream of toilet paper off the roll and cleaned myself up, hovering over the bowl as I waited for a second wave. When a few minutes passed without further incident, I left the stall and leaned over the sink, soaping up my hands and running them under the cold water. My reflection in the mirror peered back at me, deathly white. The door opened as I was smoothing my hair back, and the usher who had shown us to our seats rushed in.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a little wobbly, but I’m okay. I don’t think I left a mess,” I said, gesturing behind me.

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Your boyfriend is outside. He seems pretty worried.”

  My boyfriend? Sweet Lord.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I corrected her.

  “Oh, well, do you want me to tell him you’ll be out in a minute?”

  I contemplated asking her if there was a back door, preferably one that led outside straight from the bathroom, but I only nodded weakly.

  How mortifying. I dreaded facing him, but I had no choice. I rubbed my fingers under my eyes, trying to erase the black mascara smudges. No use. I looked like…what was it Daniel had said about himself that first day we’d chatted? I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. I tried to pinch some color into my cheeks and swished my mouth out with tap water. Then I put on a brave face and returned to the lobby.