Acrobat (5 page)

“Of course I’ll read it.”

“And you won’t be nice. I don’t need nice, Nate.”

“I’m never nice,” I said, closing my bag. “According to you.”

He sighed heavily. “I e-mailed it to your personal one, okay?”

“I’ll read it before the weekend. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“C’mon, coffee’s on me.”

And he walked with me and put his hand on my shoulder and was basically the guy he never was with anybody else but his mother and his boyfriend, Levi Stone.

The day got better after that. The lower-level classes were fun, as I was teaching Shakespeare’s comedies, and in Chaucer we were writing as though the writer were speaking to the character and what he would say. My office hours went by quickly with a lot of students just coming by to visit. When I was on my way out that afternoon, leaving my office in Walker Hall and passing the office of our department chair, Richard Hampton, Gail Chase, our chair’s secretary, popped out of her office.

“Hey, you.” She smiled.

“Hey back.” I stopped, pleased to see that she had returned to work. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” she said, her eyes soft as she looked at me. “And thank you so much for sending over all the groceries, Nate, that helped so much. Being a single mom and recovering from gallbladder surgery at the same time was a little rougher than I thought it was going to be.”

I reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and she patted my hand.

“But that’s not why I stopped you.” She smirked.

“Did you get my flowers?” I smiled big and hopeful.

“Oooh, you’re very cute, but it’s not gonna help. Greg wants you to help Vaughn with the Medieval Feast, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But he wanted to do it by himself.” I almost whined for her benefit, even giving her a little foot stomp to complete the picture of petulance.

“Nate.” She giggled.

“Oh, Gail, you should’ve seen him: he stood up in the middle of our staff meeting and said that”—I deepened my voice—“someone else should be allowed to put their stamp on one of the only black-tie events that the English department hosts.”

“Nate,” she repeated, trying really hard to stop laughing and look serious.

“You were on leave, you don’t know. I—” I heard voices in the hall and saw two of my colleagues. “Rox, Paul!”

Dr. Roxanne Chaney and Dr. Paul Valdez both came when I called them, both smiling, happy to see me.

“Tell her.” I pointed at Gail.

“Tell her what?” Roxanne asked, smiling, offering me a bite of the apple she had just started.

I took the Granny Smith from her. “Tell her what Vaughn said.”

“Oh,” Paul said as I bit into the apple, more than happy to chime in before Rox. “So Gail, he stands up in the middle of the meeting, scares the crap out of Richard ’cause he’s napping, right, and—”

“Henry is, like, what the ef,” Roxanne interrupted, cackling. “I mean he’s trying to have his regular meeting with Toni knitting and Crosby texting and Greg dozing and frickin’ Vaughn is like”—her voice dropped an octave just like mine had, all of us ready to mimic how serious the man always was—“I don’t see why Nate coordinates the Medieval Feast every year and no one else ever gets to take a turn.”

Gail looked at me, and I waggled my eyebrows at her to confirm the story as I ate more of the apple. I was hungrier than I thought I was.

“And he goes on to say that it’s not fair that just one faculty member is involved and that we should all be involved, and Peter’s like, screw that, he doesn’t want to be involved. It’s Nate’s baby, and this way all he has to do is bring a damn date.”

She started laughing again.

“I mean, come on.” Roxanne chuckled, turning back to me. “Gimme that.”

I shook my head at her, taking more bites.

“It has my spit on it.”

“I like your spit.” I grinned at her with apple in my mouth.

“When are you going to rid of this beard and this mustache?” She sighed. “You would look so much better with it gone.”

“I look distinguished this way.”

“You’re too young for it,” she assured me, running her fingers along my jaw, “and much too handsome.”

“Oh yes, he’s very pretty,” Paul teased me, pinching my cheek. “And this year he doesn’t have to be the host in the monkey suit working the room at the Medieval Feast.”

I gave him a high five for that.

“You know why?” Paul chuckled, turning back to Gail. “Because Sanderson Vaughn is a complete douche who finally stuck his foot in it this time.”

Gail coughed to stop laughing. “The department chair, your boss, my boss, the fabulous Richard Hampton, wants you to cohost with Vaughn,” she told me. “Apparently when he asked Sandy—”

“Sandy,” Paul scoffed. “Really? That’s a grown-up’s name?”

“Stop it,” she warned him and then looked back at me. “Today he asked for status, I mean the damn thing’s just eight weeks away, and
Sandy
”—she glared at Paul, daring him to say another word about the man’s name—“hasn’t even booked the hotel yet or planned a menu or given us a guest list so we can start on the invitations.”

I sighed deeply. “I would really love to help,” I told her.

“Liar,” Roxanne coughed into her hand.

My smile could not be stifled even though I was still chewing. “But I already promised my students a Yule masque at my place.”

“A what?” Paul was interested.

I swallowed fast. “Everyone has to come as a character from Shakespeare, Chaucer, or Milton and be ready to explain everything about themselves. And you can’t drop it all night long. Them’s the rules.”

“And you’ve got kids who are going to willingly do this.”

“Sure.” I nodded, confused.

“Jesus, Qells, how?”

“The eyes,” Roxanne assured him, “and the smile.”

“It’s his ass,” Ashton said as he strutted by, from where I had no idea.

“That’s crude,” I said, turning to Gail, pointing after Ashton. “You should tell Richard and have that kid kicked out of school.”

She rolled her eyes before she grabbed my bicep and pulled me after her.

I shoved the apple core back at Roxanne.

“Eww,” she griped.

“Can I come to the Yule thing?” Paul called after me.

“No,” Gail barked back. “You’re coming to the Medieval Feast.”

“But why do I have to go if Nate doesn’t have to go?”

She growled before she opened the door to her office and shoved me through.

“You know, you’re really strong for a sweet, delicate little—”

“I’m going to kill you,” she threatened me, pointing at Richard’s open office door.

Walking to the doorframe, I leaned in and saw the chair of the Department of English Language and Literature, Richard Hampton, assistant professor Sanderson Vaughn, Gina Tzu, the Director of Graduate Studies, and a man I had never seen before in my life.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “Didn’t want to interrupt, but Gail insisted I poke my head in.”

“Oh thank God,” Richard groaned, gesturing me in. “I need you.”

I opened my mouth, but Gina’s eyes got huge at the same instant, and I exhaled before I crossed the room to stand beside her.

“Nate, this is Daniel Kramer from Butler Davenport.”

I had no clue what that was.

“Mr. Kramer is here on behalf of one of our former students, Gregory Butler, and—”

“Greg.” I scowled, remembering. “He was one of the worst students I ever had.”

Daniel Kramer smiled wide and stood, moving around the chairs to reach me.

I took the hand he offered me.

“Gregory is now the new CEO of Butler Davenport, and one of the things on his to do list is to make a sizable donation to this department.”

“That’s very good of him,” I said, releasing the hand of the very handsome man who was still looking at me.

“He wants to also sponsor this year’s Medieval Feast, Dr. Qells.”

“Nice.” I looked over at Sanderson. “Sounds like you lucked out on the budget, huh?”

He smirked.

“Dr. Qells.”

I looked back at Mr. Kramer.

“Mr. Butler was very disappointed to learn that you were not in charge of the event this year.”

“Oh, well.” I shrugged one shoulder. “The department felt that it was time that the torch was passed, and Mr. Vaughn’s enthusiasm and drive have been—”

“You’re not hearing me, Dr. Qells.”

I turned to look at Gina and found her looking right through me. She was about a million times scarier than Richard ever thought of being. I whined softly in the back of my throat.

She made the tiniest
uh-uh
noise, and I looked back at Mr. Kramer.

“Perhaps I could co-host with Professor Vaughn.”

He nodded. “That would be best.”

“And will Greg be gracing us with his presence?” I asked snidely.

“He will.”

“Super.”

“Apparently, before you, Dr. Qells, he never had a professor threaten to flunk him.”

“He was lazy,” I informed him.

“So he says,” he told me. “But I, for one, have never seen it.”

I nodded.

“So the event itself will be contracted through an agency. The event planner will only need to coordinate with you for the night itself.”

“And Professor Vaughn.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, so we’ll all be hearing from you, then.”

“Yes, you will, Dr. Qells.”

I looked over at Gina. “I have to go.”

She grunted, and I turned and shook Mr. Kramer’s hand again before walking out of the office. I threatened Gail with bodily harm on the way out, and she threw a highlighter at me. Out in the hall, Paul and Roxanne were still there.

“Oh, you’re not going to believe this.”

As the three of us left the building both Paul and Roxanne were confused.

“Didn’t you flunk that kid?” Roxanne asked me. “’Cause I think if you didn’t, I did.”

“I gave him a low C, but he worked damn hard for it. He was such a slacker.”

“Huh.”

“On the other hand, Sanderson can kiss your ass, huh?”

“Yeah, but I never gave a crap either way.”

“Which makes it more ironic than anything else.” Paul shrugged.

“So now you have the Medieval Feast and your Yule party?”

“Yeah, but it sounds like I don’t actually have to do anything for the feast except show up. There’s some agency coordinating the event.”

“Oooh, it’s going to be fancy, then,” Roxanne told me.

“Sounds like it, yeah.”

“When is it? The week after New Year’s like normal?”

“I have no idea. You’ll probably get an embossed invitation, though.”

“Cool.”

But it sounded fussy to me, which was what I told Melissa on the train on the way home when I called her to tell her about my date with Sean.

“How was dinner last night?”

I told her about the kiss, and she was swooning as I got off at the platform and started down the stairs. It was always fun to talk to her, and I made her promise that she and Ben would attend the Medieval Feast with me.

“Oh yeah, do I get to dress up?”

“Yes, dear.”

There was clapping on her end.

I told her I loved her and hung up as I made the turn for home.

It was still early, not six yet, so when I was walking down the hall toward my apartment, I was surprised to see Michael’s bike leaning against the front door. It was strange for him to be home since he normally had basketball practice right after school.

After I dropped off my laptop and books, I was going to jump in the shower, but I went back out into the hall and knocked on the door to see if he wanted a snack while I got ready for my date. Maybe he was home because he was sick.

No answer.

I knocked again.

“Who is it?” The voice came through the door.

What was going on? Since when did he check first? “Who do you think it is?” I teased.

When he opened the door, he was smiling. And the fact was, he never smiled at me, not at first. Maybe after we talked for a minute or if he thought up some wiseass thing to say to me, but never just big smile, frozen in place, just for me.

Uh-huh.

And he was leaning on the door like that maneuver was new, as though I had never seen it before. Apparently he had forgotten that I was neither stupid nor new to the teenage boy game. Not only had I been one, but I had already raised one, as well. I knew gamesmanship when I encountered it.

“Who’s in there with you?” I asked flatly, taking in his flushed face, the red spot on his throat, and the Calvin Klein undershirt telling me exactly what size it was because it was not only turned inside out but on the wrong way as well. “Huh, Mr. Fiore?”

“What? I—what?”

I rolled my eyes and pushed by him, and there, on the couch, brown hair tousled, lips swollen, and her sweater on inside out, was the cutest girl I had ever seen. Her big emerald-green eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of her head. She was terrified.

“Who’s this?” I asked my friend Casanova.

“Nothing happened.”

“Not what I asked.” Something had obviously happened. “Who’s this?” I asked for the second time.

“This is Danielle Tulia.”

“And?” I waited.

“Nate, nothing happened.”

I gestured at her.

“No, I mean, something did happen, but not what you think.”

I crossed the room and sat down next to Danielle. “Hi.”

She looked like she was going to throw up.

I took her hand and she looked at me, those limpid eyes all over my face.

“Not here to judge, just want to talk, okay?”

She nodded; it was all she seemed capable of.

“Sweetheart, maybe you should go to the bathroom and wash your face and take the sweater off and put it back on so I’m not looking at the seams and your deodorant smudges.”

She gasped and fled.

I looked over at Michael.

“Nate—”

“Sit; I want to talk to you about my best friend Melissa and I.”

“Oh God,” he groaned as he flopped down onto the couch.

When Danielle got back from the bathroom, chin quivering, bottom lip doing the same, her eyes now swollen from crying, I took her hand again and held it while I continued to tell the story of how my best friend and I made a baby when I was seventeen and she was eighteen. We were new parents nine months later at eighteen and nineteen.