The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (8 page)

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.

“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)

O
H
, N
O
Y
OU
D
ON’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.