Page 39 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“You will not,” I spit back at him.
He tilts his chin down, eyes a soft celadon green mixed with amber. “Consider it—I don’t know—a vehicle allowance, but this is not up for debate. You need your car to do your job, and I need to know that you’re not at the mercy of the well-meaning but underfunded Mount Astra transit system.”
I don’t like this. I don’t like owing anyone anything, especially after being taken care of by Gentry and his family came at the cost of losing myself entirely. But Bram is right. I do need a car to do my job. “Okay,” I finally say, my hands held up in surrender.
Today is my early section and since I drove in with Bram, I don’t have time to stop and see Junie, which I need to do soon because I owe her an apology after I was so short with her yesterday.
When I get to class, students are still filing in. I connect my laptop and make sure my clicker is in working order. Just as the clock strikes seven thirty, I close the door only to feel it being tugged open from the other side. I let go and Bram is standing there.
“I thought I should come and observe,” he says quietly.
My stomach curls into a fist and my pulse spikes. I know I asked him to help me, but I hadn’t considered that he would actually watch me teach a class.
“You’ll hardly notice me,” he says.
I scoff. “Yes, because the six-foot-four Jolly Green Giant professor is so hard to miss.”
He grins with his mouth closed and steps in past me, his torso brushing against my chest.
This is a starting point, I remind myself. I’m not scared of public speaking, but something about commanding a lecture hall full of students who are only three to six years off from me in age has had me feeling unsure that I have any business even doing this job.
“Okay, according to the syllabus, we’re starting off with a quiz.”
There’s no reaction outside of a quietfuck, which is already an improvement from yesterday’s class, who took the same quiz.
Bram sits off to the side on the second row in the seat closest to the wall. Thankfully he’s not in my direct line of sight.
While the class takes the quiz, I go over my notes for today’s lecture, and as they finish, they bring their papers up one by one.
Jordan, the guy who had plenty of opinions about group projects the other week, takes the steps two at a time before jogging to the desk next to my podium. What I hadn’t noticed before is that the kid has at least a foot on me. He’s not as tall as Bram, but he’s not far off.
I have to strain my neck to look up at him, and I suddenly feel very... small. Almost insignificant.
“Uh, yeah,” he says loud enough for the whole class to hear. “I heard the other sections of Intro to Government had multiple-choice quizzes, but yours are short-answer questions. That’s really not fair.”
“Seriously?” someone asks.
“Jordan, the quiz format is at the discretion of the professor.”
“You know that multiple choice is easier. I don’t think it’s very cool that we’re all at such a disadvantage just because we’re in your class. Doesn’t seem very equitable if you ask me. Weren’t we just talking about privilege in our last class and how it’s about how everyone should have the same starting point? I don’t think the short-answer format gives your class the same privileges as multiple choice does the other classes.”
The way he frames his statement makes my skin prickle. He’s using justice-oriented language for his own gain, and it’s something I’ve seen and done enough times to recognize. In fact, if I weren’t his teacher, I’d be impressed—even though he could use some polishing.
I can feel a roar building in my chest. A need to put him in his place, but then I remember how I was a total monster to my class yesterday. If students are talking about quiz formats, there’s no way they aren’t talking about my outburst yesterday. It’s hard enough to be one of the youngest lecturers on campus. And I’d like to think that Bram might be impressed by my willingness to be the bigger person.
I peer up at him and try not to shrink back at our sheer height difference. “You know what, Jordan? You’re right.”
“Hell yes, I am,” he says.
“I’m going to add a twenty-point curve to the quiz, and I’ll take this into account for future quizzes.”
He gives me a cool nod that makes me immediately regret my decision. It’s the same feeling I’d get after making out with a guy only for him to turn around and act indifferent toward me or when male opposing counsel would whisper that I was getting emotional during a mock trial.
But I keep my mouth shut like a good girl.
The rest of the class goes by without any issue, until the door swings open at the exact minute class is ending.
Dr. Wallace walks right in and begins unpacking his satchel as I dismiss the class. “I’ve got a guest lecturer coming today for my constitutional law class,” he says without even glancing up at me. “So if you could take any post-lecture discussions with your students to the hallway, that would be ideal.”
