Page 40 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“You’re serious,” I say.
“Quite.” He leaves before I can say anything else and greets a man with bushy gray eyebrows and a thick head of hair that is definitely a toupee. A good toupee, but a toupee nonetheless. “Congressman Paulson.”
Both men walk past me as though I’m invisible. Fucking boys’ club.
I march out of the classroom with plans to take shelter in the adjunct office while I fume, but then a hand is wrapping around my wrist and pulling me into a smaller, empty classroom.
“You can’t let Wallace treat you like that,” Bram says before the door even closes all the way. His face is a little flushed, like maybe he had to stop himself from saying something to Wallace himself. “Especially in front of your class.”
“You think I don’t know that? Okay, sure,” I say. “Let me put the most tenured professor in my department in his place in front of a class full of first-years.” Miranda told me to handle the situation, but I can’t imagine that’s what she meant.
“And that lanky kid going on about fairness and quizzes. You should have shut that down.”
I drop my bag on one of the desks and slide into the seat just out of view of the window in the door. “I was trying to be more agreeable. I really flew off on that other guy from my class yesterday and this seemed like a way to retain a little bit of goodwill. I’ll change both classes over to multiple choice. It’s not a big deal.” I should have never asked Bram for help in the first place. I want to shove him and kiss him at the same time.
He leans on the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom with his trousered legs crossed and his arms folded over his broad chest, sleeves rolled up, looking like a whole-ass academic snack. This living together/working together thing is not going to work if I can’t stop objectifying Bram.
“Madelyn.” The way he says my name, like I’m being called to the principal’s office, forces me to press my thighs together. “You picked short answer over multiple choice for a reason, didn’t you?”
“Obviously,” I say. “The other adjuncts do multiple choice, but it doesn’t really lend itself to illustrating that a student grasps the material. It wasn’t that long ago that I was a first-year, and shifting from high school to college is culture shock. The sooner they learn how to take the concepts and put them into their own words, the quicker they’ll adjust and the more successful they’ll be.”
“Excellent reasoning,” Bram says. “Good.”
I wait for him to saygirl, but he leaves it at that.
“It’s not that easy,” I tell him with a frown.
He saunters over to me, his whole body practically arching over mine once he reaches me. His focus is heavy, palpable. “It’s not?” he asks mildly.
“You’re likely the tallest person in every room, Bram. And you’re a man. People—especially other men—automatically respect you. They look to you for what to do. How to act. You set the tone without even saying a damn thing. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m five foot two, a woman, and plus-size. To a lot of those little dickheads, I might as well be invisible, so excuse me for trying to meet them in the middle before they paint me as a villain.”
“It won’t matter how they paint you if you let them trample all over you.”
“Did you hear anything I just said? Fuck you.”
“Make me,” he says.
“What?”
“You’re right. You’re small. You’re a woman. I’m the size of a clock tower and I’m a man. But you can’t change who you are and how you look. And Icertainlydon’t want you to.”
My chest flutters. “You can’t say things like that to me. You’re playing dirty pool.”
He raps a knuckle on my desk between each word. “Make. Me. Get. On. Your. Level, Madelyn. Make me feel small.”
I feel flustered, and I hate that he’s putting me on the spot, but then part of me—the part that feels like he’s my own personal heat lamp—rises to the challenge.
With a backbone made of steel, I stand up and go toe to toe with him.
“Professor Kowalczk,” he says. “I don’t think it’s fair to give your class short-answer quizzes when everyone else in the department is offering multiple choice.” His body hulks over me, his back hunching to meet me, like he might press me into the ground with his gaze alone.
My neck snaps back. “Professor Loe,” I tell him. “You will sit down when you speak to me.”
“Answer me first,” he drawls. I didn’t even know Bram Loecoulddrawl.
“This is a question for after class. Please sit.”
His firm lips curl into a smirk as he continues to loom.
