Page 32 of Left on Read

I knew I’d have to explain this. To someone, eventually. It just makes me feel foolish. Like I allowed myself to be deceived. Like I let her pull the wool over my eyes and convince me she was actually a competent professor.

“Did you look at the citations?” I ask him. I flip over to the lastpage of my probably too-exhaustive outline, where my alphabetized MLA-format citations are.

“I didn’t pay any attention, why?” He looks at them now, skimming through each one. He’s not an MLA kind of guy, so I can almost see him rearranging the information so it fits into his preferred APA format.

“No way,” he almost whispers. “We’re really gonna citeherresearch?”

I nod.

“So this is why you liked her so much?” The use of the past tense isn’t lost on me. He picks the stapled pages up to read more closely. Probably too closely. Maybe he needs glasses.

“I know it’s hard to believe.” I look at her while I say this, because she’s only here in the physical sense. “But she’s a hell of an academic. All of her articles are either on the deep darkness of early American lit, like the way Poe writes about madness and death. Or they’re on British Romanticism, like the way Austen crafts imperfect men and women who save them. It’s weird.”

“Weird, how?” Hayes’s voice interrupts my monologue. I did it again, forgetting time and space. Usually when this happens, whoever’s around just kind of moves on with their life as if I’m not word vomiting.

“Well.” I take a deep breath, trying to explain this. “Typically everyone has a specialty. I mean, she’s teaching American Lit because her graduate work was in American Lit. Academicsusually have one research focus, starting with their dissertation. It has to be on a specific topic that you spend years researching. Then if you end up teaching, that’s basically what your specialty is.”

“So my parents would’ve done their dissertations in neurosurgery and high-risk obstetrics?”

“They probably could’ve. Aren’t there MD/PhD programs where you do both at the same time?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “And that sounds horrible. Why can’t you just get a PhD like a normal person?”

We’ve never really talked about this. His parents and the medical-dynasty family he doesn’t seem to want to be a part of. How he thinks normal people have PhDs.

“It makes sense, though. If you’re a department head, and you have two professors with literature PhDs, one focused on American lit and one on British lit, you know who’s gonna teach which class.”

“Because you don’t want a neurosurgeon doing an emergency C-section.” He nods again. I don’t know why we’re speaking in two different metaphors, but it’s actually nice. To have someone to engage in these ramblings with.

“Your dad doesn’t actually think he can do your mom’s surgeries, does he?” I’ve never met him, but from what I know about Hayes’s dad, that tracks.

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “He does.”

Hayes flips through the pages again, reading article titles and looking at the dates each one was published.

“So, what, you think she’s out of her depth or something?” he asks. “Like she’s operating on the wrong part of the body?”

“No.” I sigh, looking at her again. “I think she just lost herself somewhere along the way. Her early work is so strong, and I read her dissertation—”

“Are you serious? Her entire dissertation?” His eyes widen almost comically.

“Yeah.” I shrug, like it was no big deal. It was kind of a big deal. “I think at some point, she shifted from her original focus. Maybe she got bored or burned out. I don’t know. But she started publishing kind of random stuff, and lately, she hasn’t published anything. Originally, I wanted to use her as a source because I thought she was the best. Now …”

I sigh again, my voice trailing off when I realize how hopelessly pathetic I sound right now.

“Now … maybe I’m hoping seeing her work through our eyes will remindhershe’s the best.”

Hayes hums, either in agreement or just to get me to shut up. I look over at him, trying to figure out which one. He taps his pencil against the desk a couple of times.

“That’s why I said you’re everyone’s hero, Novella.” He smiles that whole-face smile. I forgot I even asked about that. “We all just need someone who cares as much as you do.”

OfficialEndeavourHigh:Seniors: i hacked in lol

“Ithink we should talk about what you said.” I speak clearly into the open air, so Esha can hear me through my phone-in-the-cupholder situation. My voice sounds oddly serious.

“Okay.” She doesn’t ask what I mean by what she said. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.

There’s a long pause.