Smash into You

by Sherry Soule

  “Good morning, eager young minds!” Professor Grossman said, his voice booming from the vicinity of his large belly. “This is European History and it’s going to be a tough year.”

  Several students groaned. I sipped my Starbucks latte and flipped open my notebook. Although I still felt exhausted from running around and sneaking into frat houses the night before, a burst of energy took over my limbs, winding through my veins with a blast of caffeine.

  Raven sat next to me just as the professor placed his shabby leather briefcase and a tall thermos on his desk. Gray hairs peppered the black waves on his head and he wore a blue vest over a button-down shirt with tan chinos.

  With a sardonic gleam in his eye, he rubbed his hands together, surveying the room. “For those of you who haven’t already heard all the nasty rumors about me, I’d like you to take detailed notes on everything because you never know what will be on the exam…” As he spoke, Professor Grossman twisted off the top of his thermos and poured himself a cup of steaming liquid into a mug. The bitter scent of espresso filled the room. “In history, we have what are known as facts. Memorize the facts. Dates. Names. Places. Know them like your own birthday. The point of this course is to apply the facts and the sequence of events that have made history what it is.” He took a sip of coffee and placed the cup down on his desk. “I run a challenging class, I assign a great deal of work, and I expect my students to keep up. Now let’s find out what you already know.”

  Gulp. Raven flipped open her textbook, then took out some paper and a pen. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. Raven must be one of those, I-Choose-My-Major-In-Preschool and this class will be a cakewalk, while I’d fumbled my way through the alphabet.

  Professor Grossman marched to the center of the room and pointed at a guy in the second row. “You. What’s your name?”

  “Brad Shelton,” the guy answered, squirming in his seat.

  “From Shelton to the left is group one. The rest of you are group two,” the professor said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. He picked up a sheet of paper and said, “When I ask a question, I expect an answer within thirty seconds. Answer accurately and your group gets a point. Answer incorrectly, and I’ll take a point away. The group that wins will be awarded extra time to study for the first exam.”

  More than a few students grimaced. I had no idea what to think.

  “Let’s began.” Professor Grossman scanned the class list. “Miss...”

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “Hamilton.”

  I glanced at Raven. Her skin grew rosy under all that makeup. “Yes?”

  “The dominant trend of government during the Renaissance within Italy changed from what to what?” Professor Grossman asked.

  Huh? Dominant trend? Since when was the government referred to as a dominant trend?

  “Republicanism to despotism,” Raven said.

  Professor Grossman nodded. “True.”

  Raven beamed. Someone behind me said, “Easy one.”

  Yeah, riiight.

  I took a deep breath, glad that I hadn’t been chosen as the first victim. On the blackboard, Professor Grossman wrote a big one and two with chalk. Under the two, he added a point.

  “Next.” Professor Grossman pointed the chalk at a young woman in the fourth row.

  “Yes, sir?” the dark-haired girl answered.

  “Which location had the greatest influence on shaping the values of the Italian Renaissance?”

  My body heat increased. Wait. What the what?

  “Uh...oh. I know this,” she said, tapping a pencil on her book.

  You’ve gotta be shitting me. You do?

  “Um...”

  Professor Grossman sighed. “Twenty seconds left.”

  “The townhouse of an Italian merchant,” the girl said.

  Righto. That sounded hazily familiar. I think.

  “Correct.” Professor Grossman added a point under the one, then turned to a student in the fourth row. “The favorite classical author of Renaissance scholars was?”

  The guy answered quickly, “Cicero.”

  “Correct!”

  While Professor Evil marked the score, I glanced at the clock over the door. Still twenty-three minutes left in the class. Maybe I could make it out of here without being called on.

  “You! Staring at the clock.”

  No such luck.

  My stomach went all jumpy and queasy. Raven nudged me with her elbow.

  “Yes?” I squeaked.

  “Ready to leave already?” Professor Grossman asked with an evil smirk.

  Everyone turned to look at me.

  My face burned. “No, sir,” I managed to say.

  “Good. I’ll give you an easy one,” Professor Grossman said.

  I wanted to punch him and thank him at the same time.

  Give me something I know. Please just give me something I know.

  “The literary masterpiece that satirized the ideals of knighthood and chivalry was written by?” he asked.

  My mind shut down. Every person in the room stared at me. My body temperature skyrocketed. Think brain—think!

  “Cervantes!” I said, grinning.

  “Hmm, yes. That is the correct answer,” Professor Grossman said. “How about one more?”

  Under my skin, my blood boiled. Seriously? And here I thought I was saved. Evil, evil professor.

  “According to Jacob Burckhardt, the Renaissance represented?” Professor Grossman asked with raised eyebrows.

  My entire group held their breath.

  “Um… a period of moral decline?” I said.

  The professor stayed quiet. The students sucked in a breath.

  “Wrong!” Professor Grossman said, turning around to erase a point.

  Everyone in my section groaned.

  I cleared my throat. “That wasn’t fair,” I said. “I haven’t even had a chance to go over the material.”

  Professor Grossman took three big steps forward and crossed his arms over his chest. “Unfair. Really? You come unprepared to my course and you think I am being unfair?”

  Everyone in the room either stared at me or pointedly struggled not to.

  “Yes, I mean—” I began, but he cut me off.

  “And why do you believe these questions aren’t fair? I like to get an idea early on who the serious students are and which ones are the slackers,” he said. “And please do not interrupt my classroom again with your pathetic this isn’t fair nonsense. Do we understand each other?”

  Well. I was officially humiliated.

  “Absolutely,” I said, choking on the word.

  “Perhaps you should see me after class so we can make sure of that fact,” he said. “Now who knows the correct answer?”

  Half the class raised their hands.

  I swallowed hard. Tears stung my eyes. My first month at a new college that was supposed to change my life and the professor wanted to see me. Well, something in my life had changed already. I was going to flunk this horrible class.

  “A distinct break from the Middle Ages,” Raven said smugly.

  I resisted the urge to stomp on her designer clad foot.

  “At least some of you came prepared to learn,” Professor Grossman replied, then turned to his next victim.

  Good start, Serena. Really stellar way to gain points with your professor.

  I thought just adjusting to a new school would be hard, but now I was stressing over being able to maintain that 4.0 GPA with my heavier workload. I’d transferred to escape one difficult situation and now I found myself stuck in another one. And I couldn’t get into Zeta Beta if I wasn’t outstanding in some way. Or get my dad to support my art studies in Paris.

  When the class ended, I bolted from the room instead of staying to talk with Professor Grossman. When my mother warned me about some of the evils in this world masquerading as men, about the smooth-tongued salesmen, the preachers with tattoos, and those dreamy-eyed bad boys, she forgot to mention college profess
ors.

  Seeking the safety of my dorm room, I went straight to Stevenson Hall. I hurried along the corridor, key in hand. I unlocked my door and shoved it open, my fingers fumbling around the wall for the overhead light switch. As the fluorescent bulb flickered to life, I rushed inside, shut the door, and leaned against the wood.

  Eyes closed, I exhaled. I could not flunk any classes or I might lose any chance of getting into Zeta Beta. I just needed to study twice as hard.

  I moved toward the bed, then froze. My gaze cut to the desk where a Polaroid picture sat upon the otherwise smooth, empty surface.

  I stared at the super creepy photo. The air punched out of my lungs and my legs wobbled. It was a picture of me walking across campus with my bag of groceries—with my face crossed out in red ink.

  The walls seemed to pulse with an unseen threat. I whirled around, a twinge of paranoia like a thousand skittering insects swept across my skin.

  I searched the room carefully, making sure all the windows were locked. Dropping to all fours, I peeked under the beds with my heart thudding against my chest. Vacant. Then I crept to my closet and threw open the door. Empty. With tentative steps, I checked Vanessa’s closet, too. Nothing but shoes and sweaters and a stack of paranormal romance novels.

  All clear. No intruder, or giggling coed ready to jump out and yell, “Gotcha!”

  I was alone. With an über freaky photo of myself. And I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Moving at a glacial pace, I edged toward the desk, with my palms up, as if the photo might explode in my face. I’d officially entered Crazy Psycho Stalker Land.

  Leaning down, I peered closely at the photo. Someone had taken it at night, so the image was somewhat blurry, but no mistaking that it was me.

  Cautiously, I picked up the photo. My fingers hesitated as I flipped it around. On the back of the picture in black marker were the words: DO NOT PLEDGE ZETA BETA.

  I didn’t recognize the handwriting. Was this a sick prank? I dropped the photo. It could be a test by the Zeta Betas or more hazing. Maybe one of the PNMs was trying to get me to drop out of recruitment.

  The girls in my old dorm had pulled a few pranks on each other, and I was new to Beaumont. No reason to alert the RA and insist on changing the locks if that’s all it turned out to be. Probably just somebody’s idea of a sick joke.

  But who would do that? And how had they gotten into my locked room? As far as I knew, only Vanessa and I had keys and we hadn’t loaned one to anyone else. At least I hadn’t.

  No need to overreact. Still…after everything that had happened to me at my last college, I should be rockin’ a straitjacket in every color. But I’d spent months in therapy, and now I was a new Serena DuPont. It’s not like I could whine to anyone about the hazing and not come across sounding like a big wimp.

  Chalking the whole eerie photo issue up to some lame-o Zeta Beta’s idea of a joke, I snatched up the photo and tossed the damn thing into the trash.

  NASTY RUMORS

  Last night each sorority performed a funny skit to promote their sorority and show off their personalities. The Zeta Betas’s parody was the most humorous with the girls mocking Greek life. It had been a late night and I felt exhausted today. I needed a nap, but that would have to wait.

  Not wanting to be late for my last class after lunch, I ran back to Stevenson to change into an old T-shirt and my favorite jeans, pausing to slip Cole’s ring on my finger for good luck before sprinting all the way across campus.

  After that disastrous and humiliating scene in European History earlier in the week, I was the first person to set up my easel in “Painting: Color and Composition” that afternoon. Finally, a subject I excelled at and loved with every fiber of my being. This was the only class that I’d been looking forward to attending. Provided that this professor wasn’t planning on yelling at me or finding new ways to embarrass me in front of the other students.

  Jade strolled through the door and eyed me with an odd smile as if my appearance amused her.

  Great. Just freakin’ great. I slouched behind my easel and stifled a groan.

  Jade sat on a paint-splattered stool directly beside mine. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite stalker.”

  Dammit. If it wasn’t the professors hating on me, it was the Zeta Beta sisters. This class was going to be so much fun now. I already felt sweaty beneath my shirt, but with Jade sitting so close to me, new rivulets of perspiration started to form.

  I glanced at my gaudy plastic ring and whispered, “You’re supposed to be good luck.”

  “Welcome students!” A middle-aged woman with a warm smile and bronze hair stood at the front of the room. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and had plenty of paint under her short fingernails. Her voice was raspy as if she chain-smoked Virginia Slims between classes. “I’m Professor McGrath, and this semester you can use your preference of oil tube paints or pigment sticks. We’ll be capturing light while painting in oils, and using expressive painting techniques to create blockings for key shapes and value.” Professor McGrath set a big bowl filled with oranges, apples, and bananas on a table in the center of the room. “Now if you’ll set up, I’ll have everyone start on a bowl of fruit. I know it’s mind numbing, but it’ll give me a chance to see where your strengths lie.”

  “When do we get to paint nudes?” a guy from the back of the room asked.

  Professor McGrath shook her head with a grin. “Soon enough. I’ll be walking around and examining your creations.”

  The freaky polaroid kept creeping into my thoughts and I questioned if I had the nerve to stay at Beaumont and still pledge Zeta Beta. But the moment, I started mixing paints and getting comfortable, it all faded away. I didn’t know why, but when I raised the paintbrush to the blank canvas, I always envisioned the world in an entirely different light. All my worries diminished and I witnessed only beauty and creativity.

  Professor McGrath stopped by my canvas and nodded. “Nice contrast and depth.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I was really looking forward to taking this class. Last year, I saw some of your artwork in this Los Angeles gallery. It was amazing.”

  “Ah, that’s so nice to hear, and I look forward to seeing your work, too.” She patted my shoulder before moving to the next student.

  “It seems as if Stalky got skills,” Jade whispered.

  I mixed my colors. I wouldn’t let her intimidate me or let her think I was some talentless freak. Not here. Not in my field.

  Then I began painting the fruit and lost myself in a world of canvas and paints. My paintbrush had always felt like an extra appendage—an extension of who I really was deep down. Even after everything that happened, I’d never been able to give up my love of painting. It brought me a sense of peace when everything else in my life was in turmoil.

  “Nice soft lines, Serena,” Professor McGrath said as she passed me again. Then she paused and clucked her tongue. “Miss Goodwin, your composition is sloppy. I hope you’re planning on taking this class seriously and not just assuming it’s an easy way to keep up your grade-point average.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Jade and my heart slammed to a halt. She glared back at me. For that split second, all the viciousness that she seemed capable of flashed in her hard stare.

  “So you’re a stalker and a brownnoser?” Jade said once the professor moved out of earshot.

  The nickname was the last straw. Jade could be the spokesperson for mean sorority girls everywhere.

  I stepped around my easel and glared at her. “Look, I love drawing and I’ve taken lessons for years. Art is my thing. So back off.”

  She waved her paintbrush at me, flinging blue dots on the floor. “Touchy.”

  “Let me have a peek at your Rembrandt.” I moved closer and gasped. “You were painting the bowl of fruit and not roadkill, right?”

  Awkwardness thickened in the room. Students on the left and right of us froze with brushes in their hands. Jade’s green eyes blazed with fire. For a crazy minute, I thou
ght she might slap me.

  Jade slowly nodded her head. “You’re a smartass.”

  “And you’re a douche-canoe.”

  Jade and I stared at each other in tense silence. Yup, I might get bitch-slapped yet.

  “Hashtag whatever.” Jade wiped a glob of paint off the front of her shirt. “I like you, Stalky. No bullshit.”

  Was she irritated with me or impressed that I’d stuck up for myself? I had a suspicion that with Jade, I might never know. But I did know one thing—winning her over was the only way I could get a bid from Zeta Beta.

  “Um, thanks?”

  She dipped her brush into the jar of water left on a table beside her canvas. “We only have two openings at Zeta Beta. You seriously interested in one of them?”

  Hell. Yes.

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Think about it…” Her voice lost that bitchy edge. “And I suppose I could use some pointers since art’s not my major.” A genuine, almost ironic smile widened her red lips. “I might be glad we’re taking this class together.”

  I got the distinct feeling that she might be trying to play me. That’s how mean girls operated. They were only nice until they got what they wanted. But in this game, I wanted something, too. A ticket to Paris. And if I had to kiss her skinny ass to get it—then bring it on.

  “If you need help, just ask,” I said, returning to my easel.

  We painted in silence until class ended. Jade gathered her supplies to put them away, then left without another word. I cleaned my own work area and exited the room.

  Outside, a cool breeze ruffled my hair as I hurried to the caf to grab dinner, then go back to my room to study. I picked up a chief salad, a diet soda, and blueberry muffin. After paying for my food, I made a hasty exit.

  Back at Stevenson Hall, I muttered a few hellos as I passed other girls on my floor, but didn’t stop to chat with anyone. None of these girls knew who I really was or what happened to me. We were strangers and no one here could judge me for my past sins. I found it oddly comforting. In my room, I shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh. I’d made it through another day.