Educated

by Gray Gardner

  He’d been glad when Brad called to invite him to a touch football game he’d organized with some students and a couple of professors in the history department on Saturday morning. He recognized almost everyone from his undergrad classes and a couple from the Historiography course. Maybe they knew Mary.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them to the cool late morning scene in front of him, guys and girls running around the open field, laughing and cheering. He couldn’t help it. She was imprinted on his brain now.

  “Are you going to play or just take mental pictures?” Dr. Britta asked, jogging past him and turning around so he could answer. She was feeling better and definitely appreciative to not be the only person on the field who was over 30. And they got along better than he did with most of the other professors.

  “Uh, yeah!” he grinned, joining her and the students in a huddle.

  They threw the ball, ran around, drank a cold beer or two, and he was just finally relaxing when he noticed a couple of the guys, not equal in height to his 6’3” but still about an even six feet, conspiring at the other end of the field. He knew this move. He invented this move. There was a group of girls studying under a nearby tree, glancing and giggling at the field every few minutes. The one guy was going to throw the ball their way, and the other would catch it, stumbling into the group of girls and therefore into a conversation.

  “What’s the hold up?” Brad asked, jogging up behind the professor. He noticed the group of girls immediately. “Oh.”

  “Did we call a time out?” one of his grad students asked. William… Mc-something, he was pretty sure. He spied the girls, too. “Ah, shit, well, I guess this game’s just about over.”

  They watched as the guys launched the ball. It spiraled through the air, soaring over the girls’ heads, past the low branches of the tree, and right to the center of the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps to the library.

  “Oh… shit!” Brad suddenly yelped, hands held up in mid air, frozen.

  “What the fuck?” William hollered, turning his head between the library and the two guys.

  Mary popped her neck as she adjusted her satchel over her black Adidas tracksuit that hugged her tightly. She’d had a rough kickboxing session that morning, taking out all of her frustration towards Professor Frasier on the poor punching bag. It swung wildly as she imagined he was standing right in front of her. The bastard.

  The morning felt good and the sun was shining, so she’d decided to run to the library and finish up her paper on the French economy during WWII. She paused and shifted two heavy books in her arms, then turned to start up the steps. Suddenly it felt like something impaled her right between her shoulder blades. The air flew out of her lungs and the books flew out of her hands as she tumbled face first onto the dark slate steps.

  She fought for her breath and her senses as she lay on the ground, satchel and books next to her, and tried to figure out if she was having a heart attack or if Eastland was being invaded by some kind of terrorists. People leaned down and asked if she was all right.

  Nodding, she stood and rubbed her chest, swiping her hair that had fallen out of her now lopsided ponytail. Turning, she looked around at the stunned scattered students on the sidewalk, then down at the football. Football? Her gaze turned immediately to the field past the library and right to the two laughing guys, doubled over with amusement. One she didn’t know. The other she recognized from her Historiography class.

  He was mad at her for destroying the curve in the class, most likely. His laughing didn’t subside, even as his buddy lost interest and turned to another group of people. Her arms began to shake with anger.

  Turning abruptly, she walked a couple of steps, grabbed the football, and spun it in her hand until she felt the white laces on her finger tips. She quickly walked a few yards into the field, paused, drew her arm back, and grunted as she released a perfect spiral.

  The ball spun and sliced through the air and she quickly ran after it, her bright green Nikes trampling the early spring grass. With pure delight she watched as the ball not only nailed that guy in the head, but also knocked him completely back on his ass, legs in the air and everything. To her left she noticed there were other people racing to his aid. Will, the nice rugby-looking guy who always sat next to her in class. Brad, the TA for that sadistic professor. And then, of course, that sadistic professor, too.

  Since she’d been much closer she reached the guy first as he lay on his back slightly rolling from side to side and groaning as he held his nose. Blood was smeared across his mouth and jaw but it wasn’t gushing out or anything.

  She promptly set her feet on either side of his wide chest, leaned over and grabbed a handful of his fratty tee shirt. She twisted her fist in its material and jerked it up, effectively bringing his face closer to hers so that they could be eye to eye.

  “Heads up, bitch,” she growled through her teeth, drawing her fist back to make his face bleed even more.

  Arms suddenly engulfed her and her feet flew up in the air as she was pressed back into someone’s chest. She didn’t even realize she was yelling in protest until she had to pause and gasp for air. Brad was kneeling next to the guy, smiling back and forth between his face and hers. Will was yelling at her, looking angry and even hurt. Wait, no, not at her. The person behind her. The person holding her. Shit.

  Professor Frasier couldn’t believe what he’d seen. First, that one student could have been so openly spiteful to another.

  “That’s Mary Madeline!” William huffed, frozen to the ground, as they stood in shock, helpless from across the field.

  “Why would he do that to her?” Brad asked, looking angry.

  Mary Madeline? Professor Frasier looked over to the student on the sidewalk as she stumbled around and tried to figure out what had happened to her. The next unbelievable event of the morning: of all the students in all the programs at Eastland… it had to be Mary Tucker. But why were they using her name so formally?

  “Mary Madeline?” he asked, realizing that he’d just said that out loud a couple of times.

  “It’s how she introduces herself to people,” Brad nodded, his face turning into a grin as the three of them watched her tiny figure grab up the football and stomp towards the field.

  “I’m going to kill him,” William muttered through his teeth.

  “Oh, dude, I think she’s got that covered,” Brad huffed with a half laugh as she determinedly drew back her arm. “Come on!”

  The three of them began running towards the guy just as he was nailed with the football. They continued their pace as they realized she was running for him, too. Oh God. Professor Frasier had a fresh, off color bruise on the side of his head where she’d punched him the night before. If she did this in front of everyone at the school she’d be expelled without hesitation.

  He swooped down and picked her up, easily carrying her away from Nathaniel Worthington, son of a senator, writhing in pain on the ground. Nathaniel brushed off Brad with a swipe of his hand and jumped to his feet but was stopped before letting out an offensive rant by Dr. Britta.

  “Perhaps this should go indoors,” she loudly suggested, looking back and forth between the young grad student wiping off his bloodied face and the other grad student struggling to break free from Dr. Frasier.

  “I’m not going anywhere with him!” she squealed, grabbing at the bare forearms restraining her. She noticed the muscles slightly rippling under the skin as the arms tightened around her, but quickly focused her attention back on the hilarious prankster.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Dr. Frasier nodded at his colleague, shifting one of his students to the side as he peered over at the other. “Mr. Worthington? My office. You, too.”

  “She didn’t do anything!” Will argued, stepping forward as Dr. Frasier carefully set Mary on her feet.

  She didn’t waste a second straightening out her shirt and sweatshirt with three white lines running down each arm as she glared up at Dr. Frasier.


  “I’m certain…” he tried to say, holding back Mary as Nathaniel was held back by Brad.

  “Dr. Frasier, you need to take care of this before it escalates any further,” Dr. Britta said more urgently, eyeing the two disheveled students and the growing audience around the open field.

  “Please,” he said more forcefully, holding his hand out to the history building.

  Nathaniel looked around for any kind of support from his friends, but they were all staring incredulously down at the little girl in front of them, strawberry ponytail askew and smoke shooting out of her ears. Rolling his eyes, he exhaled loudly before marching off towards the building on the other side of the elm trees.

  “Miss Tucker?” Dr. Frasier quietly said, not wanting to startle her but also wanting her to recognize the seriousness of his voice. She was glaring after Nathaniel.

  “What was she supposed to do, just lie on the ground and cry like a girl?” Will asked, coming to her aid again as he stared at Dr. Frasier. “She’s in trouble for standing up for herself?”

  She half smiled at him over her shoulder. He really was just a nice guy. No one had stood up for her in a while. It felt good.

  “I’m sure we’ll get this all cleared up, but for now I’d like to discuss it further in my office,” Dr. Frasier stated, waiting for her to just walk. God she was so cute, standing there so angry, but if he was going to reclaim any authority it had to be at that moment. And thankfully, she turned that blue-eyed glare up to him.

  “Are you blind?” she asked through her teeth. “He just whacked me square in the back with a football, totally unprovoked! He’s the only one who needs to talk!”

  And she really didn’t want to go up to his office again… where she’d broken his glass… where he would be sure to find a way to get her alone. Her cheeks felt warm as she thought about what he might do… what he’d already done.

  She immediately backed up as he reached for her arm but was no match as he took two long strides and grabbed two handfuls of her sweatshirt right at her sides. She squealed as he threw her over his shoulder and began following Nathaniel though the tall, patchy green trees back to his office.

  This was incredibly undignified! She clutched at the back of his faded red tee shirt and kicked her legs as his left arm wrapped around her thighs. All the blood rushed to her head as she hung upside down and caught a glance at everyone staring at them, mouths agape. Well, wasn’t this just great? She banged a fist on Dr. Frasier’s back as they entered the warm building and he suddenly paused. Was it a good pause or a bad pause?

  It took every ounce of strength inside him to not reach around with his right hand and slap her ass that was now rubbing against the side of his face in those tight sweatpants. Pressing his lips together, he paused and tried to get some self-control. It had been humiliating enough for her to be tossed over his shoulder and carried off with hundreds of eyes watching. Leaning forward he set her down and peered down at her, the blood slowly rushing out of her head.

  “We’re going to walk up these steps and into my office, Miss Tucker, and maybe I’ll go easy on you,” he muttered, gesturing at the stone stairway in front of them.

  Her mouth dropped open and she tried to protest but nothing even close to being a defendable argument came to mind. Sighing and focusing all of her attention to her feet she turned and walked up the long staircase, then followed her insane professor into his office where that asshat Nathaniel Worthington was already waiting.

  “Now listen to me, you two,” Dr. Frasier began, not wasting anytime as he shoved Mary by the shoulder next to Nathaniel and stood in front of the desk. “I don’t care what’s gone on between you in or out of class. This stops right here, right now! You are both intelligent and diligent students who do not deserve expulsion, which is exactly where this is heading if the head of the department or any of the deans catch wind of this. Do you hear me?”

  “It was just a joke,” Nathaniel sighed, shaking his head.

  “Nobody is laughing, Mr. Worthington!” he yelled, hands on his hips. Oh crap, she was turning her body to square up to that asshat.

  “A joke?” she squeaked, holding out her arms and glaring up at him. “What the hell have I ever done to you?”

  “Miss Tucker…” Dr. Frasier warned, but now they were both squaring off.

  “You cheat and everyone knows it!” he loudly accused her. “No one got that question right and I’ve already taken it to the Honor Council!”

  “That’s enough…” he tried to command, though he realized he had little to no command of the situation.

  “You did, huh? You went and tried to tell on me like a whiny little girl? Well, jeez, if that’s the case, your nose sure is bleeding, do you want one of my tampons to shove up your nostril or will you just use one of your own, you little pussy!”

  Dr. Frasier’s mouth hung open and he was at a total loss as to what to say or do, but only for a couple of seconds. He jumped in between them as they reached for each other and shoved Nathaniel back with a firm hand to his chest. He wrapped his hand around the hood of Mary’s sweatshirt and held her at bay so that he could get a few words in.

  “That’s it, it’s over!” he hollered, commanding the attention of the two students… finally. “I want you both to apologize for hitting one another with the football, then I want you both to shake hands. If I even hear a whisper of an insult aimed at one another throughout the duration of the semester I will be forced to take this to the Dean of Students. Am I making myself clear?”

  They both breathed laboriously for a few seconds, and then relaxed under his grip.

  “I’m sorry you’re a little cheater.”

  “Well I’m sorry you’re a big fuck stick!”

  “Try again!” Dr. Frasier yelled, closing his eyes in frustration. “Now!”

  “I’m sorry,” they both mumbled at the same time, reaching out reluctantly and giving a quick shake.

  “Go on,” Dr. Frasier nodded towards the door as Nathaniel looked at him expectantly. He quickly exited, closing the door hastily but not disrespectfully behind him. Years of private school forbade him.

  Mary watched him go and then looked back up at her professor. God, he looked mad. Why would he be mad at her? She’d been attacked, after all. Were they all alone in this building? She’d seen that nice TA outside. Would he be coming up anytime soon? Shit, she could see the hint of a bruise on his cheek where she’d punched him. Yeah, he was probably mad about that, too.

  Dr. Frasier took a step towards her and she instinctively stepped back, right into the old wooden bookcase dominating one of the walls. Her eyes never left his as he brought up a fist in between them.

  “You purposely threw something at a student and hit him,” he began in low voice, lifting his index finger. Then he lifted his thumb and every other finger as he continued. “You would have punched him without intervention. You treated me disrespectfully. You treated everyone disrespectfully. You have a foul mouth and a temper that are not appreciated at a school like Eastland, Miss Tucker.”

  He thought she turned her gaze down to her feet in remorse, but in reality she was attempting to count to ten and rein in her anger. Her eyes shot back up at his with a newfound determination.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Frasier.”

  He stepped back and straightened his posture, not sure if she was serious or not. He folded one arm across his chest and rested his elbow on it, rubbing his whiskers as he thought. He loved how he could see her emotions just sweep across her face. Anger. Concession. More anger. Then the anger quickly dissipated.

  Chapter 5

  “C-can… can I go now?” she asked, eyes flicking towards the closed door. Nathaniel got to go, so why couldn’t she? Her emotions were settling and now all she could think about was a field full of students from her program and all of them laughing at her as he threw that ball and nailed her right in front of the whole library. They all thought it was hilarious and were wishing they’d done it themselves, prob
ably.

  “I’m still deciding,” he muttered, now running his finger across his lips. She looked pretty sincere. In fact she looked like she might just start crying.

  “Why would he do that to me?” she quietly asked, looking around at the Persian rug and rubbing her hands together.

  Oh shit, she was about to cry. He didn’t even think twice as he stepped closer to her and lifted her chin with his hand. This was the look he couldn’t stand. The angry and curious faces he found tempting and adorable, but this sad face tore him to pieces. How did she not know she had this effect on guys?

  “You do realize what that was all about, don’t you?” he asked, watching as her face turned back down as he removed his hand. She shook her head once as strawberry blonde wisps of hair fell around her face.

  “Eastland may be prestigious with high standards and traditional values, but… it’s just like everywhere else. It’s a giant playground with overgrown babies. Nathaniel hit you because he thinks you’re cute and you gave him a reason by acing my exam. Don’t believe me? Roberta Greer made a 95, five points higher than him, and he hasn’t tried to launch any balls at her head.”

  He saw a corner of her mouth turn up so he decided to continue. He was suddenly desperate to see her smile.

  “My own TA has told me time and again that I should take it easy on you because you’re a timid, pretty little girl… though I think he’s reevaluating the first part of that statement right now.”

  She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle as she continued to stare at the floor.

  “And William? The boy who sits next to you every class making eyes at you? He was one of the first guys to come to your aid today. If you asked him I think he would beat Nathaniel to a bloody pulp and then personally hand deliver him to the steps of Congress.”