by A. J. Truman
“Whoa,” the guy said and exhaled a gust of air as his eyes bulged at the screen. “I’d hate to be his girlfriend right now.”
“Do you mind?” Ethan whisper-snapped at him. “Please stop talking.”
“Chill out.” He shoved his phone into his shorts pocket. “The TA posts the PowerPoint online after class.”
Maybe he had a point, which only frustrated Ethan some more. “It’s not the same.”
“Actually, it kind of is. Only better because you don’t have to listen to this guy.”
“I like listening to him.” Ethan turned to a fresh page in his notebook. He did hand stretches to avoid any premature cramping from his feverish note-taking skills.
“Planning to give a slew of hand jobs later?”
“Excuse me?” Ethan blushed red at the totally inappropriate—and untrue!—question. He was ready to learn, to let the knowledge and years of legal wisdom wash over him. He couldn’t wait for Professor Sharpe to fill in the flat text of the PowerPoint with life experience.
As the professor spoke about understanding legalese, Ethan scribbled down notes, but noticed that the lecture was hewing closely to the slides. Sharpe must’ve been having an off day. So am I! Soon, a thought burrowed itself into Ethan’s head.
“If you don’t like this class, then why are you in it?” He asked his rowmate.
The guy glanced up from his notebook, which was full of doodles. “What?”
“This isn’t a pre-rec or distro requirement. If you’re in this class, it’s because you want to be.”
That seemed to catch the guy a little off-guard, and Ethan took that as a small victory. “Hmm?” Ethan prompted.
“I thought it would be interesting. I was sorely mistaken. Just another example of a celebrity professor overpaid to bloviate and collect an inflated salary at the expense of more talented adjuncts.”
Ethan was taken aback—by the thought, the eloquence, the use of multi-syllabic words. “Well, a lot of students would’ve loved to be in this class, so you should—”
“I’m just kidding, dude. It’s near my frat house. Easy to get to.” The guy flashed him a snarky smile.
“That’s the only reason you’re here?”
“I guess it could be cool.”
“You guess?” Ethan thought about all of the dedicated students like himself who missed out because of this frat guy. He had never heard of someone signing up for such a coveted, specialized class just to sleep in a few extra minutes.
“As I said before, chill out. It’s just a class, dude.”
Ethan hated being called dude. He did not act like a dude. He was not naturally laidback like a dude. He was thoroughly un-dude-like in every conceivable way. “This isn’t just a class.”
“Actually, it is. And it’s just one class. Not the end of the world.”
“It could be for some.” The memory of stumbling in late permeated his brain. The Latecomer.
“This class has no real importance. I’m assuming you want to go to law school considering how much you give a shit?” The guy waited for Ethan’s answer.
Ethan deigned to play along. “Yes.”
“Well, this class has no bearing on that. As long as you have a good GPA and good internships, you’ll be fine.”
“That’s why I wanted in this class. To make the connections, to get the internship.”
The guy let out a high-pitched laugh and turned it into a cough when a girl in front of them turned around to scowl.
“You think Professor Sharpe is going to use his sway to get you an internship?”
“It’s possible. If I excel.”
“First off, you’re not going to get anywhere near him. The TAs do all the work, grade all the papers, hold office hours.”
Ethan heard students laugh. Sharpe had said something funny and he’d missed it. One less connection Ethan could casually bring up later. The professor clicked to the next slide.
“What’s number two?” Ethan asked.
“What?”
“What’s number two of your infinitely wise argument against this class?”
The guy put his foot on the column, leaving his legs spread like he was lounging on his couch. “Oh, right. He’s not going to help you because you don’t have tits.”
The girl in front swished around, her red hair flapping against the guy’s foot. She shot him a nasty look, and in return, he gave her the turn-around signal with his index finger.
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Ethan said, his frustration turning to anger. Was this guy on a mission to crush his spirit, throw his future into a ditch face-first?
“Not everything. But I know that Professor Sharpe’s last four interns were girls. One of them told me Sharpe has a very…shall we say, ‘hands-on approach’ to learning.”
“He would never!”
“Because you know him so well? Oh, that’s right. You two are BFFs. He’s going to hook you up with an internship this summer and walk you personally into Harvard Law School. And why wouldn’t he be impressed with you? You wore khakis to class.”
Ethan glanced at his outfit and then peered at the auditorium, which was dotted with a few kids in blazers and dresses. They sat in the front row.
“You’re really going to stand out, what with that and your stellar note-taking skills.”
Ethan looked down at his half-empty notebook page.
“Next stop, Harvard Law.”
“And next stop for you,” Ethan said with a bristle, “academic probation.”
“You’re funny.”
“And you’re a dick!”
“Excuse me,” said a booming voice from the front. It was Professor Sharpe. How much had he heard? Was Ethan being pre-disbarred? He could feel his face burn up to equator levels. “Please keep conversations until after class.”
“Real smooth,” the guy said.
“What’s your name?”
“Greg.”
“Well, Greg. Don’t talk to me. Pretend there is a brick wall between us. Leave me alone.”
“I was. I was calmly using my phone until you began striking up a conversation.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. He was not going to win against Greg. Guys like him didn’t care about being rational or logical. They just wanted to be right, even if they were wrong. Ethan ignored him for the rest of class and swore to himself that he would make it here on time for the rest of the quarter, if only to permanently avoid his seatmate.
CHAPTER THREE
Ethan loved hanging out with Jessica, just not in her room. Clothes on the floor, perpetually unmade bed, papers stacked on papers making it hard to have her laptop fully open on her desk. That was her freshman-year dorm room; her current sophomore-year room was even worse, if that was possible. The closet looked like a serial killer lair. Clothes slid half-off hangers. Piles of…something accumulated in the corners. Ethan sat on her bottom bunk bed with Anna and felt something jab into his butt.
A comb. Brown hairs bunched in the teeth.
He withheld any reaction, remembering how defensive Jessica got when Dave brought it up last year. He couldn’t handle her arguing skills. Instead, he kept talking.
“This guy was such an asshole. Such a know-it-all. He was like, ‘preparing to give a slew of hand jobs later?’”
“Are you serious?” Anger flashed in Jessica’s eyes. Ethan had been pissed at what Greg had said, but in retrospect, he found it a little funny. Mostly for the shock value.
“I can’t believe that!” Anna said, though Ethan wondered if she knew what that was.
“He’s one of those rich fraternisluts who planned his classes around his party schedule,” Ethan said.
“What an obnoxious and, frankly, homophobic thing to say. We should alert a counselor. He can’t go around saying stuff like that.”
“I don’t think he knew I was gay. He just wanted to get a rise out of me.” Although maybe Greg did know. Ethan never knew how obvious his gayness was to others. He didn’
t act flamboyantly like other gay guys on campus (well, he didn’t think he did), though he admired their fearlessness.
“I am so tired of these guys. They’re the same ones on Wall Street who crashed the stock market in ’08, and they’re the same ones who make all those brain-dead action movies that objectify women,” Jessica said.
Ethan kept silent. He knew from experience that Jessica could get very passionate, and she needed a minute to cool down.
“Forget them,” Anna said through tight lips. Ethan wondered if she wanted to say fuck ‘em. Perhaps Ethan should say that to Greg in the next class.
No, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to sit next to him and interact with him again. Once was enough. But then why did Ethan keep thinking about that class and that wicked smirk?
“Hey, do you want to try a new dining hall tonight?” Jessica asked, back to her regular self. Her chill self.
“Where?” Anna asked.
“The one in Maynard.”
“Isn’t it the same food, though?”
“Yeah, but I heard they have a Make Your Own Sushi station this week.”
“I’m there,” Ethan said. “How’d you hear about it?”
Jessica flashed him a warm smile. “I’m a journalist. I keep my ears open.”
Before he could mention Greg again, the doorknob turned. Jessica tensed up slightly, like they were about to get busted, and in came her roommate in a burst of energy.
“Hey, guys.” She waved at Ethan and the girls, but it was half-hearted. It was a formality, an acknowledgement.
“Did you need to use the room?” Jessica asked. “We can leave.”
“Oh, no. You’re good.”
A thunderbolt of awkward seemed to strike the room, but the roommate wasn’t fazed in the least.
“I’m Lorna,” she said and waved again. Ethan and Anna introduced themselves back. Lorna tiptoed over clothes and papers, half-tripping on one of Jessica’s shoes.
“Sorry, I’ll clean up later,” Jessica said.
“Oh, no problem!” Lorna said. Ethan could tell how hard she was working to be fake-nice. Or maybe it was actual-nice. With girls, he could never know for sure.
Lorna went to her closet, which was damn near immaculate compared to Jessica’s, and flipped through shirts.
“What are you up to tonight?” Jessica asked and made a face at Ethan and Anna while Lorna’s back was to them. Wait till you hear this, she seemed to say.
Lorna selected a funky green top with ruffles that Ethan admired. He wished men’s clothes could be that varied and unique. “I’m going to a stoplight party.”
“What’s that?” Ethan asked. Jessica swiveled her head to look at him. His answer had not been adequately caked in condescension. He turned a shade of red.
“You wear a color to designate your relationship status. Red means taken. Green means single. Yellow—” She pointed to the yellow top she was already wearing. “—means it’s complicated.”
And then she took it off. She wore a black bra underneath, but Ethan only saw it for a second before averting his eyes. Out of respect and lack of interest. His friends also looked away.
“Lorna, do you need some privacy?”
“Nah.” She was still wearing her bra. “We’re all gals here.”
She put on the green, ruffly top, and it fit her curvy body perfectly. She pushed out her wavy, red-tinged hair to flow over her shoulders. “Much better.”
“I guess it’s not complicated anymore,” Ethan said, surprised at himself for coming up with such a Dave-like response.
“Exactly.” Lorna nodded at her new shirt with confidence. “I think complicated is usually just a fancy way of saying, ‘It’s over but I don’t want to admit it’s over.’ Nope, tonight I am all green.”
“Great,” Jessica said. She and Anna held in snickers.
Lorna swabbed her face with a cleanser pad while looking in a small mirror she’d stuck up to the closet wall. “Delta had the same exact party last spring. Of course, most of the guys wore green, even though not all of them should have. There will probably be three drink rooms again, each a different color. Red, yellow, and green. So red, yellow, and green Jell-O shots.”
“Very clever,” Ethan said. He imagined the setup of the party, and it sparked something within him. He wished he could go to something like that. His party experience was limited to gatherings at upperclassmen apartments with assortments of wine, which he and his friends never drank. Someone had thrown a Roaring Twenties party once, so there was that.
“And get this. Some guys go in red shirts because they know they could get more girls that way. How shady is that? I only dance with green and yellow people.”
There was dancing, too? He had a vision of a rocking party, like New Years Eve meets a rap music video. And on a Tuesday night!
“So yellow people can dance with green people?” Anna asked, and she sounded half-curious.
“Yeah. It’s complicated. As long as it’s not red, you’re safe!” Lorna tossed her hair around to get it perfect. She checked the time on her phone. “And I’m late!” She snatched a clutch purse hanging on the wall and gave a giant wave to the entire room. “Have a good night, guys!”
Ethan waved her goodbye. Once the door clicked close, his friends giggled to each other.
“And that’s my roommate,” Jessica said. “The good news is that she’s never here, so it’s like having a single.”
“She has quite a life,” Anna said with a large dose of sarcasm.
“If getting drunk and grinding against random boners is what you want your life to be.”
Ethan remained quiet. He had thought all people did at frat parties was stand around and drink. He hadn’t realized there was dancing and color coordination.
“Aww, poor Ethan,” Jessica said. “Traumatized from seeing his first bra.”
Ethan acted shocked at the accusation. It was true, though. His friends wore Tshirts and long-sleeved shirts, so he never had to see their bras. Unless you counted the ones on Jessica’s floor. Ethan peered over at Lorna’s desk. Clean. Either from no use or good hygiene.
“That’s the other half of Browerton I have no interest in knowing,” Jessica said.
“Oh, you guys,” Anna said. “We’re all wearing red, green, or yellow.”
And sure enough, they were. Ethan’s green T-shirt was very appropriate for his single love life. For now. Maybe one day with Preston that would change. Maybe he and Preston could get drunk at a party and release their inner feelings for each other and have a hot makeout session. (And of course that would lead to a relationship, but Ethan was also looking forward to the physical.) “We’re ready to party! Like OMG,” Jessica said in a Valley Girl accent. “Let’s start our own stoplight dance party right here!”
But they didn’t. Instead, Jessica called Dave, and they all went out to eat at the Maynard dining hall.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ethan counted down the seconds until his Thursday 9 a.m. class was over.
Like all Browerton professors, his Spanish teacher bemoaned the quarter system. There were so much curricula, but never enough time. They had eight weeks for classes, plus a week for studying and a week for finals. So two months to teach a college-level course. The professors tended to use every second of class time.
A student had to interrupt to alert the professor that class time was over. Ethan darted out and ran down the stairs outside. He still wore khakis and a button-down shirt. He refused to listen to Greg, refused to let him get under his skin. This time, he would make it to class on time and get a good seat and make a good impression and so on and so forth.
He creaked open the back door of room 304 and gazed out over the packed lecture hall. Professor Sharpe leaned against the podium, already mid-lecture. It was only 9:55! Was his watch slow? He gave the room a cursory glance, but found no empty seats. Ethan wouldn’t tempt the professor’s wrath again by doing an in-depth search. He trudged to the back row.
“
You’re late again.” Greg looked up from his phone. He was watching a video with one headphone plugged into his ear and looked like he was wearing the same exact warm-up pants and T-shirt from Tuesday’s class.
Ethan didn’t respond. It seemed that this would be the new normal. A permanent latecomer. Still, he was in Constitutional Law, learning from a valued professor and gaining experience for his eventual next step into law school. It didn’t matter where he sat, he realized. It just mattered that he was here.
He retrieved his notebook and pen from his backpack. Sweat stains from his backpack straps left marks on his shirt. He didn’t even want to look under his arms.
“You need to work on your tardiness. Sharpe is not impressed.” Greg shot him a Cheshire cat smirk, and this time Ethan noticed how his cheeks bunched up to his eyes. He had a squintier smile than most, and on a less vile person, Ethan might have found it cute.
Instead, he sighed with resignation. He would be stuck next to Greg for the entire quarter.
“Don’t worry. If it makes you feel better, Sharpe wouldn’t remember your name anyway.”
“Because I don’t have tits, right?”
“Whoa. Language, Ethan.” Greg covered his ears, while Ethan’s perked up.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s written on your notebook.” Greg pointed to the “Ethan Follett [email protected]” written with perfect penmanship on the cover.
Ethan flipped it open and took out a fresh pen.
Was it weird that he liked hearing Greg say his name? He thought he’d read somewhere that people liked it when their name was said aloud. Although it sounded more like a whine whenever Jessica said it.
“What’s the nickname for Ethan?” Greg asked.
Ethan tuned him out in favor of Professor Sharpe, who was going over very detailed slides.
“Eeth? Than? Ethie? Ether? Nah, none of those sound right. Is there really no nickname for Ethan? What do your friends call you?”