“I appreciate you saying so, Professor Carmine,” I say, trying to look grateful.
“Well, whether or not that’s true, I won’t hold you up. I just wanted to let you know that I found it brave to tackleLaocoönand His Sonsfor your final essay. Have a good day, Love. Professor Solomon.” She nods her head, tightly curled grey-blonde hair never moving.
“You as well, Professor,” I reply, and Rook echoes the sentiment as she turns and leaves.
“Come on then, Love.” Rook sighs my name, and there’s something to it when he saysLovethat isn’t there with anyone else. He beckons me into the office and I follow, sinking into the chair in front of his desk with another sigh while he closes the door.
“She speaks particularly highly of you,” he remarks, sitting in his chair. “She hates most of her students. Did something happen your first semester with her?”
“I almost failed,” I admit. “I was a freshman coming in from a high school that had convinced me I was smart enough not to try. She broke me of that misconception by Halloween.” I tap my knuckles against the chair arm. “She’s pretty harsh when she grades. But I love her class, and the way she lectures, so here we are.” I shrug one shoulder at him as he pulls out a folder.
“What’s Laocoön and His Sons?” I’m surprised he cares enough to ask, but the art history major in me brightens at the question.
“You can’t ask me that if you don’t want me to ramble,” I inform him, sitting back. “Seriously. You’ll get an earful.”
“Go for it.” He meets my eyes with a lazy look of his own, hands flat on the folder. “Give me an earful.”
“Laocoön and His Sons is a statue. It’s Hellenistic in origin, and is in the Vatican Museums for display. There’s some debate on whether it was a copy of the Greek design and subject, but I like the story of it more. That Laocoön tried to warn the Trojans about the horse being dangerous. There are a few different endings to the story, past his warning. One version is that Athena sent snakes to kill him and his sons. That’s, obviously,what the sculpture implies. Another version tells that Laocoön watched them die, and had to spend the rest of his life alone in punishment.” I blink, sucking in a breath, and say, “Please don’t tell me you’re just trying to distract me from the fact thatyoufailed me.”
A smile curves across his lips, but he wipes it away with a flick of his wrist before I can do more than notice that it’s there.
“I haven’t failed you, Love,” Rook assures me. “Though, you might not like your grade.”
I hate the way he says it, and I shift a little in my chair. “If you’ve failed me, I’m telling Oliver,” I say, and he just shrugs.
“I just said I haven’t failed you. And so what if you do tell him? What will he do, Love?What will he do,exactly?” He pins me with a half-glare, then opens the folder to my project and final grades.
“Wow,” I mutter, staring at the B that glares up at me for my semester grade. “Wow.” This will be the only class I have a B in, to my knowledge, and it frustrates me more than I want to say. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away quickly.
I don’t like not being good at things. This is reminding me that I can’t always live up to the perfection I strive for, and I definitely don’t like it. Worse, it’s a Bminus. Barely higher than a C.
Professor Solomon sighs and lifts his hand to rub his eyes. “Don’t cry,” he says, with only a touch more kindness than he’d used seconds before. “You didn’t fail.”
“You shouldn’t have lied to Professor Carmine about me,” I snap, not meaning to.
“What do you mean?”
“You said I was a good student.”
“You are a good student.”
I gesture at the B- for being the clear evidence of him lying about it. Obviously I’m not. Not with that grade. It makes my stomach twist, and drags up my inferiority issues that I’ve worked to put a stop to for years. Had I thought, just for a moment, that I really was some great photography student that he’d like to have in another class? Yeah. I had.
“We’re really doing this. You’re really upset over a B.” He sounds half like he can’t believe it, and the other half, somewhat confused.
“Yes!” I snap, closing my eyes hard so I don’t meet his eyes and let him know just how upset I am. If I cry, then I’ve lost. I haven’t cried in front of a professor since my freshman year, and Icertainlydon’t want my second time doing it to be right now.
“You weren’t even this upset when you learned what Oliver was doing,” Rook points out, elbows on the table as he leans his chin on his hands to watch me like I’m suddenly just so interesting. But clearly, not interesting enough to warrant more than a B-.
“Maybe I should’ve been!” I snap, feeling irritated. “I just…This isclassand everything is separate, okay? But I thought, just maybe, that you would’ve had some fucking understanding for how this semester has gone.” Under any other circumstance, I would never have spoken to him like this, but I’m so frustrated and stressed, and I just want this semester to be finished. “You can’t tell me in class what I need to improve on, but the both of you find the extra time in the day to stalk me?”
He blinks, eyes narrowing. “Stalk you?”
“Follow. Stare at. Watch. What else would you want to call it? I can feel when I’m being watched, just like I have been all the time since the beginning of the semester. I know you’re still doing it, Professor. It’s not like I’m an idiot. You, or Oliver, or both of you. I don’t care.”
“Blair.” With a frown, he lets his hands fall to the desk so he can lean on his arms. “You think we’re stalking you?”
“You’ve always been stalking me. Ever since the night at the party with Oliver. I’ve seen you outside my apartment, like that night Oliver went down to see who was watching. I know it was you, so drop it. I just thought—”