Page 16 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

“Isn’t that in the eye of the beholder?” another girl asks.

The professor gestures to a guy on her right. “You don’t agree.”

He straightens, the eyes of ten students and our professor suddenly on him. His dark hair is thick and curly, flopping down over his forehead, and he’s got a hint of shadow on his jaws. Attractive in a book smart kind of way.

“Brandon Moore,” he introduces. “Society often dictates what’s worth reading. Take the classics, for instance. Actually reading them nowadays, well, some of them are boring or hard to get through. Yet people insist, because they’re classics.” He pauses. “I think interesting and worth reading are two separate things.”

“Is a comic book worth reading?”

He tilts his head. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because… it’s entertaining.”

“Because it’s worth your time. So maybe there’s a correlation between entertainment and interest?” The girl who spoke flips her hair off her shoulder. “Miranda Summers.”

“Frankenstein was interesting,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

I draw gazes.

“Name?” the professor prompts.

“Sydney. And, um, I like classics. They stick around for a reason, right? Whether it’s a message or how they tell the story. Like Virginia Woolfe, her stream-of-consciousness writing is sometimes hard to grasp but it was groundbreaking. And Frankenstein continues to send a message, it can be picked apart in so many different ways…”

“Of course the SJU slut is in this class,” someone says under a cough.

Our professor straightens. “Excuse me?”

The first girl—Andi—leans forward. Her gaze burns into me. “She stole from our hockey team and sold us out to our rival, and then she has the nerve to transfer here? I won’t be in a class with her.”

“Then leave.”

I stop breathing.

Our professor looks around the room, then pauses on Andi. “I mean it. Get out of my classroom if you can’t be respectful.” She makes a shooing motion.

Andi seems a bit in shock, and she shoots me a withering glare as she shoves her notebook in her backpack. She leaves in a flurry of movement, slamming the door closed behind her.

“Now,” Professor Page says in the resulting silence. “Anyone else want to join her?”

No one moves.

“Good. Your first assignment is on the syllabus. I suggest you start working on it now… creative writing can be a tricky beast when you first start.” She rises. “See you Thursday!”

She leaves.

It takes us a moment to all get our shit together, and I’m once again the last one out. Except someone waits for me in the hallway.

“Brandon,” he introduces, extending his hand.

“Sydney.” I shake it.

“I hope Andi didn’t scare you off.”

I shrug, heading down the hall. I’m done with classes for today, thankfully, and I’m looking forward to hunkering down at home.

“What year are you?” he asks.