CLASS PRESENTATION
1328 Words
HIRAM’S POV:
I know I should have handled things with Juniper better. The weekend stretched out painfully, with every attempt to focus thwarted by her silence. Not one call answered, not a single message replied. It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does. And now I’m pissed. I cannot tell whether she’s doing this to get under my skin or not, but she’s succeeding.
Today’s Monday, and I’ve got her class first thing. As I pull into campus, I force a deep breath, trying to push back the growing storm of irritation gnawing at me, but it’s useless. I’m angry. Angry that she won’t give me the courtesy of a response, and, damn it, I don’t care if that makes me an ass. Maybe she’s right. I want her to listen, to follow my lead, and it kills me she’s slipping out of my control.
Parking, I stride to the building trying to push away the ill feeling. But when I walk in, my jaw clenches. There she is, laughing softly with her attention absorbed by that red-haired kid from last week. The irritation in my chest sharpens. My eyes narrow, and my mood becomes sour beyond repair, and I have to resist the urge to crumple my fists right there in front of the class.
Suppressing the flare of jealousy, I take my place at the lectern, arranging my materials with more force than necessary.
When I look up, my voice hardens. “Good morning, class.”
Juniper doesn’t even glance my way. It’s deliberate. She’s ignoring me, and she knows damn well I’m watching.
“Last week, I gave you an assignment.” My gaze zeroes in on her as she finally looks up. I can feel my patience slipping, and my tone becomes colder than intended. “I said it would be the first thing I’d expect to see today. Let’s get started with the presentations.”
A girl stands up with her group members, but my attention stays locked on Juniper, who’s still turned toward red hair.
“Sit down,” I snap, cutting off the girl mid-step.
She frowns. “Professor, we’re the first group.”
“Good to know,” I say, barely looking at her. My gaze shifts back to Juniper, who’s now watching me. “But we’ll start with the class rep’s group.”
Juniper’s eyes widen, and she glances at Mr. Red, muttering something to him.
My grip tightens around the paper on the lectern. “Group Four—you’re up.”
The group of ten six students stand and make their way to the front of the class. As Juniper stands there, I see the fear in her eyes, but I don’t care. She wanted to challenge me—fine. I won’t hold back.
“Group four, I am waiting.” The red-haired kid steps forward, clearing his throat.
“Good day, class. My name is Gunther Rowland, and our group chose melancholy as our theme—”
“Actually,” I interject in a sharp tone, “I want Juniper to lead the presentation.”
Her mouth drops as a murmur ripples through the room, and I feel every eye shift to her. She blinks, glancing at me as if I would somehow soften. I meet her look with a cold, unyielding gaze.
Reluctantly, she takes the paper from Gunther.
“Our theme is melancholy,” she starts, trying to sound confident. “We used shadows to represent isolation, with one hand reaching toward light as a symbol of hope.”
Her voice is almost calm, but something in me refuses to let this go. I go in harder.
“And the shadow placement on the left side of the face—why is it so heavy there?”
Her fingers tighten around the paper.
“To create an imbalance. We wanted it to mirror the way sadness affects a person. Half hidden, and…”
“Interesting choice.” I fold my arms, watching her squirm. “And anatomically? How did you reinforce this theme in the body?”
The silence in the room thickens, but I don’t care. She glances back at her group, seeking support.
“Class rep, I am impatient.”
I do not give room for them to whisper answers to her.
She takes a breath, lowering her eyes. “We… added a slight hunch in the shoulders, to show the weight bearing down,” she answers slowly.
“Keep your eyes on me, and I want to hear your voice clearly.”
She glares at me, then raises her voice.
“And we angled the neck downward to communicate exhaustion!”
I raise an eyebrow, as though her response barely merits my interest.
“And if you wanted to show confidence, how would you change the posture?”
“Professor, it’s melancholy. Confidence isn’t—”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
She lets out a frustrated sigh while I raise my brow.
“I’d raise the chin and square the shoulders. Confidence needs openness, so I’d eliminate most of the shadows.”
A spark of satisfaction lights up within me as I see her falter. Still, I can’t let her off that easily.
“You chose the most emotionally taxing theme,” I say, stepping away from the lectern and walking toward her with my eyes locked on hers. “Why? What made you so interested in exploring misery and hopelessness?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something raw and vulnerable flashes through them.
“Because misery is giving everything you have to someone too cold to feel it. It’s loving a creature carved from stone, hoping the warmth of your hands might thaw the empty spaces, knowing it never will. It’s bleeding yourself dry for something that will never come alive, hoping for a pulse that was never there.” She doesn’t flinch, and her steady gaze bores into me. “Don’t we all love misery?”
Her voice cuts through the room the room like a blade. The class goes silent, and I feel a sudden chill in the air, because I know she is talking about me. And it makes me wonder if everyone in the room knows too. It’s only then that I realize how far I’ve pushed her, and something hollow and cold settles in my chest.
“Good presentation, class rep. You may return to your seats.” My gaze shifts away from her, and I ignore the glances of the other students as she slips back into her seat.
I rush the rest of the groups through their presentations. The moment they are done, I leave forty-five minutes early, unable to bear the look I left on her face.
In my office, the air grows thinner by seconds, and I yank at my tie, pulling it off. I try to lose myself in my notes, yet her words cling to me, searing through my thoughts like a scar I can’t ignore. I grab the Lamb tales by the Shakespeare, which is sitting on my table, trying to concentrate, but the pages seem blur.
I sit there for minutes, glancing meaninglessly through the pages.
Eventually, I give in and reach for my phone, searching for her name.
I send a message which adds to the pile I sent over the weekend.
“Meet me in my office.”
The message is read immediately, but there’s no response. The silence needles at me, and I take a breath, composing another.
“I’m sorry for what happened today. And over the weekend. I just want to talk.”
Again, it’s read, and the lack of response sits like a weight in my chest. I toss the phone aside, leaning back. Then I close my eyes to block out her words echoing in my mind.
Minutes later, a knock sounds at my door. I sit up as the door opens, then Juniper walks in..
- Writer
