AN: Welcome back. This is a story whose subject matter is near and dear to my heart. As always, you're entitled to your opinions but, if you can, be gentle with your criticisms 3
A TW FOR THE WHOLE STORY If you are an ED soldier, there are three points I want to make: 1) This is a recovery-oriented story, 2) it shouldn't be too triggering (it's not graphic) and 3) recovery is possible. I would know. xoxo
In August, when the soon-to-be Juniors are finally able to register online for classes, I make what will turn out to be the best or the worst decision of my young life, depending on how you look at it: I sign up for a full-year course of anthropology. It's a three-hundred-level class, which means that the first trimester is level three-oh-one, second trimester is three-oh-two and third trimester is, naturally, three-oh-three. The first two sections are physical anthro and the third is cultural anthro, a sub-type that I haven't experienced yet.
The teacher, according to the info page, is Arendelle, E. I quickly look her up on Rate A Prof and find that she has barely any reviews. She must be a young professor, but the few reviews she does have are good. Things like tough but fair and A stickler for attendance. I can live with those things. I don't miss classes often and I do put good effort into my work, so I'm hopeful that we'll get along just fine.
I have no idea what I'm in for.
In September, when classes begin and the place is full of people milling all around, trying to find their way around the sprawling, urban campus and I'm finally full of sunshine and rest and ready to tackle another sixteen-credit term, I see her. Arendelle, E turns out to be Elsa Arendelle, Ph.D. She is either very young to hold that title or just ages extremely well.
I am done for as soon as she walks into the lecture hall.
Her hair, pulled into some kind of messy-but-chic French braid, is the thickest, most pale blonde mane I've ever seen in my life. Her frame is slender but with curves that make my heart stutter crazily in my chest. Her blue eyes are huge in her face, giving her the appearance of a doe or some kind of nymph. When she walks, her hips sway in this hypnotizing way.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and glance around. I'm immensely relieved to see that I'm not the only student staring, awestruck, at our professor.
Elsa Arendelle, Ph.D reaches the front of the room, sets her bag down on the desk and turns to face us. She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Good morning," she says, her voice soft and musical. "My name is Miss Arendelle and I'll be your professor this term. Some of you may be enrolled in all three sections of this class. If that's the case, then we'll be seeing a lot of each other between now and June."
My heart picks up its pace. Please, I beg whatever being is listening, please let me see more of face flushes as that errant thought makes itself known.
"I will be requiring all students to meet with me one-on-one at least twice per term. This is to ensure your success in my class, as I am extremely firm on grading and I don't make exceptions." Miss Arendelle paces back and forth in front of her desk. "Even if you're doing fine in the class and your grades are high, I'll still ask you to meet with me just to go over any questions you may have or concerns that may arise." She stops pacing and her eyes sweep the room. "Your success in this class, and indeed in all of your educational pursuits, is of utmost importance to me. So please don't hesitate to reach out, all right?"
The class murmurs and nods.
"Great." Miss Arendelle turns around and my breath is stolen by the way her perfect backside looks in her black slacks. Her heels clack against the floor as she approaches the desk on which her things rest. "Let's begin. I am going to pass out the syllabus and we'll go over it quickly."
It is only with great effort that I manage to pay any attention at all for the rest of that class.
In October, when the leaves turn reddish orange and fall to the ground, I meet with Miss Arendelle one-on-one for the first time. Halloween is in two weeks and it appears Miss Arendelle has taken a lesson from Miss Frizzle in The Magic Schoolbus because, while her attire is the same as it always has been, her jewelry reflects the upcoming holiday. Today she has little skeletons dangling from her earlobes.
"Hi, come on in," she greets me as I knock hesitantly on the doorjamb to her office. It's almost three in the afternoon and I've just finished classes for the day. "Anna, right?" She glances at her desk calendar where I can see, from here, her perfect, loopy handwriting spelling out my name at this time slot.
"Yeah," I manage not to stutter and I'm frankly amazed. My heart is thundering against my ribs and my armpits are sweating.
"Please, come in and sit down," Miss Arendelle gestures to one of the two chairs facing her desk. A desk that is immaculately organized, just as the rest of her office is. Every item is evenly spaced from the next, nothing out of place, nothing haphazard. She is deliberate, if nothing else. "How are you finding the course thus far?"
I lower myself carefully into the seat, sitting on the edge, clasping my sweaty hands in my lap. "I'm actually really enjoying it," I say, and it's the truth. Once I got over the initial shock of Miss Arendelle's appearance, my brain cleared a little and I was able to somewhat focus on the material. "You're a very good professor. I find your lectures easy to follow, although not boring."
She smiles and my heart feels like it swells two sizes. "I'm so glad to hear that. I do aim to make things easy to understand while still challenging the mind to connect to the material. I am, of coursed, biased on the topic. I find anthropology to be incredibly fascinating." She chuckles. "Hence my profession."
Relaxing a bit, I smile at her. "I agree. I'm looking forward to the third section of this course. I've never taken any cultural anthropology before."
"I think you'll like it, from what you've just said." She leans back in her swivel chair, threading her fingers together and raising her arms, placing her hands behind her head. My eyes want to bug out because that motion causes her fantastic chest to push outward and the buttons on her royal blue blouse strain to remain closed. "It's different than physical anthropology but still quite interesting in a totally different kind of way."
I can't come up with anything to say because my tongue is imagining running over the flesh that is pushing against the buttons of Miss Arendelle's shirt. If she notices the flush on my face, she doesn't say anything. Her face remains neutral and she stays in that position for several seconds more before seeming to think of something and spinning around in her chair, rolling to the other side of the office. She retrieves a folder from a shelf and opens it, pulling out a piece of paper.
"Here is the reading list for the next two sections of the course. I looked at your progress before you came in just now and your work is impressive. This is a three-hundred level course which is not easy, but I am impressed by your efforts so far. If you'd like to look over any of this material early, I'd be happy to discuss it with you before next term." She hands me the paper and I have to quickly lay it in my lap because my hands are shaking. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I just thought I'd give you the option since you seem to be a dedicated student."
I bark out a laugh. "School is my life." My lips twist mirthlessly as that sentence escapes me, but I rein it in quickly. That isn't something I want to discuss with anyone, let alone Miss Arendelle.
Her eyes are soft. "I know what you mean," she says, and I have no doubt that she does.
In November, when the snow starts to fall on campus and everyone is giddy with the first snowfall excitement, I approach Miss Arendelle after class one day.
She's standing at the front of the room, talking to another student. I'm too far away to hear what they're saying but Miss Arendelle doesn't look happy. Her face is relatively neutral but her body language gives her away. Her arms folded tightly across that glorious chest of hers — and my breathing speeds up at the memory of her raising her arms overhead in her office that day and how the buttons on her shirt barely held on for dear life and how I wish they hadn't — and her body slightly turned away from the student she's talking to. She shakes her head at something and replies through pursed lips, letting me and anyone else watching know that she is definitely displeased. The student walks away and Miss Arendelle turns her back and begins packing things into her bag.
"Excuse me, Miss Arendelle?" I stop about five feet from her, the irritation oozing off of her is palpable and I don't want to get my head bitten off.
She stills, hands clutching a stack of papers, and turns slowly. "What can I do for you?" She asks evenly, and I know she's relieved it's just me but for whatever reason her guard is still up — way up.
"I finished the recommended reading for three-oh-two," I say, edging slightly closer.
"You what?" she exclaims, her neatly shaped eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. "You read all six of those books already? Anna, it's only been just over a month." There's skepticism in her voice and I'm thinking she doesn't believe me.
"Yes," I answer simply. "I read all six. I found them all enjoyable except the last one. I didn't agree with many of the author's points, but I do think he presented them well nonetheless."
A wry smile. "Funny you'd say that," she smirks. "That's exactly why I had it on that list. Did you notice his points almost directly contradicted everything in the previous five books on the list?"
I nod. "I did. I was going to ask you about that. It mystified me at first, but now I think I understand. It was for critical thinking purposes, was it not?"
"It was." She sounds pleased. "Not much gets past you, does it?"
"Oh, sure," I wave my hand. "Plenty gets past me. But I enjoy reading and I enjoy this subject—" and I enjoy the professor, I almost said but managed to catch it just in time, "—so this was actually a really pleasant way to pass some time." I shrug. "I'm kind of a bookworm, I guess."
"Nothing wrong with that," Miss Arendelle's face is unreadable but her body language is clear as day: she wants to keep talking to me. Her arms are at her sides and her body is directly facing me, her feet are side-by-side, indicating that she doesn't feel the need to prepare herself to retreat quickly. Her face is warm and her eyes are gentle yet searching.
She's trying to figure me out, I realize with a start, and fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest. While I am infatuated with Miss Arendelle, I don't think I'm quite ready to let her in. I almost never let anyone in. The last person I let in was Kristoff and, well, that didn't end so well for either of us.
The conversation stalls momentarily and Miss Arendelle turns to finish packing up her things. Facing me once again, she says, "what class do you have next?"
I shake my head. "No class until one o'clock." I usually while away my time in a coffee shop or in the library but I don't think Miss Arendelle cares about that.
"I have office hours starting at one-fifteen," she says, shouldering her bag. "This is when I usually have lunch. Would you like to join me? We could discuss the reading." Her demeanor is calm but her eyes have a nervousness in them that makes my heart jump.
Is it wrong for a student to have lunch with a teacher? I want to ask, but I keep it in. Why would it be wrong? We're just discussing reading, but still I hesitate. Miss Arendelle would notice my other problem, the one I keep as hidden as possible from everyone, for sure if we had lunch together. My hands start to sweat, clammy and cold, and my heart rate kicks up significantly. I'm so torn, but I really want to spend time with her. So, summoning every ounce of courage I can find in my body, I agree. "Sure. I'd love to."
In the end, it turns out fine. Miss Arendelle seems to accept the excuse I give her and says nothing about the fact that I consume only half an Odwalla smoothie for lunch. I know I'll pay for this later but, as it turns out, being distracted by the goddess that is Miss Arendelle is what makes any of it bearable. The stimulating conversation only adds to the success.