Lux et Veritas
Chapter 2: Iceberg
Author: Knowhere
Rating: Pg-13
Disclaimer: Normal applications. I own nothing but the idea.
AN: I'm flattered by the overwhelming response. I really am. I've never had such an enthusiastic response to anything I've written. Thank you. A special thanks to Elise, Kellie, and Erika. I'm very grateful for your help.
Summary: Very AU. A more relaxed college freshman Rory meets a more confident adult Jess for the first time. Different backgrounds, attitudes, and behaviors for the both of them. Literati.
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Her face is neutral and it throws me off guard. There's no expression but she stares like a predator to prey. There's no emotion, nothing like I've been accustomed to over the last month and a half. There isn't that glimmer of excitement when she's interested, or even that glare of determination when she doesn't agree. I don't know whether to laugh or to hit myself for even noticing the play of emotion, or lack of it, across her face. But right now there's nothing and I feel out of the loop.
"Okay, let's stop there and pick up on Monday. Please remember that although you aren't tested on your reading in the lecture class, this is a discussion class and if you don't read then you can't discuss, and if you don't talk you don't pass." Lazy ass kids, just as bad as me.
She's quick to pack today, not like every other time we've met and she's dawdled to be the last one out. Usually she's always thrown me a glance or even a word, if I'm permitted, but today she's grabbing all of her papers in her arms instead of carefully assembling them back into her backpack. She's upset.
"Ms. Gilmore, can I have a word please?" God, that sounded old.
She stops. She doesn't meet my eyes. The last couple of students have wandered off and we're alone.
"Are you okay Rory?" And now I switch to informal.
She gives me a fake smile and I'm not impressed. "Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?"
What she means is 'back off' but she can't say that to me because I'm not her peer and I hold the grade book.
"You just look a little distracted, that's all." Which is true.
She replies, "I'm just having an off day."
"It doesn't look like that." Why am I pushing? With any other student I would have left it at that.
"God, am I not allowed a day when I'm not in perfect discussion mode?" She's irritated and our privacy makes her slightly more comfortable to speak her mind. Either that or she's just outspoken. I haven't decided which it is just yet.
"Okay. Sorry I pushed." Two can play at the game of avoidance. And I'm a pro.
And she's the amateur. "Sorry, I didn't mean to blow up like that. I'm just upset at this paper that I failed." She relented.
Her simple answer makes me want to laugh, but that's not appropriate and I know that. Odd how I categorize everything as appropriate or inappropriate when it comes to her. Or maybe it isn't odd and I should pay more attention to it. "What happened?" Simple and yet I don't sound amused or too involved. Which is something that is becoming harder to do as she seems so upset.
"My damn lecture class. I wrote on the sexual implications and the allusions the book leads to about The Bible and I failed."
"You mean for the first assignment?"
"Yeah. The one on Eco."
"The one that you were suppose to simply dissect the meaning of the mirrors and the hallways?" Does she not get it?
"Yes. But I incorporated my ideas with the mirrors in the essay." She's becoming impatient.
She's just a kid in every way. "You can't do that on a first assignment."
Her eyes flash with dim anger. "What the hell are you talking about? We were allowed to expand the original thesis, so I picked something that interested me." She's stubborn.
"Sure, but you can't expand too far away on a first assignment. The professor wants to see how well you follow directions. You know that, you've played the politics game of education." I feel like I'm scolding her. Am I not?
"I don't see how that makes a difference. First assignment or the millionth assignment."
"Come on. Open your eyes. They do that kind of thing in high school. They butcher the first one so you will mold to the professor standards. When you get further into the semester, then you branch out on your own."
She rolls her eyes. She's listening and not hearing me at the same time. "It sucks; I worked hard on it."
"Yeah, I know the feeling." And I do. I'm not just trying to make her feel better. I've fought my share of battles where I've lost with my professors. "But now that you know for your next paper, you'll give him what he expects."
"She."
"What?" Out of the blue.
"The professor's a woman."
"Right." The nitpicking makes me wonder if she's conceded to my point and if she's ready to drop the subject.
And she is. "Okay."
But we're back to awkward silences.
Time has passed, a minute, maybe two? She looks up and smiles. Gives me one of the genuine smiles and I'm charmed.
"Thanks for listening."
"No problem." It really isn't. But I won't tell her that as the teacher's assistant I graded a good handful of those papers. She must have forgotten that it would be part of my job description and I'm thankful that she doesn't see the connection. However, my guilt is unfounded because the papers had no names attached so I would remain unbiased. But I don't think that would placate her.
We walk out of the building and the cold hasn't let up yet. My hands are in my pockets and I silently finger count my loose change so I don't feel ridiculous for having nothing to say. Well, at least nothing that I can say out loud and still be professional.
She's younger and should be the one who's impractical, not me. "It's cold today." She fills in small talk as if silence bothers her. I like the quiet but I'll humor her.
"Yeah. Storm might be blowing in by the end of the week."
She points. "There's a diner across the street. They have pretty good coffee and pie, although not as great as the diner at home, but not bad." She's digging.
But I still play the adult because it's my role. "Uh huh." I don't offer much more than that.
She's relentless. "You wanna try it?" It flatters me.
I glance down. I wait for her to take the reins but I want them back. I can't lose whatever control I've deluded myself into thinking that I have over the situation.
"Right. It'll be weird." She didn't quite hit the nail on the head.
And I want to clarify. "No, not weird. The situation would be inappropriate." Again with the appropriate versus inappropriate.
I can't tell if she's happy with my answer, but I can tell she's unhappy with the status of the conversation. "Is there like a rule or something?" She gets down to the real question.
"I'm not sure." And I'm really not.
"Okay, that's fine." But it's not.
"But I am headed to the cafeteria for a late lunch." A bold leap and a stupid one on my behalf. What am I doing?
She gets the hint but misses my reluctance. "I am awfully thirsty."
She's flirting once again and it feels wrong for me to have even heard it. "Okay." I nod because I don't know how to stop. Or because I don't want to.
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I pick up a tuna fish sandwich because there isn't anything else and I don't want to look like I was coming onto her when I said I was hungry. Even though I might have been. At least there are chocolate chip cookies. I prefer oatmeal though. The coffee's hot but I wonder how long it's been sitting there.
She picks up a cup of coffee too, with cream and sugar. I like it black. Strong.
I pay for mine, and she pays for hers. I would offer to pay for her as well, but I wonder if that would raise too many red flags. No it wouldn't, idiot. I know very well that anyone would just see us as a couple of students, which we are. No one would recognize that I'm in a position of control, even though it feels like I'm holding on by a thread, and think that it's wrong to sit down and have a meal with a woman. Or girl? Shit, I don't even know how old she is. I've been concentrating so hard on the fact that I know I'm older, that I overlooked her age altogether.
She's sitting down and I plop down across from her. Yes, normal. That's good.
"So..." She's suddenly shy and looks so very young.
'How old are you' is on the tip of my tongue. But it also seems like it's the tip of the iceberg. I don't want to spoil it.
I wait for her small talk. I'm not disappointed. "Coffee black, huh?"
"Yeah, black."
"I always felt that coffee black was for like old people. You know, like senior citizens who have depleted their taste buds so much that they can only taste the coffee when it's black." I lift an eyebrow at her and she suddenly shuts up. She brought up the subject of age even though I know it was unintentional and just a slip to try to make light of our situation.
She feels bad, and I rescue her like the prince I fake to be. "I'm a senior citizen huh? I didn't get my discount on my coffee though." I become flip.
She's relieved. "Well, you do look young. Maybe that's why."
Again with the age. I'm amused this time. I open my mouth but she beats me to it.
"God, what the hell is wrong with me?" I'm wondering that too.
"Just relax." Good advice, Jess. Take it yourself.
"Let's just get it out of the way. I'm eighteen. How old are you?" Iceberg straight ahead.
"Twenty-three and a half." And it's out.
"And a half...so precise," she mocks.
I offer a sound somewhere between a snort and a release of air. But I wait.
"Well, that isn't so bad." Is she talking to me or herself? "And plus, you're still a student." She's not looking at me. She stares behind my eyes and above my head, like she's giving a speech and she's nervous to make eye contact. "But you're still my TA." Ah, the clinching point.
"Yes, that I am." Why must I place myself between a rock and a hard spot?
She rationalizes. "Well, two Yale students can still have coffee and a conversation, right?"
If she wants to overlook things, then I can too. At least for now. "Sure. Why not?" And that's it. For the time being. "What are you majoring in?" That's good. A safe topic.
She looks relieved. "Communication." A beat. "Journalism," she specifies.
"Want to travel the world? Or local, like channel four at eleven o'clock writing for the teleprompter?"
"Both." She smiles. "Either." She's childish. "None." Full out laugh.
I'm confused. But I like it.
"No, seriously. I'm not sure. I'm interested in journalism, but I'm not really sure where I want to take it just yet. Stupid, huh?"
"Nah, not stupid. It would be if you were in graduate school and still had no real idea of what you want to do." I cock my head to one side.
She laughs at me. But I don't mind. Not too much.
"Tell me something about yourself." How utterly charming once again.
I'm thinking. "I don't organize my socks." Silly.
Her eyes widen. She appreciates my humor. "That's a good start."
"Okay, you go." Her turn.
"Um." She's thinking of something to top my ridiculous answer. "I eat all the cookie dough chunks out of my ice cream first. Then the chocolate chips. Then the ice cream last, but most of the time it'll melt by then, so I eat it really fast trying to beat science."
What a delightful game. She looks expectantly at me. "I eat bread heels first. I like them actually."
"I can't blow bubbles in my gum."
"I can't whistle."
She's laughing. I'm happy with the simple gesture.
"I put on everything left side first. Pants, socks, shoes, shirts."
I'm close to blurting that I sing in the shower, but I'm afraid that's too personal. "I read every label for the directions. Cereal boxes, instant noodle packets, shampoo, dog food bag."
She has her head rested on her fist to the side. She leans sideways. I look around. I spot another student of mine. The situation comes crashing down on me. I've lost my mind.
I gather my trash and she's slow to react. She just sits there looking up at me. I don't offer any explanation. "Sorry, I've gotta go."
I leave her there, feeling guilty and ashamed all at once. I am a fool.
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AN: Review Please. Such a simple request, but it brings such joy. Thanks.