The Space Between the Galaxies
Chapter Two - 'But the moon's not that small.' 'Compared to the universe, it is.'
A/N: Still unbetaed, but I really like where this story is going. Read and review, please. I'd like to know how I can improve as I go. Thanks! :)
Lecture Hall 4, Lecture Hall 4, Lecture Hall 4.
Maybe if I repeat it in my head like a mantra, it will materialize. I spin around from where I stand, my eyes darting everywhere, wishing that a sign would pop out of the ground to tell me where to go. Yeah, bright lights and a big neon arrow would definitely be helpful right now.
To my increasing chagrin, one doesn't appear.
Lecture Hall 4. Hmm.
I can almost hear my watch ticking; I barely have three minutes to get to class. It's Astronomy 101 - a course that's generally regarded as a joke, but I had to fill the requirement somehow. And in my opinion, it's way more enjoyable than Organic Chemistry.
Without thinking, I stop a nerdy-looking guy as he walks past. When his gaze snaps up from his feet to my face, his jaw drops.
"Hi, do you know where Lecture Hall 4 is?"
He seems lost for words. The Jeopardy theme plays in my head.
"I don't have all day. Can you talk, or what?"
"Uh, yeah," he says, still a bit flustered. "Just take the second street on the right up here, first building on your left."
"Thanks," I say, sounding snappier than I probably should. His arms are still gesturing vaguely in the direction of the hall as I break into a light jog. I might still get there on time.
"Hey," he calls after me. "Are they still holding Astronomy 101 in that building? I had that class last year."
"Yeah," I throw back over my shoulder. He yells something back, but I'm too far away to hear it and frankly don't care enough to turn back.
Two minutes later, I push through the doors to enter the building, my breath coming in short gasps. I'm out of shape from Cheerios. Lecture Hall 4 is the second hall there, and I slip through the open door and slide into a seat at the back of the small auditorium less than a minute after class was supposed to start.
Down at the front of the room, an elderly man is shuffling through papers on a spindly wooden desk that looks like it's going to collapse under the weight of the bulging briefcase sitting atop it. The walls are painted dark gray and made of cinder blocks. I feel stifled.
Shouldn't we be in a different room, especially for a class on astronomy? Shouldn't we be somewhere light and airy? Or at least a room with a window?
The man seems to get his papers in order and walks over to the chalkboard, slides a long piece of chalk out of a box, and attacks the board with hard, punctuated strokes. I can barely make out what it says, because his handwriting is big and then small, the capital letters huge and the rest tiny, illegible scribbles. He places too much importance on too few things.
As I squint at the board and try to figure out what his name could be (it starts with a J, at least), he turns back to face the class.
"My name is Professor Jenkins, and I will be teaching Astronomy 101 this semester."
I watch him wiggle the long piece of chalk between his index finger and thumb, the ring finger of his right hand tapping incessantly on his thigh.
"You're all supposed to be in this class?"
There's a general murmur of assent from the students. There's only about twenty of us, and as his eyes roam around the room, I want to slink down in my seat until I'm invisible. I'm at least three rows behind the next person, and his eyes linger on me a moment too long. I hold his gaze until it becomes uncomfortable. Even non-interactions like that scare me more than I'd like to admit.
He starts to call attendance anyway, and I notice that his voice has a strange lilt to it; not an accent, but loud and then soft, putting emphasis where it isn't due, punctuating some words but not the important ones. I'm reminded of his handwriting, too-big then too-small, not focusing enough on the little things. It'sthelittlethingsthataremostimportant, I think.
I find myself gearing up to say "here" in the calm, confident voice that I'd gained over the second half of senior year. I'd proudly given the valedictorian speech at graduation, and I was happy with what my speaking skills had grown to become.
When he calls my name, I say "here," but I'm taken aback by the tone. It comes out like when I was captain of the Cheerios - cold, collected, and devoid of emotion. It sounds like I think I command the classroom, which is definitely not the attitude I want to broadcast on the first day of my first class, on my first real day of college. Especially when the class is Astronomy 101.
As Professor Jenkins continues attendance, I try to replicate the tone I want under my breath. I miss the voice I used after I had Beth, after I got over my rebellious phase, after I befriended Rachel.
As he finishes calling names, I abandon my efforts and bend down to pull my laptop from my bag and turn it on. I open a new document for notes as Professor Jenkins starts to write things on the board. As far as I can see, they're names of stars, constellations, and galaxies. I know them all already.
I study his form because I know all of the words already. He's tall and thin, or at least used to be when he was younger. His face is long and the skin sags a little, but his eyes are alight. If his mostly-gray hair is any indication, he's in his sixties.
Professor Jenkins, the string-bean. Wiggles the chalk between his fingers when he's impatient, taps his right ring finger when he doesn't quite know what to do, puts too much importance on too few things. It's this that I think, this that I type in my notes.
I don't need to know what he's writing on the board or what he's talking about; these are the important things for now.
Professor Jenkins (String-bean, I think) stops writing and there's a heavy silence in the room, except for the click-clack of computer keys. I can almost feel the hot breaths of my classmates adding moisture to the already-humid air. I hope it's not always like this.
"How many of you copied those terms down?"
About half the class raises their hands.
"Erase it. Delete it. Whatever you do on those computers of yours, get rid of it. This class is not about memorization."
I sit up a little straighter in my seat.
"This class is about gaining knowledge, actually learning things. I want you to come out of this class having gained perspective. I know many of you took this course to fulfill a requirement. If you do the work and come to class, you'll get by. If you want to do well, if you want to actually gain something from this part of your college education, you will do research outside of this class."
Some of my classmates look absolutely terrified. I'm proud to be one of the few whose eyes shine with excitement.
Can eyes really shine? I type.
String-bean has taken a stagnant pause for emphasis. This time, the silence isn't heavy, but rather electric with energy. The students who hadn't expected to have to work in the course are holding their breath, not daring to exhale. The few who hadn't copied what he wrote (including myself) are looking up to the front of the room with confidence, not afraid to meet his gaze.
Maybe I'll like this class after all.
"Alright, are we ready to actually begin?" String-bean walks to the board and erases everything he's written. He launches into the history of the study of astronomy, and I hang on to his every word. He writes on the chalkboard only occasionally, although his handwriting and voice pattern are still the same.
When the class ends an hour later, I barely have half a page of notes.
As I push out the door of the lecture building and the cool fall air hits my skin, I'm in a genuinely good mood. I start walking back to my dorm, a slight spring in my step. I need to grab a few things before heading off to the library for some peace and quiet. Without thinking about it, I pull my cell phone out of the side pocket of my backpack and text Rachel.
Hey, Rach. How's NYADA? I just went to a really good astronomy class, and I kind of like the teacher more than I thought I would.
Fifteen minutes later, I've successfully found my way to the library. It's a large building with a castle-like exterior, and my breath is stolen from my lips as I walk through. A long hall with study tables and immensely high ceilings reminds me of the Great Hall from HarryPotter, and I grin to myself as I find an empty seat and set my bag down as quietly as possible.
I slide my laptop out and as it wakes up, I check my phone again. Rachel's texted back.
NYADA's great! I've had two classes already - Script Writing and Music Theory. I don't personally see the value of knowing how to write a script since all I want to do is sing, but I guess it'll be good to know every step of the process. And music theory should be pretty challenging, actually. And I'm glad your astronomy class went well. :)
She's so goddamn cute. I run my lower lip between my teeth as I tap out a response.
That's great! I'm looking forward to skyping with you this weekend. :)
She responds almost instantly. I smile.
Me too. I kind of miss you.
'Kind of.' My heart sinks to my stomach.
I miss you too, Rach. We'll talk later, okay? I have to study.
Okay, Quinn.
I end the conversation as quickly as possible. I don't know why it made me uncomfortable, I just can't stand to feel more for people than they do for me. It gives them power over me, and I need my relationships to be equal because I've been hurt too many times before.
I don't know how long I sat there, contemplating my friendship with Rachel. I couldn't put a finger on why I cared so much for her - I guess I felt weird for being friends with her after treating her so terribly during our first few years. I made her life hell, and she took me back.
I would never have done the same had I been in her place.
I definitely identify with being disliked and not being enough. I'd gone through that as Lucy, and I didn't want to go back to that, not ever. When I saw Rachel, who was in somewhat the same position as I had been, I attacked because I needed to know that I wasn't there anymore. She was wonderful in her own way, and even though not many people liked her, she was Rachel Berry and she got what she wanted. I could never do that, I was never strong enough. It took surgery and weight loss and new clothes to get me to a place where I could feel sure of myself, even if that meant hurting others along the way.
When I look at my watch again, two hours have passed. It's five in the evening, and I have gotten no work done. Zero. Nil. Zip.
I don't even know what I was planning on doing. Professor Jenkins - String-bean - didn't give any assignments.
I sigh and start to pack my things. As I walk back out of the library, my eyes focus on the path straight ahead of me. I can see everything, but it's like I have tunnel vision or something. I don't noticeanything. I see it, but my eyes feel empty.
By the time I get back to my dorm, it's almost six o'clock. I don't bother to eat, and slip myself between the sheets of my too-small bed. I feel like I've been shoved into a closet and had the door forced shut on me. I feel like I'm straining to get out, but I don't know where I'm trapped.
It's still bright outside as my eyelids flutter shut, and I can't fathom why I'm so exhausted.