Frantic, I ran through the dining hall and grabbed a sub-par cup of coffee before racing across campus to Stanwick’s class. It was chillier this morning than I expected for this early in October, but I didn’t have time to run back for a coat.
The witch was standing at the classroom door, waiting for the last few stragglers, when I breezed through the outside door.
“Morning, Ms. Presto. Glad to see your begging to sit in my class isn’t a burden to you.”
“Good morning, Professor Stanwick. I’m here, ready to go!” I replied, my half-assed attempt at being chipper, while her blue eyes narrowed at me as she used my surname.
I’d always wondered why she wasn’t a model instead of focusing on the struggles of regular women. She was pretty enough, despite the severity of the way she dressed, but I supposed she was a bit too patrician for that. And about twenty years too old, from the looks of her.
I breezed through the door and she pulled it shut after me, the lock clicking into place. There were no latecomers to an In-Depth Look at Porn, nor were there curiosity seekers who might want to tweet they watched porn in class. No, my classmates were women’s studies majors who took the issues seriously.
“Hello, class. Today will be the last lecture before the midterm, and then I plan to move forward whether you understand the material or not. Can someone summarize last week’s reading?”
No one ever volunteered. It was like serving yourself up to be a sacrificial lamb at a sorority roast.
“How about you, Caterina?”
I knew she was going there. It wasn’t a Friday without Professor Stanwick testing my intelligence and patience.
Fuck. I stood and cleared my throat, careful not to knock over my coffee as I tugged my sweatshirt down over my butt.
“Last week, we finished our unit on using pornography to rise to stardom. We looked at the lives of Jenna Jameson and Kim Kardashian, focusing on the differences between the two women. Jenna, a full-blown adult-movie star, changed the perception of pornography for many, making them feel it’s a legitimate career. But we know it to be what it’s always been, a misogynistic attempt to keep women down.”
Warming to the subject, I spoke with a little more confidence. “Pornography sexualizes women and does nothing to promote their inner growth. Kardashian played into reality by pretending a sex tape had been released of her, one that we speculate she made especially for that purpose and released herself. They’re two very different women, both noted for their sexuality, and cashing in on it daily.”
Stanwick nodded and motioned for me to sit. It wasn’t in her to say “thanks” or “good job.”
Addressing the class, she said, “If you were to pick a pornographic path—not that any of you would—would you take the Jameson route or the Kardashian one, and why? Twenty minutes. Open your composition books and start writing.”
The sounds of paper shuffling and pens falling to the floor filled the air.
The lone guy in the lecture piped up. “You could pretend to claim abstinence and then quietly continue to bang every chick in sight. Isn’t that what Blane Steele copped to last night on the radio?”
I slid a little further down in my chair, silently wishing he would opt out of the course.
“I heard that yesterday,” one of the women said. “I thought I was hearing things, but he’s a guy. He can make hollow claims or promises and get away with it.”
“That’s enough,” Stanwick said, standing by the lectern. “I didn’t say we were discussing the patronizing ways of our student athletes or school shock jocks.” She threw her shoulders back in indignation, straightening her pants suit jacket.
Stanwick’s following this? Interesting. I better get my work scenario straightened out.
Finally, the room quieted as everyone hunched over their papers and wrote away.
Blane
I decided to skip the rest of my Friday classes. Even with my head tucked into a hooded sweatshirt, trying to stay incognito, I was still getting all kinds of attention. Unwanted attention, thanks to Sonny. The asshole.
“Hey, Steele, whatcha doing this weekend? Crocheting?” some young wannabe jock yelled at me before howling with laughter.
What the fuck? What the hell happened to dudes respecting me?
Oh, right. I gave up *.
Trekking across campus toward College Avenue and the serenity of my apartment, I felt Coach’s words weighing me down. Like a thousand-pound elephant, they sat on my spine, bouncing up and down, each syllable worming its way through my nervous system. Although we’d talked behind closed doors earlier that morning, I knew rumors would circulate about our conversation later in the locker room.