Untamed

  As time progress, I stop wondering about what happened on that day. I’m just grateful that it did happen. For the first time in my life, I feel like a normal girl. I feel like a totally different person on the inside. I wouldn’t dare tell my mother about that strange scar I found on my shoulder.

  I made a promise that I would never bring it up again. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about it. Eventually, I begin to think more about the topic of college. After reading my acceptance letter to Glenworth University, I can’t stop feeling overwhelmed with anticipation.

  After weeks of preparing, I’m off to my first day as a Glenworth University student. I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach as my mom stops in front of the main entrance of the school. This is it!

  "Good luck. I’ll meet you here at 4:30," she says with a weak voice. “Now get out…before I get emotional.”

  “See you later mom. I love you,” I say as I exit the van.

  She rolls down the passenger window.

  “Wait,” she says with a sobbing voice.

  “What mom?”

  I turn and see tears coming down her face.

  “Don’t go wandering off by yourself.”

  I gradually begin backing away from the van. I just hope she doesn’t cause a big scene in front of all these people.

  I won’t,” I reply.

  “Hold on,” she leaps from the van and approaches me.

  “Mom, what…” before I’m able to finish the sentence, she wraps her arms tightly around me.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into my ear.

  “You could’ve done this in the van, mom,” I whisper back.

  “I’m sorry,” she lets me go and straightens my shirt. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”

  “I know honey. But there’s one more thing. Stay away from boys,” she says while wiping away her tears. “They’ll get you pregnant.”

  I roll my eyes and nearly face-palmed myself in public.

  "This is the worst time to talk about the birds and the bees, mom. You're about a good 8 years too late on that. Have a nice day at work," I say while chuckling.

  Although it’s difficult for her to do, she finally musters the courage to back away and get into the van again. I watch her drive off, holding back her emotions, and emerge into traffic. I breathe out slowly to release some butterflies. I then pull out my class schedule from my pocket. If I’m reading this correctly, my first class is Pre-calculus at 10:15 with Professor Welsh; room 113.

  I check the time on my cell-phone. It’s only 9:58. I stroll up the walkway to join the college commute. It takes me about ten minutes to find the classroom. An old man with thinning hair greets me at the door as I enter.

  This classroom is large with a row of steps leading upward. I find myself a vacant seat. Soon, the other vacant seats become occupied, and then Professor Welsh closes the door behind himself.

  "Good morning students. As you all may know, I am Professor Welsh. Today I will be teaching you the basic Algebra formulas.”

  I waste an entire hour taking notes, notes, and more notes on top of notes. After struggling to learn about algebra, I walk into the hall to review my schedule again. My next class is Psychology A. with Professor Forester; room 145. I have to be there by 11:30, so I check the time on my cell-phone.

  My phone notifies me that it's approximately 11:20. That means I’d better hurry if I want to make it to class on time. I begin my search for room 145, which to my surprise, I find very easily. A confident looking man is standing at attention in the center of the room with his chin raised high. He nods at me as a good gesture and I return the kind favor.

  Unlike the other classroom, this one is flat and much smaller. Not long after, the remaining students pour into class one by one. The last student to enter is someone I met before when I first visited this school. He helped my mom with our van that day we took a tour around the school. He walks into class with his big hair and big frame. He's wearing a gray long-sleeved shirt, denim jeans, and suede boots.

  Professor Forester waits for him to find a seat before he closes the classroom door.

  “Greetings fresh faces,” he says in an English accent. “I am Professor Forester but I prefer being called Dr. Forester. I didn’t spend all those years in school to be called otherwise,” he continues boldly. “Let me tell you a little about myself. I was born in England, and when I was 10 years old I moved to America with my father. I graduated from High School at the age of 14. I received my bachelors in Math by 18. I then moved on to study Psychology and obtaining my masters at the age of 26. I finally obtained my Doctorate degree at 31. I believe Math is more psychological than any other subjects. For instance…” he says while walking over to his desk and picking up a multicolored square. “This is a Rubik’s cube. I'm sure you've heard of it. An interesting fact is you need a psychological and mathematical approach in order to solve one. It took me a couple of years to master the three sided one. My personal record is about 25 seconds. But this one is four sided. My personal record for this one is 1 minute and 12 seconds. That takes years of practice to solve this without the use of paper. Of course I wouldn’t expect any of you to figure it out on the first day, but with my help and a little bit of practice…”

  “How many years?” a voice behind me interrupts.

  “I’m sorry, how many years for what?” Dr. Forester replies.

  I look over my shoulder. The boy with the big hair is speaking.

  “How long did it take you solve it?” he asks with his stern expression.

  Dr. Forester chuckles with his pride bursting.

  “It took roughly four years to get to my current record.”

  “May I try?” he asks.

  Someone in the room snickers lowly. His eyes quickly glance around the classroom for the person who laughed at his question.

  “Just guessing will not be enough to solve this. Have you ever tried solving one?” Dr. Forester asks with a cocky smirk.

  “Yes, I tried once in a store.”

  For a second time, someone snickers at him. With his stern eyes, he scopes around for the anonymous giggler before shifting back to Dr. Forester.

  “Listen, I'll give you a shot,” Dr. Forester says. “If you lose, you are not allowed to interrupt my class again with nonsense. And if you win, which you’re not, I'll let you keep the damn thing. Fair deal?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Come to the front. Let's see what you're made of.”

  The brawny boy stands and sluggishly walks towards the front of the classroom. Dr. Forester hands him the cube and leans back onto his desk with a cocky smirk on his face. The brawny boy flips it around several times. Through those stern eyes, I can see his brain concentrating. He then begins to twist and turn the cube.

  As the seconds passes by, the classroom gets extremely quiet. We all watch on as the colors move around the cube in various orders. As the clock ticks away, that confident grin on Dr. Forester’s face melts. A clutter of gasps breaks the silence as the boy stops morphing the cube, revealing its completion.

  “Did I do that right?” he asks Dr. Forester with the finished cube presented.

  “Um, yeah, I believe so,” he replies in awe.

  Dr. Forester takes the cube from his hand and studies it for himself. His amazed expression remains fresh.

  “I timed him,” a random female announces. “That was about 23 seconds.”

  He walks back to his seat, which is all the way in the back row. A moment later, Dr. Forester finally accepts reality and clears his throat before speaking.

  “Wow, thank you for that amazing performance…” Dr. Forester adds but can’t conjure his name.

  “Call me Daniel. I don’t have a doctorate degree like you. It’s just Daniel,” he tells him.

  The class remains quiet for another moment, bathing in awe.

  “Well, a deal is a
deal. The cube is yours, Daniel.”

  Daniel gazes around the room once again.

  “Actually, I would like to donate it to the rodent who kept snickering at me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  One of my male classmates starts to nudge a boy sitting next to him. The boy, who is being nudged, seems to be nervous about something.

  “Damn it,” the shy boy says lowly to himself before he rises to his feet.

  He drags his feet, shamefully, to the front of the classroom to claim his prize. Everyone snickers at him as he returns to his seat...

 

  Eventually, Dr. Forester continues with class. An hour later, we exit the classroom. Once again, I blend into the college commute. I can’t stop thinking about Daniel and how he made Dr. Forester devour his own words. The look on Dr. Forester’s face was priceless.

  I have to admit, Dr. Forester is a bit of a cocky douche-bag. If you ask me, he had it coming. Fortunately for me, my next class doesn’t start until 2:30. I find my way to the student lounge to grab a well-deserved lunch. I’m now enjoying a turkey cold-cut while reading a new novel I handpicked from the library.

  Eight chapters later, I glance at the time on my cell-phone. It’s now 2:16. I pull out my schedule to review my final class for the day. I need to be at Introduction to Literature with Professor Grant at 2:30. I finish reading chapter nine before closing the book.

  The commute to class is an easy one. A middle aged man with dark hair is standing in the center of a large classroom. He welcomes me into class with a smile. I then walk up a flight of steps and find a seat in a middle aisle. Then a familiar face joins the class.

  It’s Daniel, once again. Professor Grant nods at him and him only.

  “Hello, Daniel,” the Professor greets him by his name.

  Daniel nods back slightly. He proceeds up the steps and gazes over at me with his permanent sternness. My eyes cower away from his as he passes my aisle. He walks towards the back of the class and drops into a seat. The other chairs fill in quickly.

  As soon as the clock strikes 2:30, Professor Grant closes the door and takes center stage with his hands behind his back. He surveys the entire room and smiles brightly at everyone. He opens his mouth to speak but he's interrupted by the door swinging open. Another familiar face enters the classroom. I remember his father ranting to him in the admissions office about his poor grades.

  He's tall and lean with short blonde hair. He's wearing a black collared shirt, khaki pants, and casual black shoes. It may seem like a simple outfit but the quality of his clothes are all pricey named-brands. Even the glistening gold watch on his wrist had to cost a pretty-penny. The boy appears to be upset about something.

  I can tell he’s angry by his flared nostrils and pressed lips. It takes me a while to pull his name from my memory bank. His name is Kendrick. As Kendrick walks into the room his eyes connects with Professor Grant's.

  I read distaste in their eyes. I watch Kendrick climb the steps and find a seat in a row down from me. He tosses his book on his desk, arrogantly, and sits down. Professor Grant removes his eyes off of Kendrick and focuses on the entire class.

  "Hello, ladies and gentlemen," his voice is projecting. "I’m Professor Grant and welcome to my class. I do things a little differently around here. I won’t bore you with William Shakespeare simply because…that shit drives me crazy," he says the last sentence in a low voice.

  Faint giggles swell throughout the classroom.

  "I’m not going to torture you with any of William Shakespeare’s overrated stories. I want all of you to learn from my class. I've yet to fail a student and I don't wish to start now. And for those who like sleeping…" he walks over to his desk and picks up a blackboard eraser. "…this is Mr. Wake-me-up. If I catch you sleeping in my class, he’s going to pay you a visit between the eyes. And I was a quarterback in high school. So, don't try me.”

  Everyone giggles again but a little louder than before. He puts down the eraser and centers himself again.

  "What I’m going to discuss today is one of my favorite authors, J. L. Lucas. By a show of hands, who in here has read any of his work?"

  My hand goes up with half of the class.

  "Okay," he says with this impressed look upon his face.

  Then he projects his voice again.

  "J. L. Lucas has always been my favorite author. Today, we will discuss his most controversial book to date ‘From land to sea’. Personally, I think it’s his best novel yet. This story is about two rival villages. These two villages are at war with one another. Tell me, who has read this novel?"

  My hand is the only hand that shoots into the air.

  "You right there," he points to me. "Stand and give the class your name. Don’t be bashful.”

  I feel a hint of shyness as I stand and become the center of everyone's attention.

  "Hello, I’m Iva Hill.”

  I hope I’m not as stiff looking as I feel.

  "Ms. Hill, how do the title “From land to sea” relate to the story?"

  "Um…" I bite my lip while I wait for my brain to process an answer. "…from life to death. In the story the warriors fought on land but their bodies are thrown into the sea when they die in battle.”

  “Yes! You’re right on the mark. A lot of my students don’t have the answer to that question. Good job,”

  I sink back into my seat.

  "This is one of the most controversial books of its time. What made this book so controversial are the gruesome battles he depicted. The climax is the most memorable, when the leader of the rival village kidnapped an innocent man from the other village. He tortured this man and killed him. He hung him in the highest tree on their enemy’s territory. He carved an x on his chest. He wanted to send his enemies a clear message. And the message is..,” he gives a slight pause to survey the entire class. "...a war was coming. And it will take place here.”

  An hour later, the students are gathering their belongings and clearing the room. I make my way through the aisle and begin to walk down, but I freeze so Kendrick wouldn’t trample me. I can tell he's been dying to get out of class. Professor Grant stares at him, bitterly, as he rushes out the classroom with rage. I step aside and wait patiently for the other students to leave the room.

  One of the last people to leave is Daniel. Before leaving, he approaches Professor Grant and they start having a whispering conversation together.

  "What is he doing in here?" Daniel asks lowly.

  "I don't know, but I’m pretty sure he won’t be back. His father must be furious right now," Professor Grant replies.

  Daniel glances over his shoulder at me before he walks out of the door with the remaining few.

  "Hello, Miss Hill," his smile returns.

  "Hello, I just wanted to say that I loved your lecture on J. L. Lucas.”

  "Did you really?" he replies.

  "He’s my favorite author too. You said that your favorite book is From Land to Sea.”

  "Yes it is.”

  "Why? It’s so depressing, so..,” I try to grasp the word in my head.

  "Tragic," he finishes my sentence for me.

  "Exactly.”

  He walks over to his desk and leans up against it, contemplating my question.

  "Well, isn't life?” he explains. “We live in tragic days. Just go home and turn on the television.”

  "What about the ending? No one wins the war. The story builds and builds with no big payoff. Why would anyone end a book in a huge cliffhanger without a part two?”

  He laughs at my statement.

  "You must understand he's a symbolic novelist. That's his representation of war. He’s not teasing anyone. Think about it, when a war starts, does it really end? That’s why he ends the book in a huge war scene.”

  With our schedules free for an hour, we settle at some vacant seats and have an in-depth discussion about J. L. Lucas.

  "Which one’s your favorite?" he asks.

  "That??
?s hard to say, but the one I found most interesting has to be... ‘The Damsel and the Knight’”

  "Wow, that’s upsetting," he tells me with disappointment.

  "Why? It’s a great book.”

  "First and foremost, instead of approaching it realistically, he goes into this fairy-tale romance.”

  "We’re officially enemies now," I say in a joking way.

  There’s a slight break as the subject changes.

  “So, do you write?” he asks.

  “Not in a long time. And you?”

  "Not really. People keep telling me I should but I just like the teaching part of literature," he stops to think for a moment. "Well, there’s one story I've written, but I never published it.”

  "What’s it about?"

  "It’s about me and my fiancée. The story is based on our first date together. About half of the book is narrated by me. The plot is me describing every small aspect of her," I witness him slip away into some kind of love daze. "Her crimson hair flows like fire in the wind; her eyes, brighter than the sky on the sunniest day; her smooth skin breaking the limits of perfection, beyond human comprehension..,” he snaps out of his daydream. "It’s something like that but a lot longer. I know it's corny but you asked," he finishes with a chuckle.

  I laugh with him.

  "Yeah, it's a bit on the cheesy side, but still it's an interesting concept," I reply.

  As a student walks into the class, Professor Grant shifts down at his watch.

  "Wow, time is flying," he says while standing up. "Before you leave, I have the story in my desk. You can take it home and read it if you want to.”

  "I'd love to.”

  I follow him over to his desk. He sits down, scramble around for a moment, pulls out a stack of stapled papers, and hands them to me.

  "I accept constructive criticism," he informs me.

  "I definitely will read it. So, what’s up with you and that boy? I believe his name is Kendrick. What did he do to you? Did he toilet-paper your car or something?"

  He pauses for a second and clears his throat.

  "No. Why would you say that?"

  "I’ve seen you give him the evil-eye earlier.”

  He pauses for a brief moment and let out a chuckle, which seems slightly dishonest.

  "I don't have a problem with any of my students. I never have and never will.”

  He looks down at his desk and clears his throat again. I like Grant because he’s an honest guy. The thing about honest people is that you can easily catch them when they’re lying to you. It’s so foreign to them that they’re horrible at it.

  "But make sure you read the book," he smiles and sits down at his desk. "And I will see you Wednesday, Miss Hill.”

  "Wednesday it is. See you then," I then turn around and walk out of the room.

  Why lie about a simple question? I totally noticed the hostility between them two, yet he denies all of it. Maybe he doesn’t want to come off as unprofessional, which is definitely understandable. The thought slips my mind as I see the van pulling into the school lot.

  I jump in and close the door.

  "So, how was school?" I can tell she’s been dying to ask me that all day.

  "It was great," I respond brightly.

  The entire ride home, I talk her ears off about my new favorite teacher, Professor Grant…

 

  CHAPTER 12: THE BLAIRE’S STORY