Luminary (Expanded Edition)

  * * * * * *

  In another building on campus, the third floor of the 200 building to be exact, the sole domain of the English department -- Emily Wren was entering her adviser’s office.

  He was seated at a desk, his hand moving the mouse to his computer slightly, clicking the right button several times. Index finger tapping it quite insistently. From the way his eyes darted from the computer screen to her face, it was clear that he'd been expecting her.

  She glanced down at her phone, noting the time. She wasn’t late, punctual as usual. Lifting the bottom edge of her green sweatshirt out of the way, she slipped the device into the pocket of her jeans.

  "Hi Emily, have a seat…” her adviser nodded to the chair.

  Plopping down, she dropped her backpack on the floor beside the wooden leg, grabbing a notebook out of the open flap.

  “I had a chance to check your records earlier..." he began, one hand abandoning the mouse, moving in unison with the other to fiddle with the computer keyboard. Typing something. "Ah, there it is.... Your schedule is fine for next semester. But you need to think about adding another elective or two."

  Emily tensed slightly.

  "I've got a pretty full load,” she responded, allowing a faint edge in her voice.

  Her schedule was set up the way she wanted it. Why couldn't he have made that suggestion before? she thought stubbornly. Mentally she was preparing for a good debate, if necessary. The points of which were crystallizing in her mind as her thinking turned stormy.

  "It doesn't have to be this semester.... Might I suggest content publishing?" He looked at her speculatively.

  "What? Are you kidding me?” she was incredulous, “I deal with content publishing everyday at work…we use a C-M-S tool-- as we call it... Why would I need that? I'm an American Lit major."

  Emily was very sure of herself. The meeting with her adviser was a courtesy. She was this close to finishing and didn't want to risk messing up her carefully organized plans.

  "It will look good on your resume to have e-content courses... Understanding e-publishing could help you self publish your creative writing... A lot of authors are getting their start doing that... It's easier than finding a regular publisher," he explained persuasively.

  "Who teaches it?" Emily asked, slightly curious, storm clouds abating.

  "Let’s see, e-Pub 101...it’s.. ah... Professor Chang," he paused, looking somewhat abashed.

  Emily groaned.

  Professor Lee Chang was a nice enough man. Like many of the instructors in the computer science building, English was definitely his second language.

  Emily wasn't racist or mean, she also wasn't exceptionally patient either. In the few conversations she'd had with Professor Chang, quite by accident-- while she was with some of her nerdier classmates -- she'd resisted the impulse to correct his grammar when he'd used the wrong word. It had been difficult.

  She was not being critical, precisely the opposite.

  Emily was helpful by nature. The reason she wanted to help him speak accurately was to prevent other students from snickering behind his back -- when he messed up. Spending an entire semester listening to him trample the English language -- without correcting him -- would be torture, she mused.

  "I'd go completely nuts! " she admitted candidly.

  "Yes, his English is… uh, well. He’s good with computers though," her adviser allowed, glancing back at the computer for other options. “In the Fall, John Watkins is teaching the dayside sections and Sullivan Walker is teaching it at night," he offered.

  "I'll think about adding it then," she compromised.

  Emily had ambition, she wasn't yet sure if being a novelist was part of her creative future. The logical part of her nature wouldn't rule it out either. She liked to fantasize about what might await her in the years ahead. An endless array of possibilities jumped into her mind.

  Much to her relief, he didn’t press for any more changes to her schedule.

  “I’ll sign off on this and send it to the printer,” he informed her, stopping to scribble something down with a pen on a post-it before doing so.

  He rose from his seat just as a low mechanical whine filled the room, the printer was humming to life. Ink jets spraying with the indefinite rhythm of the print job at hand.

  Stepping over to the open door, he looked through it, head turning sideways to see if the next student had arrived, apparently so. He murmured something that sounded like, “I’ll just be a minute,” to someone Emily couldn’t see.

  She got up from her seat.

  Standing by the window, she lifted her backpack to the chair, unzipped it and put her notebook inside. Glancing outside, her gaze fell on the good looking guy in a gray blazer in front of the bookstore. Even from this distance she could tell that there were muscles under that button down shirt.

  Too handsome and fit to be a student, she thought. Curious. Maybe he was a new professor? Wouldn't it be nice if he taught e-Pub 101, she thought, fantasizing.

  "Here Emily," her adviser’s voice interrupting her daydream. The ever helpful educator handed her the newly printed copy of her schedule.

  She glanced at it, confirming to herself that nothing had been changed and folded it in half, "Thank you."

  "Do you need anything else?" he asked before sitting back down in his chair.

  "No, I'm good thanks."

  Dropping the paper in her backpack, she zipped it up and put one strap on her shoulder. Eyes darting toward the bookstore again, she noticed that the handsome stranger was gone. Figures, she thought cynically.

  "Bye sir, thanks again for your help," she said, strolling out of his office.

  "You have a good one Emily."

  The adviser’s hands were already busy at the keyboard preparing for the meeting with the next student.

  Emily passed the girl in the hall, not recognizing her. She gave a small, cordial smile just the same. The girl reciprocated with a cautious look in her eyes. Clearly younger. She must be a freshman.

  That’s one more thing off the list for today, Emily thought, walking across campus toward the student parking lot.

  Squinting slightly against the sky’s glare, she reached behind her in the side pocket of the backpack, pulled out her sunglasses and inspected them. Rubbing a smudge off one of the lens with the hem of her sweatshirt, she slid them over her eyes. Ah, that’s better.

  Did she really need to add another elective? Her adviser hadn’t said anything about it last semester. Still, she wanted to keep her options open.

  As long as it’s not Chang, she thought, with a slight shudder. “Uh, no,” she breathed aloud, frowning.

  Allowing her mind to drift to a more pleasant subject, she thought of the guy she’d seen outside the bookstore. Maybe Mr. Gray Blazer was a recruiter. That made sense, they were always dangling those six-figure carrots in front of the computer science students before they graduated.

  It’s a pity language arts majors weren’t so well loved.

  She didn't envision any recruiters coming to the English department. There would be no growing demand for correct grammar and proper punctuation, she thought. Although considering the crap she read on some popular blogs, there certainly should be.

  Emily convinced herself that she probably wouldn't see him again. After all, it had been just a fleeting glimpse through the window. Guys like that, didn't look at girls who have have thunder thighs, she mused. They go for the blonde bombshells or the barbies.

  Smirking drolly. Oh well, she thought, switching subjects yet again. She’d read that almost every woman in the world had something about herself that she didn't like. Unsure if that assessment was accurate. It certainly fit Emily. She viewed herself as a work in progress.

  Fishing out her phone, she answered three texts, checked her email and gave her full attention to reading -- allowing the sidewalk to lead her forward. That is until she nearly fell.

  Almost stumbling on uneven concrete, she wa
s forced to look up. Scanning behind her to see what her feet encountered. It was a hole. She'd forgotten that they were expanding the walkway all the way down to the parking lot.

  The construction crew had jackhammered the concrete into chunks. Pieces were scattered all along the expanse. The recent rains had turned the exposed, underlying Georgia red clay, muddy.

  Now she examined it with dismay.

  Darn it, she thought, not wanting to mess up her uggs. She'd meant to cut across the grass, surveying her current surroundings with a frown, it wasn’t possible in this area. Much to her annoyance, a six-foot-tall hedge ran along the inner length of the sidewalk.

  It wasn't that far to the lot, she mused.

  The slight rise flattened out at the base of the hill from where she stood. The shinning sea of metal and hybrid plastics waited in neat rows at the bottom. Somewhere among them, her Camry.

  Choosing to walk along the edge of the curb on the pavement, she went back to reading without any thought about the danger it involved or how that decision might impact her life.