Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
I dash up the stone steps of the fine arts building and rush through the double doors. My class is on the third floor, and even though I’m running late, my feet detour to the exhibit hall. For some reason, even on days when I don’t have a class here, I find myself standing in front of Chap Brody’s Flame sculpture. The hall is empty, but the sculpture seems to take up the entire space. I don’t even realize I’ve walked over to it, huddling close as if it’s an actual flame on the coldest of nights.
“Glad to see you enjoying the exhibit, Ms. Hill,” Dr. Garrison says from the entrance.
Startled, I turn, my eyes meeting the professor’s.
“Sorry.” I cross the room to get to the door. “I was just looking, but I’m running late. I better go.”
“It’s nice to see someone appreciate Brody’s art.” Dr. Garrison nods to the sculpture. “Come by anytime to see it.”
I glance back at the copper installation. I don’t know how to tell her it’s not appreciation that draws me to that piece every time I’m in this building. I can’t articulate it, but it’s the opposite.
I hate it, but I have to see it.
Every time I stand before it, irritation bubbles to the surface. When I stand close, my skin feels hot and prickly. I know it’s my imagination, but I can never shake the sense that one day, this thing that Chap Brody made will set me on fire.
“Thanks. See you later,” I tell Dr. Garrison, and run for the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time to the third floor.
I peek my head around the corner into the class, assessing how deep into the lesson Professor Rollins has gotten. Looks like all thirty students showed up today, and the room is packed. Of course, the only seat available is in the front row.
Maybe I could listen from here in the hallway…
“Ms. Hill,” Professor Rollins calls from inside. “How kind of you to join us, albeit five minutes late. Though ‘join’ may be a loose term for whatever it is you’re doing out in the hallway. Class is in here. So should you be.”
I close my eyes, push away from the wall, and enter.
“Sorry, Professor Rollins,” I mumble, avoiding his censorious stare and making my way to the single empty chair on the front row.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Professor Rollins says, his tone long-suffering. “You’re just in time. I’ve asked everyone to share an update on their project. You may go first.”
Shit.
“Of course.” I set my backpack on the floor and root around inside for my notebook. “The project.”
“You did remember that everyone is to present an overview of their term project today, yes? You’re prepared?” The disdainful look Professor Rollins rakes over me says he doubts I’ve been prepared for anything a day in my life. “I’m not sure how they did it at USC, but here at Finley, we expect our film students to come ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leans against his desk, arms folded across his chest and brows lifted. Waiting. “Will you be miming your presentation, Ms. Hill? Or do you have actual words to describe the project?”
“Sorry. Yes, of course.”
At the front of the class, I stand behind the podium, braced for the anxiety that usually ties my tongue and muddies my thoughts, but it doesn’t come. Instead confidence floods my system, bliss in my veins. It’s like every word is waiting on my lips, and my voice sails through the classroom, strong and steady. I take my time, basking in the spotlight, enjoying everyone’s rapt attention. They’re hanging on every eloquent word. I depart from my rehearsed comments, telling jokes off the cuff and relishing their laughter. I’ve never felt so bright, so unfettered. I am sunshine and they revolve around me. It’s like shackles fall from my mind and body. My thoughts soar, and my muscles, my blood, the very cells of my body—all fluent and flowing. I venture from the podium, strolling through the room and doling out smiles like this is a Vegas show instead of my college class. They laugh at every joke, their goodwill pouring over me, and finally everything aligns just right. Where has this version of Verity been all my life? The reticent girl who abhors public speaking is nowhere to be found.
Good riddance.
When I reach the end of my presentation, the students whoop and applaud. Professor Rollins actually nods, the closest I’ve ever come to approval from him.
“That was excellent, Ms. Hill,” he says. “I think—”
“Oh!” I interrupt. “I forgot one more thing.”
“You can save it for—”
“In the last act,” I tell the class, the words tumbling out from sheer excitement. “I could leave them in their own tragedy, right? But what if I redeem their love? She thought she had nothing to live for, but through his love, which is so unexpected, he proves her wrong. She’s never experienced anything like this. Not in her deeply tragic childhood. Not when she was bullied in school. Not even when she fell in what she thought was love years ago. Even back in the second act—Wait. I did tell you what happens in the second act, right?”