Page 13 of Director's Cut

Charlie stands next to me, following my gaze. His mouth turns up. “You know, that heel height isn’t a neutral power-bitch look.”

I shoot him a quizzical look. “What do you even mean by that?”

“Professors wear flats. If they do wear heels, it’s because they’re short. Which…”

Which, I’m five foot eight.

Charlie leans into me, wiggling like a puppy. “All I’m saying is I think you’re thinking more about how good you’d look in your normal-people outfits and less about being professorial.”

Well, fuck, am I? Am I still in Hollywood mode, aiming for the “sexy Halloween” version of professor? I pause to chew on the thought, but it fades. Isn’t that the whole point of buying clothes: to look good? That can’t be inherently bad. What is he getting at?

I pull off my hat and run my fingers through my hair. “I can wear whatever shoe I want, Charlie. There aren’t any rules.”

“Then get unsexy loafers.”

Charlie picks up a random pair of loafers with the kind of sharp cruelty Rachel Berry’s high school torturers had when they doused her in red slushie. I know I wouldn’t even have worn them when I was working the receptionist job at my parents’ dental office, the job that made me want to claw my eyes out.

A beat of silence passes. “No.”

I move to a display of ankle boots, Charlie following me like the frat boy poltergeist he is. There’s a simple pair of black leather ankle boots with side elastic goring and three-inch heels that could work. Red lining sends a pang through me. The Joker Donna Louboutin ankle boots I bought myself for my birthday a few years ago look like chic circus tents, and I can’t wear them to elevate these basic linen—

“Charlie, am I a vapid prick?” I ask as I grab the Zara boots.

Charlie grabs the boots off me in one hand, the loafers in his other hand. His hands have disappeared into both shoes, making him look like a cartoon character. “Yeah, but you’ve been this way since you were eighteen.”

What he’s saying, even though he’s definitely insulting me, is pretty funny. I’m overthinking this. My designer clothing wasn’t appropriate for the academic workplace, and all I’m doing is complying with an unsaid dress code. Maybe this says something about how disconnected from reality I’ve gotten, but there’s always room to reconnect. And if Maeve thinks I’m unable to teach because I wear heels to work, then that’s her misogynistic problem.

“I could say something similar about you,” I reply, keeping a straight face, if only to make sure this conversation doesn’t get derailed.

I look down at his shoe hands, then back at him. I try—god, I try—but soon I’m laughing with him. He wraps his shoe hands around me, allowing me to catch my breath in his chest. I touch his wrist, giving him a silent thank-you.

When we pull away, he shoves both shoes back into my hands. Charlie then proceeds to pluck a basic pair of white pumps off a stand. “You know what’d really complete this professor look?” He bites on his bottom lip the exact same way he does in modeling shoots. “A long necklace that dips below your cleavage. A little sex appeal to go with killing your next lecture. Maybe Maeve will even fall in love.”

My ears go hot as a piece instantly comes to mind. I have a vintage costume necklace from my paternal grandma that wouldn’t go against the academic dress code. Maeve couldn’t ignore that. I can see it, watching those brown eyes travel down my chest…

“I’m not going to seduce Maeve!” I snap.

I say it a little too loud, causing several necks to whip our way. I freeze like a deer in headlights. But none of them approach.

No, not none of them. The youth browsing the graphic tees squints and starts moving toward Charlie and me. I thought I could cope with this, but my chest tightens like it’s about to burst.

To make matters worse, she comes right up to me. My breath catches in my throat.

“I like your shirt,” she says. “Where’s it from?”

Instead of Are you Valeria Sullivan I saw your last movie your coming-out post was so brave do you date men though.

My muscles loosen, but I still can’t grab a breath to speak.

Charlie smiles. “Hot Topic.”

My phone goes off with an email notification. As the girl goes away, satisfied, I read it. Maeve’s replied to my email.

I have 30 minutes before our next class. My office.

- sent from my iPhone

The worst part of it isn’t even the flippant way she’s addressing me. It’s the fact that I continue to walk through that mall goofing around with Charlie and all the while I can’t get the image of Maeve seeing me with that necklace disappearing down my blazer out of my head. It’s giving a whole new meaning to fuck Maeve Arko that I’m not willing to think too hard about.

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