Page 23 of Director's Cut

So much for Cory distracting me. It makes my heart beat even harder to know she’s thinking of this class as Maeve and Me. Like we’re some comprehensive unit. Yeah, sure, if “Horny Weirdo Who Can’t Keep Boundaries” and “Mrs. Professor Boundaries” are a unit.

“Anti-capitalism,” I reply.

Cory nods. “Cool.” She looks up at me, and I swear she senses my nerves. “Makes sense.”

I have to just keep repeating it. Maeve doesn’t know what I did thinking of her. It’s just built up in my head because we haven’t physically seen each other since I did it. She doesn’t have psychic powers. There’s no way it’ll be brought up. Plus, sure, she’s hot, but there’s still the matter of her actively disliking me. Hell, she’s not even my type. I don’t get with academics, not after Emily. The fantasy was a fluke, something that will never gain another ounce of real-world fodder. Maybe Mason has a friend who wants to get laid who she can hook me up with. Just to let off some steam. Charlie and I have sushi with her once a month, and that’s coming up soon; I’ll ask her then.

Cory flashes a smile. “Is this lecture on the midterm?”

Well, assuming Maeve didn’t rewrite everything. I smile back. “I’d pay attention.”

The door hinge squeaks. I whip my head to see who’s coming in, only for it to be a group of students. I move back to the podium to wait.

I have the PowerPoint set up when she enters with Ty. They laugh as they come in, and when I look up, I catch Maeve mid smile. Her eyes scrunch up when she laughs, and her smile is big enough to make dimples appear along her cheeks. It emphasizes the sharpness in her cheekbones. I feel a pit in my stomach waiting for that smile to disappear as soon as she sees me.

Her laughter fades as she leaves Ty and approaches her usual seat.

“I like your watch,” she says as she sits down.

No hi, no updates about class, just…complimenting my watch? My brow pinches as I look down at my wrist. I’m wearing a ’68 Omega gold watch, the kind that’s small enough to be mistaken for a bracelet. My grandma gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. And since when does Maeve compliment my style?

But when I look at her, she’s casually pulling out a notebook and pen, going through her usual prep for class. Students’ eyes are starting to turn toward the front of the room. I swallow, centering myself. I can do this lecture without looking at her. It won’t be that hard. This time will be the worst, and it’ll only get easier from here. In fact, for some reason, Maeve hasn’t looked at me today like I am a waste of time. Maybe her good mood will last another couple of minutes.

“When most people think about Little Shop of Horrors, there are some very specific moments that stand out,” I begin. “Audrey II, plant monstrosity and the bane of high school drama programs everywhere.”

A couple of students laugh, and I exchange a knowing look with Cory.

“Song-wise, we remember love ballads like ‘Suddenly Seymour’ and twisted doo-wops like ‘Dentist.’ But I’d argue the seminal song, the song that contains the musical’s heart and soul, slides in at the beginning and goes by without much fanfare. ‘Skid Row,’ also known as ‘Downtown,’ presents a simple thesis: class structure is rigid, and people long to escape it. Ultimately, though, those who’ve seen the off-Broadway show know that the dream of escaping capitalism dies as quiet and meaningless a death as Seymour at the jaws of Audrey II.”

Jamie raises his hand. Whereas this kind of break would’ve thrown me off weeks ago, I mentally put a bookmark in my lecture and call on him.

“But, Professor Sullivan, Seymour survives in the movie,” he says.

For the kid who was so caught up on my nudity in films, I’m surprised he noticed. I glance at Maeve, who’s looking at her notebook, tapping her pen. She might hate me, but I have to admit whatever she said to Jamie straightened him out.

“And that’s exactly where we begin our discussion: at the end. Why did Frank Oz make that change? Unlike other adaptations we’ve looked at, we can’t blame societal changes. The musical hit stages in 1982, and Oz’s film was released in 1986. So, what else can we look at to explain the difference?”

Hands raise into the air. Cory in particular leans forward as she waits. But, to keep things interesting, I let other students give their ideas.

“Budget.”

I shake my head, catching Ty’s gaze. He mouths something, but all I need to make out is the little smile on his lips. I’m doing okay.

“Studios.”

“Timing.”

As we go around, Cory squirms in her seat, raising her hand higher. Finally, I give her the floor.

“Audience expectations,” she says. “People who go see stage plays and people who see big studio movies expect different things from a story.”

“Bingo.” I throw her finger guns. It feels almost too playful, but I’m slowly getting back into a groove. “Now, before we really get into this, let’s give this clip a watch.”

We kill the lights to put on the clip, and I find my seat again. My seat—my breath quickens—right next to Maeve. We make eye contact. Prolonged eye contact, on-purpose eye contact. Embarrassment floods my face, but the smile she gives me helps. It’s not the full-face smile she gave Ty, but it’s encouraging. It forms a stark contrast to the very depressing alternate ending to Little Shop the students are watching now. Unlikely as it seems, this is the first time I remember Maeve actually being encouraging in class. Who is this woman, and what did that conference do to my Maeve?

She leans over to me. My heart pounds. “You’re doing a nice job involving the students.”

I nod, pulling away as quickly as I can. “Quick to learn.”

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