Page 28 of It Should Have Been Me

The sound of the waves crashing is soothing, and the sky is painted with streaks of color – orange, purple and pink fading to blue on the horizon. We walk close to the shore; the surf wetting our feet as the water ebbs and flows. His mood has dipped, and he’s sullen as he lightly kicks the wet sand, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Are you living your dream, Scott?” I ask softly.

“Well...yeah, I guess. I love my life and all the people in it. I love what I do. I mean, I’m still at the bottom, but I love this journey I’m on to work my way up. I love the challenges...and I really love my students.”

I give him a teasing smile. “Especially the ones who look at you withcome-hithereyes.”

He chuckles, and it breaks the tension a fraction. “I wish I could say that’s a bonus, but it’s really awkward. When the dean appointed me as a guest lecturer, he sat me down and had a long chat with me about how I should avoid getting involved with students, especially if I wanted to be on the academic committee. I wasn’t interested in...fraternizing with students, but he felt it was something that needed to be said because...well, believe it or not, Kaitlin is one of themildergirls on campus.”

“Wow! Is it that big of a problem?”

“You have no idea. Cat, I have girls in my class who don’t even take math as a subject. I have sociology majors sitting there, listening to me babble on about linear programming. I guess it’s because I’m young, so they tend to blur the line. But it’s only been a few months. I’m sure the novelty will wear off soon.”

“Uh...no. I’m sure the same will still be happening when you’re forty. You’re the hot lecturer now. That’s like catnip for college girls. I hate to break it to you, but that’s never going to wear off.”

He gives me a playful nudge as we continue to walk along the shore. “You still think I’m hot?”

“I’d have to be dead...or at the very least, without hot blood flowing through me to ever stop thinking that.” Shit, am I flirting with him? I quickly change the direction of the conversation. “So, what exactly does one do on the academic committee?”

He seems reluctant to answer. “It’s just admin stuff. We’re in charge of all academic decision-making, stuff like policies and the curriculum of the courses. It’s just making sure the quality of each degree is kept up to standard.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. “That job sounds like something most people would probably only attain at the age of...fifty or something. When did you get so smart?”

“I was always smart. You were just too distracted by my hotness to notice.”

This time, I veer away from the path of flirting. “But seriously, though. That sounds like a huge role for someone who’s only been teaching for such a short time.”

“I guess it is. The dean sees potential in me, but as I said, I’m under mentorship because I’m not qualified for the role yet. I have to do a research paper to prove myself, I guess. That sounds easier than it is because I’m a numbers guy. Words and high-level language skills are not my forte, but they’ve paired with another professor to show me the ropes.”

“What are you researching?”

Again, he goes quiet, focusing on the water before he answers. “Um...so, the professor they paired me with to co-write this paper is from the social sciences department. We’re gonna use statistical analysis to debunk the concept of phi...and by doing so, we want to...well,healso wants to debunk society’s perception of beauty standards.”

“You want to debunk phi?” I feel like my eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Phi is the foundation of art. It’s the reason why the brain interprets something as beautiful, symmetrical...perfect.”

“Exactly...which is why we want to debunk it.”

I smile. “You have officially got my attention. Firstly, I want to know why you want to debunk it. Secondly, I want to know how you plan on doing that.”

He stops walking, turning to face me. I’ve known Scott for a long time, and I generally know his body language, but at this moment, I can’t read him. We’ve been fluctuating between varying levels of comfort today, so I’m not sure what’s going through his mind.

“Uh...” He looks down, not meeting my eyes. “I’d rather not get into it. This is another conversation that isn’t going tostimulateyou, Cat. Let’s just talk about something else.”

And that’s when I see it. He’s still harboring so much animosity because of that stupid comment I made on the day we broke up. He’s under the impression that I think he’s boring, that his passions are boring, so he’s reluctant to share any part of that with me. When is he going to get that that was never the case?

“No, I find it very interesting,” I reply adamantly. “Will you tell me about it?”

“I sincerely doubt you want to listen to theories about the golden ratio or the Fibonacci sequence. It doesn’t tend to spark one’s desire for thrill-seeking adventure.”

The words hurt me as much as they hurt him. “Don’t do that.”

“What? Be real?”

I reach out to take his hand, but he steps back, rigidly avoiding any form of contact. For a few seconds, he just stares at it, and I still can’t read the expression on his face. Anger is brewing within him. I don’t know if he’s angry with me or the situation, but there’s this latent hostility that he’s trying so hard to hide from me. A solid minute goes by, then without warning, he grabs my outstretched hand, yanks me toward him, and wraps his arm around me.

“Dance with me,” he says.

I’m confused because that was very unexpected, but I don’t pull away. “There’s no music.”

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