Page 8 of Tops
“Only lost two. Less than I expected,” Professor Cage said as he breezed through the doors. He was wearing a black button-up tucked into black slacks. His blond hair was short and professionally styled. He looked like he could be a detective, not a professor. He headed down the aisle toward the front of the room where his desk sat.
No one dared to utter a sound. I looked around and noticed a lot of stern faces and determined eyes. We were here because we needed the credit to graduate. Taking it at another time was non-negotiable. So bring on whatever shit you want to throw our way, Professor Cage. We were here to trudge through it because the end was too near to give any less.
“You are too far apart. Everyone come and sit in the front row. Nice and tight, no spaces between you.”
I rolled my eyes as I started shoving everything back into my backpack. I had just said whatever shit, but I hadn’t thought he would rise to skin-crawling in the next breath. Slow down, Professor Pain. We still had four more months of this.
We all fit shoulder to shoulder in the center of the first row. I couldn’t grab the end seat and ended up between a slightly awkward but still cute guy with sandy brown hair, and a girl with dark skin and short curly brown hair. The guy gave me a curt smile as I came to sit beside him. The girl lightly tapped on her backpack. Her finger was on a plate that read “Arizona.” I looked confused, and she pointed out the tag again.
“I am Detective Nikolai Cage of the NYPD. I work with the Forensics Department. You will still call me Professor Cage,” he announced. A tiny part of me wanted to celebrate calling the detective aesthetic. Forensics Department also made sense as to why he was knowledgeable in anthropology.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you can all talk. I’m not going to kick any more of you out unless I need to. I don’t have enough free time on my hands to lecture an entire hall on anthropology. Especially when most of them were just taking it to fill an elective slot. Those of you left need this credit, right?” Professor Cage looked at us with his arms held wide as he waited for one of us to speak. His tone was softer. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.
A light murmur of agreement passed across the line, no one daring to raise their voice any higher.
“The dean also allowed me to make a special deal on your behalf. A kind of repayment. You will meet with me every Tuesday and Thursday for this semester and the next, and I will sign off on all your field training hours.”
Silence stretched across the room, but this time not in fear. Field training from the NYPD on my resume might be that little extra I needed to stand out.
“Well, you don’t all have to thank me at once,” Professor Cage said with a light smile as he leaned his back on the whiteboard.
A rush of “thank you, Professor Cage,” rang out as we all dutifully acted like the schoolchildren we were.
“Tonight, I will take you to the Forensics Lab in Queens. That is the kind of office forensic anthropologists have to look forward to. That happens to be my area of anthropology. While I know that may not be everyone’s focus, having the experience does open doors in the forensic departments.” Professor Cage pushed off the wall and started heading toward the back of the classroom.
We looked at each other before deciding to grab our stuff and follow our professor. A black van parked in a nearby lot chirped and unlocked at the push of a button from Professor Cage’s hand. I took a quick look at my phone. There was no way we would get back here by nine.
I texted Hannah a warning that I wasn’t sure when I would get home. Shoving the phone back into my purse on silent. We all filed into the blacked-out van, willing hostages. Our new professor asked us to meet him after hours after we emailed his personal account. I hoped my picture wouldn’t be on the news tomorrow.
Group of Ten Graduate Students Missing After Climbing into a Stranger’s Van; Promises of Field Hours.
Professor Cage took us to the NYPD Forensics Department in Queens, just like he promised. He even flashed a badge along with a smile to the receptionist. She grinned as she nodded excitedly at whatever he was whispering to her. I watched her scurry off as Professor Cage turned back to face us. We stood together, faintly resembling an amoeba, our backpacks clutched to our shoulders.
The receptionist returned after a few minutes, handing out ID cards on lanyards for us to wear. The card was a horrible yellow with large black letters declaring me a “student in training.” I slipped it around my neck, letting the thick plastic sit uncomfortably on my chest.
“You must have scared them, Nik,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. She smiled at him like she wanted him to notice her. I couldn’t tell what he thought about her as his gaze swept up and down his line of silent students.
“Ok, let’s head down to the labs. See if that gets them excited enough for chatter.” Professor Cage started walking away from the front desk, and we all dutifully followed.
It wasn’t like other people were walking past us in the hallway at night. Our shoes echoed off the sterile walls. It almost felt like something would pop out at you if you interrupted the steady, droning beat of our footfalls. Not an encouraging environment for small talk. Sorry, professor.
Professor Cage stopped with his hand on an opaque glass door. He looked back at us and sighed. “I’ll open the door. You have to tell me your name before you can enter. Once you get in there, spread out and figure out the names of all your fellow students.” He seemed almost exasperated. His hand had come up to mindlessly rub at his forehead.
We shifted into a line. The cute guy that was sitting next to me in class ended up right in front of me. The girl with dark skin and curly brown hair was near the front of the line. There were only four people after me.
The conga line of torture began. I don’t even think Professor Pain knew how horribly he was torturing this group. I could imagine this field held many more introverts than extroverts. Most of us were bound for museums or conservation work.
“Arizona,” the girl said, more enthusiastic than the other students before her. Now the tag made sense. I had thought it was just the brand name. She ducked into the room, and I could hear her voice filter out into the hallway as she struck up a conversation with the other two inside. That seemed enough to break the collective spell that had fallen over us. We still were not openly talking, but even the air tasted lighter than before.
“Devin,” the boy in front of me said as he reached Professor Cage. His tone was steady and even, like none of this had bothered him. Maybe I was the only anxiety-riddled one in the group.
Next was my turn as I stood a foot away from Professor Cage. I was close enough to smell him, which did nothing to help the situation. It was as if someone went into my mind and crafted my perfect man. My entire body rushed with a wave of heat as I tried and failed to prompt my brain to give me what I needed. It attempted to grab on to any word to blurt out so he would stop looking at me like that.
Professor Cage’s face changed as his gaze went from amusement into something darker when he looked into my eyes. It felt like we were connected for a moment while the rest of the world faded away. This darker side of him wrapped around me, caressing me like a declaration. It seemed to sing out a familiar sad song that my body ached to know. His darkness resonated with something inside me, making my heart race.
“He’s just looking for your name, sweetheart. However, if you want to give out your number, I’d be more than happy to take it,” the guy behind me said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
The rest of the world seemed to come back into sharp and sudden clarity as I whipped around and pushed the guy’s hand off me. “Don’t touch me without my permission ever again. And I wasn’t trying to give him my number. I was trying to decide which name to offer.” I left it open at the end, like Hannah had taught me. I didn’t owe everyone an explanation. It was up to them to believe what I said, not me. I wanted to draw attention away from the fact that I stood and gaped at my professor like a fish. Blaming it on my name was plausible enough. Not finishing my explanation gave me mystery. Another must for social expectations, according to Hannah.
