Page 46 of Gay for Pray
I snap my head up, eyes going wide.
“We thought we’d check in with some of your professors,” Dad says. “Professor Demsky had some interesting things to say about how you’re doing in her class, and about the project you’re working on. Why didn’t you mention any of this to us?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know if I’m more surprised that he’d check up with all my professors or horrified that he knows about Jude and I being project partners. I cycle between emotions until they leave me nauseous.
“Don’t worry,” Mom says. “We talked with your professor. You won’t need to finish the project with him.”
“What?” That jolts me back into the present.
“That boy is a bad influence,” my father says. “You’re on a…different path. Those kinds of influences will only hinder your progress, and you’ve been working far too hard to have it squandered by some…”
I’ve never been more thankful than I am in the moment my father fails to complete that sentence. Whatever word is supposed to come next, it isn’t good. He’s going to call Jude all the things I’ve always feared hearing about myself. Heathen. Wrong. Bad influence. Gay. I’ve lain awake at night fearing having those words attached to me, but having them attached to Jude just makes me…angry.
My mother sets a consoling hand on my shoulder and leans in. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ve taken care of it.”
“Taken care of it?” My voice is hollow even in my own ears.
“We’ve spoken to your professor,” Dad says. “You’ll never have to see that boy again.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jude
WHEN PROFESSOR DEMSKY SUMMONS Theo and I to her office, I don’t know what to make of it. Things have settled into a quiet, steady rhythm. The choir performance went well, I thought, despite that little moment in the hall and whatever Theo was feeling. Then we went back to our normal classes and project meetings, like every other week of this semester so far. He didn’t text or talk to me otherwise, but that didn’t come as a surprise. Seeing his family clearly shook Theo up, and while it hurts, I expected nothing better than silence after the concert.
So I truly have no idea why our philosophy professor would want to see both of us after class. As far as I know, nothing has changed. We’re well ahead on finishing our project before midterms, in fact, and I have no doubt we’ll do well on it.
As we sit in uncomfortable chairs in front of Professor Demsky’s desk, I sneak a look at Theo. He hasn’t met my eyes since the choir performance, even when we got together on Tuesday to talk about our project. He kept his head down the whole time, answering in single words.
He doesn’t look at me now either, focusing on his hands folded in his lap. My heart sinks. Surely he doesn’t know what this is about. How could he? Unless…
Professor Demsky begins the meeting with a sigh. “I’m sorry to call you two here this way, but I needed to discuss the project with you.”
I tense. Theo sits there with his head hanging. Professor Demsky seems unfazed by this, focusing on me and ignoring Theo entirely.
“I’m sorry,” Professor Demsky says, “but you’ll each be completing the project individually.”
“What?”
The word bursts out of me, accompanied by way too much blinking. I keep trying to clear my eyes and my head, but the world doesn’t suddenly make sense no matter how hard I try. I look to Theo, but he’s hunched in even more on himself, visibly shutting down right before my eyes. He might as well be a bank vault for how tightly he’s locked up. Something has clearly happened between Friday and now, something I had no say in.
A rush of anger sweeps in to brush aside some of my confusion and hurt. Someone has been making decisions about my life without considering me for a second, and I’m starting to get a sneaking suspicion about who it is.
“I’m still working on adjusting the requirements and grading rubric accordingly,” Professor Demsky says, “but I wanted to let you both know about the change before you put in too much more work.”
“But we’ve already done most of the work,” I protest. “We’re practically done. We just have to finish it up.”
“I’m sorry,” Professor Demsky says. “You’ll have to finish your essays on your own. You’ll both also present your projects individually rather than together. It’s okay if they’re similar, but try to ensure they aren’t exactly the same. Again, I’ll alter the requirements accordingly. I’ll send you both an email by the end of the week so you can proceed.”
I shake my head in disbelief. This is absurd. This woman is a professor. It’s her class, her assignment, but someone was able to swoop in and force her to change everything, and for what?
My anger turns cold and hard as I contemplate that answer.There can only be one reason, and it’s written all over Theo’s wilting posture.
“Professor,” I say, “you can’t possibly allow this. It’s absurd. We did everything you required for the project. We’re nearly done. You’re really going to change it now?”
Professor Demsky has the decency to look ashamed. I can only imagine the pressure she must be under in order for something like this to be possible. Still, I can’t believe she would actually bow to some hysterical parent making demands. Everyone in this room realizes Theo’s father is behind this, and all of us also realizewhyhe’d force Professor Demsky’s hand like this.
It’s because of me.
