Page 1 of Love, Academically
Chapter 1
Pedant(noun) ped·ant
One who is unimaginative or who unduly emphasises minutiae in the presentation or use of knowledge
One who makes a show of knowledge
A formalist or precisionist in teaching
(obsolete) A male schoolteacher
Lila
“He said what?”
Lila Cartwright marvelled at the complete and utter arrogance of that man. It was quite impressive actually, the way Rhys Aubrey thought that making people cry was acceptable behaviour.
She stared at the students huddled on her little sofa, one of them clutching a wilted tissue in her hands, another sitting as close to her as she could get, as if sharing warmth for comfort. The boy, DeVon, sitting on the sofa, had wrapped his hands around her delicate teacup so tightly that she was mentally scoping out the first aid box in her bottom drawer in case it cracked under the pressure.
“Mr Aubrey said that if we wanted to be real historians, then we should come up with some ideas of our own and stop wasting his time with regurgitated snippets that we don’t understand,” DeVon said pensively. The girls nodded.
“I see.” Lila smiled, ever the diplomat.
“But it’s not just that,” one of the girls, Ada, said. “It’s the way he talks to us, the way he looks at us. Like we’re not worth his time, like we’re maggots.”
Her heart sank. “Has he ever called you maggots?”
She shook her head. “No. But it’s like that’s what he thinks.”
“So.” Lila reached for the tissue box and offered them around again. “Firstly, thank you for bringing this to me, it must have been very difficult. You’ve been very brave.”
“It’s not the first time he’s made Kerry cry.” DeVon waved a hand at the tissue clutcher. “This time it was because he didn’t like the font she’d used for her essay.”
Never mind his attractive strong jaw and carefully curated hair, Rhys Aubrey was obviously a complete and utter arse. Who cared about stupid fonts?
Lila leaned forward, engaging with the students, like all the good books told her to. “It’s not appropriate that you be upset in your seminars by your lecturers, okay?”
The students exchanged watery, relieved glances. Although she desperately wanted to help, she was mentally rearranging her afternoon to ensure she got the work she was actually paid for done.
It served Lila right. If she didn’t want people coming into her office and offloading their issues onto her, then she shouldn’t make it so damned inviting. She didn’t need to throw cushions on the sofa and chairs, or have a teapot with freshly brewed tea and China cups and saucers on the little coffee table. The tempting smell of chocolate chip cookies that she kept in a little tin box didn’t make her office any less appealing.
She shouldn’t moan. This was her job. Kind of. As the History Department Coordinator, she was there to listen to the students’ trials and tribulations, to big-sister them in their first year away from Mummy. Well, it was the unspoken part of her job. Lila’sjob description didn’t technically cover dealing with students, but how could she not, when they appeared in her office stressed and in tears because of how one of her colleagues, one of her lecturers, had treated them in a seminar?
Lila dredged up the memory of the HR training course she’d been on earlier in the year.
“We’ve got a couple of ways we can move this forward. We can either deal with it formally or informally. It’s up to you which route you choose, and I will support your decision.” Lila’s lips pulled into a comforting smile. “If you want to make a formal complaint, I can email you the process of how to do that. Or you could ask me to deal with it informally.”
