No longer mean

BLAIR’S POV

I woke up feeling refreshed and well rested, which was odd given what had happened the day before between Dr Reynolds and I. Maybe the conversation we had at the gate put me at ease, and the text we shared that night only made me realize that maybe what we had done wasn't that bad. After all, he didn't seem mad or distant. He was quite the opposite actually.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if there was something about him that explained his composure. I think it's probably because he’s gay, and he’s used to to kissing fellow men.

When I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day, I decided I'd put a little more effort into my appearance. I opted for fitted dark jeans and a crisp button-down shirt which I tucked in. I styled my hair neatly and applied cologne.

After making a quick breakfast, I headed out the door, eager to get to Dr Reynolds' class. I had done all the readings and was feeling strangely confident.

Maybe it was the text we shared giving me all that power.

When I got to the gate, I waited a few minutes for Maddox. I lit up a cigarette, observing the traffic absent-mindedly.

"Bonjour Monsieur De Montmorency!" said Maddox in a terrible French accent when he greeted me.

"Bonjour." I replied, putting out my cigarette and making my way inside the building with him.

"Your accent is such a flex, and sexy too. I wish I could speak another language like you," he commented.

I didn't think I had a good accent considering that the only French people I had grown up with were my parents and friends, but I did understand where he was coming from. As a non-speaker, he didn't have the sensibility to understand that I was, in fact, very average.

We were getting closer to the amphitheater and my nerves had started to get jittery. I hid my emotions from Maddox.

"I could teach you if you want," I said to him. This could be a way for me to actually speak French more often.

"You're too generous, but I'll pass. I'd probably drive you insane with my atrocious talent for languages," he replied. "But hey, why don't you start tutoring? There are plenty of people wanting to learn French who'd pay well. Especially wealthy parents with young kids."

I gave him an intrigued look. My dad had been insisting that I get a part-time job anyway. Why not do something that I'd enjoy instead of working at some random café or shop?

"That's actually not a bad idea. I'll think about it." I smiled.

We entered the amphitheater and sat at our usual spot in the middle. We set up our computers and notes, chitchatting about how much money I could make from teaching something as simple as the basic French tenses to 10-year-olds.

"Good morning class." Dr Reynolds' voice boomed when he entered, making everyone settle down immediately.

That man carried so much respect it left me in awe.

"I hope you all had the chance to read the e-mail I sent you yesterday. So far I have only received 6 replies. I must admit, I have never had such an uninvolved and disinterested class in my years of teaching at Durham. I guess the students who are actually serious about becoming true art professionals will have less competition. Lucky them."

Whispers erupted through the room. I just chuckled to myself.

"Professor?" I shot my hand up in the air. The whispers died down as Dr Reynolds gave me permission to speak. I was already smiling to myself before I asked the question, anticipating the mayhem that would ensue. "Don't you think that not paying students for honest, hard work is not only unprofessional but unethical in our day and age? The Arts are already not taken seriously in the job market, so why would someone in the field perpetuate the narrative that Art is just a hobby?"

He clenched his jaw, then took a deep breath before he spoke. How dramatic.

"Mister De Montmorency, nothing in life is free." He said, his voice reaching the back of the room. "If you were to be chosen by Mr Kent to be his assistant, God knows how much he'd have to put up with you, and frankly, no amount of money could equate to that sacrifice."

The whole class burst into laughter. Even Maddox, who was sat right next to me, had to bury his face in his palms to hide his expression.

Instead of turning into an anxious mess, as soon as I noticed that Dr Reynolds was smiling in amusement as well, I knew he hadn't said that to be mean. He was just teasing, as always. I tried my hardest to hide a smile as I admitted defeat and kept quiet in my seat.

"As I was saying," the professor went on as the laughter died down. "If you change your mind and wish to participate in the interviews, give me your name at the end of the lecture. The interviews will be held today at 6 P.M. in room 305. Mr Kent will be there waiting for you.

Now, let's get on with the lesson."

I spent the rest of the day in the art studio working on a few paintings for Professor Agnes' class. When 6 came around, I packed my things and headed to room 305. There were already a few students waiting by the door, and we engaged in small talk before the room door opened, Mr Kent and Dr Reynolds walking out.

Right, I forgot they were friends.

The two men shook hands and Professor Reynolds left, but not before shooting a discreet look at me, smiling. I interpreted that as a message for good luck.