Booker winces, and for a moment I think I’ve fucked up again, but he recovers so quickly that I’m starting to think I imagined his hesitation.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “See you tomorrow.”
He walks out the door, and I lock up and start mopping, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. I just can’t figure out what it is.
Chapter 12
Booker
“Didyou do the journal yet? Damn, that was a good question. I hope Professor Hot Stuff wants to talk about it in class,” Ollie says, pulling his laptop from his bag and settling in the seat next to mine.
I didn’t answer the prompt because I no longer have access to the portal. Because I’m no longer a student in this class. So what the heck am I doing, sitting here in the lecture hall with my classmates?
I have no clue. But I couldn’t stay away.
I grabbed a smoothie at Drip and hung out with Phoebe and Ty, like usual. When they headed in the direction of the writing center, I could have easily headed back home. Or to the library. Or the gym. No one would have noticed or thought anything of it.
But I came here, sat down, booted up my laptop like nothing has changed, like I belong here, like I’m not lying.
I should be wracked with guilt. I should tell Ollie and the guys that my dad pulled me from the course.
I should tell Ian the truth.
Wow. What a loaded statement that is.
But instead of doing all that, instead of facing the truths in my life and owning up to them, I’m just going to sit here and pretend. No one suspects a thing, but that’s probably because I’m just that good at hiding what I don’t want other people to see.
“Dude, that journal? I think I wrote more for that than I did for my final paper in Contemporary Lit last semester,” Santos says, taking the seat in front of me. I hold back a chuckle because I can’t remember a time when any of these guys were this excited about homework. Don’t get me wrong, we take classes seriously; we just don’t usually gush about the homework.
A few more people file in and the class quiets as Ian takes his usual seat on the corner of the desk. I’m not looking; I’m really not. Ok, I am. But I’m not trying to. My mind doesn’t want to notice his leanly muscled thighs, or his trim waist, or the slope of his slender shoulders. I’m not trying to notice the day’s worth of scruff on his chin or the way he absently threads his fingers through his hair. But he’s like a magnet and I can’t look away.
And then he starts talking. For a second, just a quick one so no one notices, I close my eyes and take in the sound of his voice. It’s not as deep as mine, not as soft. He’s funny and charming, and in seconds, everyone in the room is listening intently to whatever he has to say.
I’m no different, in that regard. I’m soaking up every word, but it’s futile and foolish, considering I no longer have the right to be sitting in this class. That must make me some kind of creeper, right? Like I’m so enamored by him that I’ll willingly sit in a lecture hall just to hear him talk.
Or it makes me a glutton for punishment, here to ogle what I can’t ever have.
Ian spreads his hands wide and gestures to all of us. “So, it turns out the only thing I had to do to get people to turn in work early was mention Dom/sub. Who knew?” Everyone laughs at his commentary, and someone catcalls. It’s funny, and Ian takes an exaggerated bow.
Soon, he gets down to business, and I’m suddenly wondering if it was such a good idea to come in here. And yet, now that I’m here, there’s no way I’m leaving.
“Ok, jokes aside, today, it’s all about spectrum. Specifically, the sexuality spectrum. We covered it briefly on day one, but today, I want to go in-depth and then have you break out into small groups to further your understanding. So, let’s review some definitions, shall we? And, as always, if anyone has anything substantive that they feel comfortable sharing, we welcome your thoughts and thank you for contributing. Just a reminder: this is a safe space. People may say something you disagree with, and that’s perfectly ok. What is not ok is invalidating someone’s experience. Got it?” He asks, and we all nod. “Great. I know you do.
“Ok, so we know sexuality is a spectrum. And we also know that it’s fluid. So, please understand that wherever you may find yourself on the spectrum as we discuss it today, that doesn’t mean your fate is sealed. One only has to look at QikTok and the correlative rise of later-in-life lesbians. But in absolute seriousness, it’s important not to ignore the fluidity piece. Got it?”
Again we nod, like we’re all waiting for him to impart more knowledge. Which, basically, we are.I’m not the only one hanging on his every word.
“So, take a look at this chart. For years now, mainstream American society has viewed sexuality as a binary, right? Two options: this or that. But we know that’s not the case. Within the spectrum, though, there are so many different shades. We’re going to take a more in-depth look at the ACE spectrum, which generally refers to asexuality. Now, when you hear that word, what comes to mind?”
A hand darts up in the front row. “People who don’t like sex.”
Ian pauses, but before he can comment, Ollie pipes up next to me. “I don’t know if that really covers it. I think it’s fairer and more accurate to say that people who identify as ACE don’t really experience sexual attraction. But attraction and desire aren’t always the same thing. Plus, like you said, professor, it’s a spectrum, so it’s gonna vary from person to person.”
Ian nods, “I think that’s a really good working definition, Ollie. And it’s important to remember that within asexuality, we also find aromanticism and demisexuality, as well as other identities.”
Someone on the other side of the room volunteers their experience with aromanticism, and though I should be listening, I’m reading ahead in the notes Ian projected up on the screen.
Demisexuality:an identity wherein sexual desire is experienced only after a deep connection is made. People who identify as demi often don’t desire sex or romantic touch until a significant emotional bond has formed.
