any observation missions. Gabe sits and listens to us and sips his coffee.”
“If it’s really coffee,” Manohar said. “He’s so quiet, like he’s in an alcoholic fog.”
“Hear, hear.” Kyle clicked his plastic cup against mine in a toast.
My stomach turned over. I felt strangely defensive of Gabe. “I know it’s coffee,” I said. “It comes from the shop where I work. Sometimes he wanders in after class.”
“Speaking of which.” Hunter reached over, took my cup from my hand, and tasted the lime slush.
The Hunter I knew was not rude enough to drink from my cup uninvited. Was he flirting with me? My proper reaction would be outrage, especially after he’d had his hands all over that blonde. I tried not to stare at his wet lips.
“How do you know Gabe’s not spiking his coffee?” Brian asked, dragging me back to the conversation.
I didn’t know this. But it seemed a stretch to equate Gabe being quiet with Gabe being drunk on the job. And though these drunk boys were just shooting the shit behind their teacher’s back, I felt bad for Gabe since he wasn’t there to defend himself.
“That’s an idea,” Hunter whispered in my ear. “Want me to spike this for you?”
I shook my head and said softly, “I have homework to do later.” His bare shoulder next to mine sank like he was disappointed. I couldn’t waste energy puzzling that out when I needed to rescue Gabe’s reputation. Gabe mattered to me, and Hunter did not.
“I like Gabe,” I said loudly enough to carry. “He reminds me of someone.”
“Who?” Hunter asked. “Tommy?”
Although it had been hard for us to hear each other before, Hunter’s one word seemed to have rung out clear as day for everybody. “Who’s Tommy?” Kyle asked, and the others sat up to hear the answer.
I did not think this was the time or place or company to state that Tommy was Hunter’s easygoing father, and that Hunter and I knew each other from way back when. I could not trust Wolf-boy on top of everyone else with the stable-boy secret.
Hunter was thinking the same thing. He shifted the subject. “I like the way Gabe trusts us to comment on each other’s stories.”
“He goes too far,” Brian said. “Pedagogically speaking, it’s one thing to create a student-centered classroom by asking for the students’ voices. It’s another thing to let them bulldoze each other.”
“Is it bulldozing to express your opinion?” Manohar asked. For some reason we were having a hard time hearing each other again. He was shouting. “If you let a creative-writing student think her story is great when it isn’t, aren’t you doing her a disservice? If she sucks, she needs to know so she can change her major before it’s too late.”
I opened my mouth and quickly closed it again. My eyes were on the prize, keeping Manohar from going to Gabe with the stable-boy secret. If the price was allowing him to take potshots at me in public, I could pay it.
Summer said what I didn’t dare say. “You’re assuming that the student making the comment knows what he’s talking about. What if he tells another writer that she sucks and discourages her, when her work is very good? What if the student making the comment is, for instance, an economics major and is only taking creative writing in the first place because the honors program requires it, and in actuality he doesn’t know shit?”
“This is just a replay of class,” Hunter said. “If we’re going to talk about creative writing, let’s be less specific.” I wished he were coming to my aid, but I knew he was only taking control and keeping the peace, as usual.
And I’d had enough. “I don’t think it’s possible to talk about creative writing without being specific.” I turned to Kyle, across from me. “Do you have a really sharp knife?”
He blinked at me, then peered into his cup. “Is this a trick question?”
“No. I only came up here because I need to borrow a very sharp knife, and I
“If it’s really coffee,” Manohar said. “He’s so quiet, like he’s in an alcoholic fog.”
“Hear, hear.” Kyle clicked his plastic cup against mine in a toast.
My stomach turned over. I felt strangely defensive of Gabe. “I know it’s coffee,” I said. “It comes from the shop where I work. Sometimes he wanders in after class.”
“Speaking of which.” Hunter reached over, took my cup from my hand, and tasted the lime slush.
The Hunter I knew was not rude enough to drink from my cup uninvited. Was he flirting with me? My proper reaction would be outrage, especially after he’d had his hands all over that blonde. I tried not to stare at his wet lips.
“How do you know Gabe’s not spiking his coffee?” Brian asked, dragging me back to the conversation.
I didn’t know this. But it seemed a stretch to equate Gabe being quiet with Gabe being drunk on the job. And though these drunk boys were just shooting the shit behind their teacher’s back, I felt bad for Gabe since he wasn’t there to defend himself.
“That’s an idea,” Hunter whispered in my ear. “Want me to spike this for you?”
I shook my head and said softly, “I have homework to do later.” His bare shoulder next to mine sank like he was disappointed. I couldn’t waste energy puzzling that out when I needed to rescue Gabe’s reputation. Gabe mattered to me, and Hunter did not.
“I like Gabe,” I said loudly enough to carry. “He reminds me of someone.”
“Who?” Hunter asked. “Tommy?”
Although it had been hard for us to hear each other before, Hunter’s one word seemed to have rung out clear as day for everybody. “Who’s Tommy?” Kyle asked, and the others sat up to hear the answer.
I did not think this was the time or place or company to state that Tommy was Hunter’s easygoing father, and that Hunter and I knew each other from way back when. I could not trust Wolf-boy on top of everyone else with the stable-boy secret.
Hunter was thinking the same thing. He shifted the subject. “I like the way Gabe trusts us to comment on each other’s stories.”
“He goes too far,” Brian said. “Pedagogically speaking, it’s one thing to create a student-centered classroom by asking for the students’ voices. It’s another thing to let them bulldoze each other.”
“Is it bulldozing to express your opinion?” Manohar asked. For some reason we were having a hard time hearing each other again. He was shouting. “If you let a creative-writing student think her story is great when it isn’t, aren’t you doing her a disservice? If she sucks, she needs to know so she can change her major before it’s too late.”
I opened my mouth and quickly closed it again. My eyes were on the prize, keeping Manohar from going to Gabe with the stable-boy secret. If the price was allowing him to take potshots at me in public, I could pay it.
Summer said what I didn’t dare say. “You’re assuming that the student making the comment knows what he’s talking about. What if he tells another writer that she sucks and discourages her, when her work is very good? What if the student making the comment is, for instance, an economics major and is only taking creative writing in the first place because the honors program requires it, and in actuality he doesn’t know shit?”
“This is just a replay of class,” Hunter said. “If we’re going to talk about creative writing, let’s be less specific.” I wished he were coming to my aid, but I knew he was only taking control and keeping the peace, as usual.
And I’d had enough. “I don’t think it’s possible to talk about creative writing without being specific.” I turned to Kyle, across from me. “Do you have a really sharp knife?”
He blinked at me, then peered into his cup. “Is this a trick question?”
“No. I only came up here because I need to borrow a very sharp knife, and I
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