If I'm Being Honest(65)
It’s the final straw. I’m done letting her ignore me.
“Excuse me?” I say, rushing to meet her in the doorway while everyone’s walking to their desks, unpacking their things, and talking in the pre-class minutes. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”
She looks me over, her eyes cool, then dismisses me with a shrug. “Not at all.”
I block her way to her desk. “You’ve never been one to hide your opinions before. Why start now?” My heart pounds painfully. I know whatever she says next won’t be pleasant, but it’ll be something. Something that proves I’m not nothing to her.
“Okay,” she replies snidely, her voice low enough not to be overheard. “You’re right. I think what you did yesterday is disgusting. I remember the entry for BB on your list, and it repulses me that you’d use your body to accomplish a goal like that. You wouldn’t even consider dating two months ago. Look how far you’ve come.”
Even though I know we’re in a fight, I didn’t think Elle was capable of thinking that of me. I falter in the doorway long enough for her to fire me one final glare and walk past me into English.
I recover my composure and follow her in. There’s no way she’s getting the final word.
But before I have the chance to reply, the bell rings. I’m caught halfway to Elle’s desk. Clenching my jaw, I retreat to my seat while Kowalski walks to the front of the class.
“I want to turn our discussion to the ending of the play,” Kowalski says. “Namely, to Katherine’s final monologue. I imagine a number of you have strong feelings on the speech”—her eyes flit to Elle—“and in the interest of a varied discussion, I’d like you to pair up and discuss your thoughts before we reconvene.”
My hand shoots up, and I don’t wait for Kowalski to call on me. “Elle and I want to be partners,” I say unhesitatingly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elle’s eyebrows rise.
“Okay, Cameron,” Kowalski says with a funny look. “The rest of you, feel free to choose your partners without informing the rest of the class.”
There are a few chuckles, but I don’t bother to be embarrassed. This is perfect. Elle’s either too thrown to protest or she doesn’t care enough to explain to Kowalski.
I gather my things and join her in the desk beside hers. She refuses to look at me, her expression tight and furious. Undeterred, I stare her straight in the face while I unpack my Taming of the Shrew.
I’m about to speak when Elle preempts me. “Anna,” she calls out. “There’s an odd number in the class. Come work with us.” I blink, turning in my chair to find Anna Lewis alone at the front of the room while everyone else has partnered up. I can’t help noticing Paige and Andrew sitting together in one corner.
Anna joins us, looking like she knows she’s stumbled into something unpleasant but doesn’t want to incur Elle’s wrath by refusing. “Okay, um,” she says, her voice high, evidently eager to get the discussion going. “I think Kate’s final speech is kind of messed up. She’s saying your husband is your sovereign, like your king, and you have to devote your entire life to”—she flips the pages, looking for the line—“placing your hands below your husband’s foot.”
“Imagine,” Elle utters without a pause, her voice low, “going to humiliating lengths just to please a guy.”
I hold my tongue. Elle has no idea what she’s talking about. What I did with Brendan—with Brendan, not for Brendan—was far from humiliating.
I bury myself in my book. Focusing on the words is the only possible way I’ll get through the period without an outburst. Anna’s not wrong. Kate’s final monologue is horrendous. I am ashamed that women are so simple, I reread, To offer war where they should kneel for peace. I cringe.
“Yeah,” Anna replies quickly, obviously eager to keep the conversation on Shakespeare. “I just don’t get why Katherine would completely give up on herself, though. Like, Petruchio’s not that great. He’s kind of a jerk, honestly.”
“Because he abuses her and sleep-deprives her!” Finally Elle’s glare snaps to Anna, who visibly flinches. “He intimidates her into obeying.”
A woman moved—“moved” meaning angry, I find in the glossary—is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. I keep reading, feeling my pulse quicken with anger.
And I don’t know whether it’s out of a compulsion to be combative with Elle or what, but the next moment, I hear a word escape me. “No,” I say sharply. Elle’s gaze flits to me, poisonous. I go on. “No. It’s not only because Katherine’s intimidated by Petruchio. Does this speech feel intimidated to you? It might’ve begun with physical abuse, but along the way, Petruchio no longer needed to frighten Katherine. Because he got her to do it herself. He taught her to believe there’s no alternative to helplessness and obedience.” I point to the lines I’m reading. Now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak. “She’s been taught that this treatment is the way of the world and there’s nothing she can do to change that.”
Elle’s eyes are finally on me, but impossibly, my thoughts have left our fight. They’re racing too quickly for me to concentrate when Elle turns back to Anna and continues the discussion.