Selena Kitt - Baumgartner Generations - Henry

When it was over, when she turned and kissed him, long and soft and oh, so slow, that’s when he thought he would wake up. He would find himself sitting upright in his dorm room bed, sweaty and hot and hard as a rock from this crazy-ass dream and then go back to sleep only to wake and tell Dean all about it in the morning.

But he wasn’t asleep. And Dean was standing across from him, grinning with so many teeth he resembled a shark. From the look on his roommate’s face, Henry had a sudden, sinking feeling that maybe it would have been better if he had been dreaming after all.

The dragon-lady sat quietly sorting through papers on her desk, her door half-open. Henry hesitated in the hallway, heart beating too fast for him to knock yet. It had been racing since that afternoon, when she handed back his term paper with another big “F” marked in red on the last page and the words, “Come to my office at 3:00 p.m. this afternoon.”

What a letdown, after the weekend of partying at the fraternity, getting clapped on the back over and over, his new fraternity brothers grinning knowingly. It still made him blush to think about what had happened, but he was also rather proud of it in a sick sort of way-especially since Dean seemed so perturbed by Henry’s win. Or more to the point, Dean’s loss.

Henry might have thought it was all a dream, but he had a box full of porn shoved under his bed and a Fleshlight in his possession to prove it wasn’t. If he could have stopped time back then, he would have. Going back to class on Monday and facing the dragon-lady was the last thing he wanted to do.

She knows. He could see it on her face when she handed his paper back, the slight purse to her lips, the brief flash in her eyes. She was calling his bluff. He cursed himself for not finding someone he trusted, but he had been in a hurry, the paper due, and there was just no time.

“Henry Baumgartner.” Her voice made his stomach clench. “Come in, please.”

There was no more putting it off. He stepped into her office, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat when she asked him to. She still wasn’t really acknowledging him; instead, she was writing with her red pen. The same red pen that had failed him. That anyone held so much power over him made him nauseous.

“I’d like to show you something.” Professor Franklin reached over and took a paper off a stack to her left. She put it on the desk in front of him, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. Her skirt was a soft, dark green, a respectable length, but her legs were very long. He felt like a mouse trapped between her paws.

“Go ahead,” she urged.

He picked the paper up, staring dumbly at it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read at all. He could pick out words. He could read sentences if he focused, guessing or skipping over the words he couldn’t figure out, but it could literally take him an hour to read a full page. And when faced with paragraph after paragraph, especially in front of an audience, his brain completely froze. The words swam in front of him and he stared up at her, mute.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Professor Franklin crossed her arms, the cream satin-like material of her blouse stretching over her breasts. No one liked her-but every guy had talked about fucking her. She was an older woman, probably his mother’s age, but with her long dark hair and tall, curvy figure, she was the stuff freshmen wet dreams were made of.

“Henry, do you know what that is?” She sat up, rolling her chair closer to the desk, looking at him quizzically.

He just shrugged, hands clammy, heart galloping. He wanted to bolt, but he knew it would only make things worse. Until he could figure out what she wanted from him, it was better to stay quiet.

“You know, I was going to keep this between us.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk’s surface. They were long and painted red. “But if this is how you’re going to act, I suppose I’ll be forced to get the dean of students involved.”

He looked back down at the paper in his hand. There was no title page and the words made no sense. Why was she showing him this? He felt slow, stupid, and he hated that feeling, because he wasn’t either of those things. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t remember the same word from one sentence to the next, but he could remember every state in the union and recite them alphabetically. He could find them all on a map, by shape and location. But he couldn’t read their names.

“I don’t…” He cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time.

“Okay, let’s do it this way.” She pressed her lips together into a thin line, folding her hands on the desk. “Read it.”

He glanced down again. His hands were trembling. His eyes scanned the page, left to right, but nothing made sense.

“Out loud,” she insisted.

He gaped up at her, his mouth dry, no words coming out, and finally he understood. This was his paper. Not his paper, but the paper he had purchased online and printed out and put his own name and cover page on. Of course, he hadn’t read it. He couldn’t.

“Oh my god.” Professor Franklin’s eyes widened. They were dark and round behind her reading glasses, and even rounder in her surprise and realization. She reached out to touch him, surprising them both, her hand soft, clutching his. “You really can’t…Henry, can you read?”

“Leave me alone!” He stood quickly, letting the paper fall, jerking himself away from her touch. He took off down the hall, ignoring her calling after him. He turned the corner and hit the door hard, opening it and gulping the cool autumn air into his over-heated lungs.

He’d faced down teachers before. He’d lied, manipulated, apologized and weaseled his way out of a million punishments and reprimands. He was incredibly charming once he got his bearings. He had managed to convince everyone, including his parents, that he was just lazy and irresponsible sometimes. None of them had ever once guessed his secret.

So how does she know?

“Henry.”

He steeled himself, not turning to face her. Why had she followed him? Why wouldn’t she just call the dean of students, report him, have him removed from class? Or suspended. Even expelled. He felt like passing out just at the thought.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft, softer than he’d ever heard it. “Please.”

She touched his arm through his jacket and he glanced down at her. She’d taken time to put on a long, black wool coat. He tried to pull himself together. It was time to deny everything. He opened his mouth to do just that but even spoken words failed him when he caught sight of her face.

She was crying.

What the hell? Nothing could have surprised or disarmed him more.

“Henry, let me help you.” Tears streamed down her face. She cried openly, unashamed, squeezing his forearm, pleading with him. He was aghast. “Please. I can help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he sneered. “Or your pity.”

“Oh, no, Henry, you don’t understand-”

He turned and ran for the second time that day, determined to escape this time. He heard the click of her heels, her calls, but then they faded and he could only hear the sound of his own heart beating, the ragged pull of his breath as he ran, ran, ran, as far and as fast as he could.

“Dude, you’re gonna get kicked out of school.” Dean sat on the bed across from him. Henry just pulled the covers over his head. It was four in the afternoon and he hadn’t gotten out of bed. He hadn’t done much all week except stay in bed. He’d managed to ignore the phone-and his roommate. He’d even skipped hockey practice. Twice. Coach was probably going to kick him off the team. But it didn’t matter. Ultimately, he was going to get kicked off anyway.