Selena Kitt - Baumgartner Generations - Henry

It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. It was the first time he’d heard her call any student by their first name. But he couldn’t read out loud. It was hard enough slogging through it by himself. One page could take him an hour.

Henry considered his predicament, trying to find a way out of it. “I’ve got a cold. My throat kind of hurts.”

She didn’t drop her gaze. “Just the next paragraph.”

“Just one paragraph?” He picked up his book, glancing at the clock. It was almost time to go. Maybe he could stall… “What page are we on again?”

“Two-nineteen.”

He started flipping through the pages, feeling his face begin to burn. This always happened, every time he got put on the spot. And if he had trouble with words to begin with, it was even worse under pressure. It became impossible to think, let alone read.

Henry found the page, glancing back up at her. “Two-nineteen?”

“Fourth paragraph,” she indicated. “Go ahead.”

He used his finger to count down the indents. One, two, three, four…

One word at a time, he told himself. But it was a futile reassurance. He was about to humiliate himself in front of the entire class.

“Wh-” Henry stopped. The words were literally swimming in front of his eyes. “What…”

“When,” Professor Franklin prodded, her voice gentle. “The paragraph starts with when. Go on.”

“When…they meet…”

“Met,” she corrected. He felt her moving toward him, but didn’t look up from page. He also felt thirty eyes turned in his direction.

“When they met…across…”

“Again.” He glanced up at her this time, confused. She was standing right next to his desk.

“The word is again, not across.”

He cleared his throat. “When they met again, two days after…”

“Later,” she corrected. “Two days later.”

“Hey, you know what, I have to…” Henry closed the book, starting to stand. “Go.” He observed the time. Thank god. Saved by the bell. “I have hockey practice.”

Professor Franklin glanced behind her at the clock. The class was already gathering books, packing backpacks, putting on jackets. “Don’t forget to read through the end of the book by next week!” she called over the rustling noise and conversation. “I’m afraid it doesn’t end all happily ever after.”

Henry clicked stop on the tape recorder and shoved it into the front of his backpack, along with his paperback. He was getting up before he realized Professor Franklin was still standing next to his desk, watching him.

“Henry, may I speak to you, please?”

Henry again. Twice in the same day. Why had she singled him out? He followed her silently to her desk and stood there, waiting, as she began to pack her things as well. The class had dispersed by the time she pulled a blue essay book out of her bag. The sight of it made his stomach drop to his knees.

“You recognize this?” she inquired, putting it down on the desk.

He just nodded. She had given them a “pop quiz” last week, just a short essay about the symbolism in Gatsby. Freshmen professors had to send out five-week progress reports. It was a new thing this year, she’d explained, so she wanted something to base a grade on. He hadn’t expected it and hadn’t prepared for it.

“It’s insightful.” She tapped her long, red fingernail on the essay’s front page. Then she opened it up and Henry saw the “F” circled in red marker inside the cover. He felt like throwing up. “But it’s nearly impossible to read. Your spelling is atrocious. It’s almost as if…”

“Spell check is my best friend.” He gave her a sheepish smile, shrugging helplessly.

“No one should rely on spell check for the basics.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I couldn’t pass you based on this. I’m sorry.”

“Can I…would you let me take it and re-do it?” This was something he’d gotten away with before. Maybe…

“I’m afraid not.” She handed the paper across the desk to him. “Henry, I also wanted you to know…I had to send your progress report for this term to your coach.”

He swallowed. “My coach?”

“You have a hockey scholarship, right?”

He nodded. Not hockey. Anything else, but he couldn’t lose that.

“It’s part of the new freshmen requirements.” She sounded apologetic.

Henry steeled himself against her words. There was no way they’d bench him. He was leading the league in points. And even if his coach brought it up, he’d find a way to talk his way out of it. He always did. “Listen, I’m actually gonna be late for practice if I don’t go…”

“I just wanted you to know, before you saw your coach.”

Henry turned and headed toward the door, escaping as quickly as he could.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the redhead.

He’d intended to brave the library again just to tell Libby that she’d done everything perfectly. The download worked and the ebook was readable right there on his laptop.

The only problem was the original print version of the book came with a CD that said all the phonics sounds for you, while the digital download didn’t come with those particular bells and whistles. Unfortunately, in his case, the CD was a pretty necessary thing, because trying to decipher all the pronunciation code was even more confusing than trying to figure out the words themselves.

Not that he was going to tell Libby that.

But then Dean insisted he pledge Alpha Pi Alpha with him and his mid-term progress report went out and he had to have “the phone call” with his parents and his coach threatened him with losing ice time if his grades didn’t come up-and he lost track of a week before he knew it. He’d told Dean about Libby, of course. He told Dean everything.

“The hot redhead in the library? You mean Olivia Stowe?” And of course Dean knew her. As big as the place was, it seemed like he knew everybody. “She was voted ‘the girl you’re most likely to jack-off to’ at Alpha Pi Alpha! There’s no way, freshman. She dated some senior guy for a while last year and then he graduated. She hasn’t dated anyone since.”

“We’ll see about that.” Henry shrugged, flipping through his history text, as if he were actually reading.

Dean snorted. “Is that a challenge, dude?”

“Maybe.” Henry grinned.

He’d never expected Dean to take him up on it. Or to win.

So when Dean invited him to the football game-wanted him to meet his date, maybe keep her company on the sidelines-Henry didn’t think twice.

He walked into his dorm room in a pretty good mood on his way back from hockey practice, tired, but in a good way-at least he got to skate at practice-freshly showered, his face still red from the October wind and the long walk across campus, ready to meet Dean’s girl and head off to the game. He had to admit, he idolized Dean. But who didn’t? And being his roommate gave him all sorts of advantages he didn’t even know existed.

Now if he could just tell the dragon-lady to pass me in English, Henry lamented, opening his dorm room door, whistling some tune he’d heard piped into the locker room overhead just half an hour before, and finding Dean sitting on his bed with a girl in his lap.

This wasn’t an unusual sight. He’d seen Dean with a lot of girls over the past five weeks, had even had to go next door to sleep in Bel’s room one Saturday night because the black sock was tied around the door handle. It wasn’t seeing him with a girl on his bed that was the problem.

The problem was-the girl was Libby. There was no mistaking her long red hair, that peaches and cream skin, the delicate, long-fingered hand that was playfully slapping Dean’s roving hands away. Dean was with Libby.