Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) (34 page)

I was snapped back to reality by the sound of the door opening along the corridor. A man’s voice carried down the hall as he concluded a meeting with someone. The secretary summoned me, and I pushed the envelopes to the very bottom of the bag as I walked, almost crashing into Cara Switzer as she rounded the corner, exiting the office I was about to enter.

I froze.

I scanned her face, took in her raised eyebrows and small smile.

“Cara? What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Aubrey.”

“Aubrey Price?” The man in the office doorway peered out.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m just—”

“Good luck,” Cara whispered. And then she was gone.

Good luck? What the hell for?
I turned and made my way unsteadily to the office.

“Aubrey, I’m Aaron O’Connor, the teaching assistant coordinator for the English department. Please come in and have a seat.”

This guy was the
TA
coordinator? Crap almighty. I sat down, my mouth suddenly dry and my pulse pounding in my ears. Was this how Daniel felt right before he had an anxiety attack? Was I about to have one? I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, waiting as the man before me, whose name I’d already forgotten, jotted notes on a piece of paper and flipped through some pages.

I tried to appear nonchalant as he lowered his pen and leaned across his desk. He had unnerving, beady eyes. I focused on the place where his shaggy eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose.

“I won’t keep you long, Aubrey. I just have a few questions about Daniel Grant, the TA for the Topics in Shakespeare course you’ve taken this semester.”

I tried to wet my lips, but my glands seemed to have forgotten how to create saliva.

“Sure. Okay,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“I’ve read over a handful of the questionnaires submitted by the class, but I wanted to get a little more information—assemble a more detailed picture of how he did.”

“Is Daniel in trouble?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to stuff them back in.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Oh, no reason. I’ve just never been interviewed about a TA before.” That was better—a reasonable response. “And I like him. I mean, he did a good job.”

God, woman, don’t you know when enough is enough? Just shut your pie hole and let the man talk!

“I see. I certainly got the impression from most of the questionnaires that he was well-liked, with only a few exceptions. You got along well with him?”

“I guess so,” I said vaguely, shrinking into myself. I couldn’t decide what would be worse for Daniel, saying I liked him or saying he’d merely been tolerable.

“Did you find his evaluation of your work fair?”

Beady Eyes picked up his pen, ready to write down whatever I said. I’d have to be careful. I gathered my thoughts and did my best to tell a semblance of what I, as a student, saw as the truth. This was essential; if I started blatantly lying, I was sure to turn beet red and start stammering like an idiot.

“He took evaluations seriously,” I said. “He was very concerned about impartiality. And if you ever had an issue with a mark or a question about something, he was more than happy to meet to discuss concerns.”

I felt good about this answer. It was all true.

“And
did
you ever have cause to meet about an evaluation?”

Again I told the truth. “Yes. Once.”

“And the basis for this meeting?”

“I was confused about the mark on a test that Daniel had evaluated.” Once more, this was not a lie. So far so good.

He responded to my answer by raising a shaggy brow—or, rather, one side of his unibrow.

“So, you met with him so you could question him about his assessment?”

“Yes.”

“And what was the issue, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“There were two marks on my test, and I wasn’t really sure what that meant. Professor Brown had changed the mark on the test.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Daniel had taken off a couple of points. Professor Brown didn’t agree, and he ended up assigning me a perfect grade.”

“Oh, I see. Would you have objected to this grade Daniel assigned if Professor Brown hadn’t changed it?”

Wow. How was I supposed to respond to that? Visions of Nicola formed in my mind. Had people complained about Daniel giving them low marks? Had Cara? Is that why she was here? Was this the secret they shared? But how would that explain why he’d been so sure she wouldn’t speak out against him or reveal our secret? I was beyond confused. I tried to focus on the question, formulating an answer that wouldn’t set off alarm bells.

“It was only a couple of points. It wasn’t a big deal,” I claimed. “I think Daniel has higher expectations of a few of us in the class, based on what he thinks we’re capable of.”

I waited for his reaction, wary of saying more.

“Fair enough. Now tell me, where did you meet to discuss this evaluation?”

“In the Hart House library?” Why had I said it like a question?

I wanted to shift in my seat as he scrutinized me again, but I willed myself to remain perfectly still.

“And was the issue resolved satisfactorily?” he asked.

“Completely,” I said. “Daniel was very receptive to my concerns. He explained that he was trying to hone his skills using rubrics and benchmarks and things like that.”

Holy crap, that was a good one.

“And did you have cause to meet with Daniel on any other occasions?”

Oh, sweet Jesus. I couldn’t fuck this up.
Truth, Aubrey. Find some truth to cling to.

“Yes, we met to discuss my independent study early in the semester. And another student and I met with him on Monday—we had questions about the exam.”

I was verging on half-truths now. Okay, maybe they were quarter-truths.

“And where did
these
meetings take place?”

I puckered my brow, trying to look as if I was struggling to remember—as if I couldn’t recall every minute detail of each encounter Daniel and I had ever had.

“I believe I met with him at the Pratt Library at Vic. That was back in February.”
Exactly fifty days ago
. “And then on Monday, my classmate and I met him in the Hart House quad.”

“So, you never met with him in an office during office hours or anything like that?”

I shook my head. “Daniel insisted on meeting at the library or at Hart House.”

“Okay. Well, is there anything else you might not have indicated on your questionnaire that you’d like to say about Daniel and his performance as TA? Anything about the way he treated students in tutorials? Any sense that he was playing favorites? For example, you work for his father at Victoria College. Did that pose problems?”

I wanted to laugh. Working for Dean Grant had posed all sorts of problems, but certainly not the type he was referring to. I frowned, trying to think of some constructive criticism—something that wouldn’t raise red flags, something that might have come across in the questionnaires anyway which would still show Daniel in a positive light.

“I don’t think my job at Vic had any impact on the way Daniel treated me. I honestly think he did a good job. He was always willing to help—he treated everyone with respect. If anything, maybe he was a little too formal. He was
very
professional. I mean he wouldn’t even use people’s first names. I think he could relax a bit. That’s just my opinion. I have no idea how everyone else felt.”

Mr. Unibrow nodded and wrote a few more lines as I sat, helplessly watching. After a couple of moments, he tossed his pen on the desk and stood up.

“Thank you for your time, Aubrey. You’ve been very helpful. As I mentioned earlier, I’m still working my way through the rest of the evaluations, but that’s all I need from you at present.”

I stood up and threw my bag over my shoulder, not entirely sure what had just happened—not certain what I would tell Daniel. I needed more information.

“Is this a new practice, sir? I’ve never heard of this sort of thing. I mean, I’ve done evaluations, but never been interviewed about a TA before.”

He made his way to the door and opened it, ushering me through.

“I wouldn’t call it standard practice, but Daniel has transferred from Oxford and this is his first time as TA here at U of T. We’d like to give him as much feedback as we can because his ultimate goal is to teach. I’m sure you understand,” he said dismissively. Clearly I was taking up his valuable time.

“Right. That’s a great idea,” I said, as if he needed me to validate his policies and procedures.

“Thank you again for your time,” he said.

I nodded, taking a quick look over his shoulder at the nameplate on his door.

Aaron O’Connor.

I hurried down the hall and pushed open the double doors, emerging into the afternoon sun. Feeling as if I was coming to the surface after being held at the bottom of a deep pool, I took a giant gulp of fresh air and propped against the wall to steady myself.

I had to call Daniel to tell him what had happened. Not that I even
understood
what had gone on in there. I dropped my backpack on the ground and fished for my phone in the side pocket with shaking hands. I was just about to dial his number when a voice behind me interrupted me.

“You okay?”

I whirled around, and there she was, sitting on the low parapet at the bottom of the stone steps. Cara. She’d been waiting for me.

Chapter 22

Confession

The fairest is confession.
Were not you here but even now disguised?
(
Love’s Labour’s Lost
, Act V, Scene 2)

I H
ASTILY
P
UT
T
HE
P
HONE
in my pocket. Daniel would have to wait. I walked down the steps to join her.

“Cara, what are you doing here?”

“I had an interview, like you did.”

Duh! Jesus.

“No, I mean, why are you
still
here?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms under her boobs. God, they were huge.

“I was going to see if you were okay, but whatever. Forget it.”

She stood and tossed me a contemptuous look before walking away. I narrowed my eyes as she retreated, remembering that Daniel had warned me not to talk to her. But if I let her go, I honestly felt like I’d never figure out what her deal was.

“Hey, Cara? Wait up.” I caught up with her, and we quickly fell in step. I tried to soften my tone. “What’s this all about? I can’t imagine why you’d want to talk to me—why you care how I am.”

She turned to look at me, chewing on the inside of her cheek like a chipmunk. Funny how I always seemed to associate her with rodents.

She gestured to a bench a little distance away, and we both sat. I waited for her to say something, but she had her eyes trained on the ground in front of us. The uncomfortable silence stretched on. Was she waiting for
me
to start talking? I was rooting around for something to say to break the ice when at last she spoke.

“Look, Aubrey, I know you don’t like me, and I don’t care. I mean, I don’t really like you much either,” she added.

For some reason, this admission struck me as funny. I laughed. She smiled wryly.

“Well, we don’t have much in common,” I said, aiming for a conciliatory tone.

She fiddled with the strap on her shoulder bag. “I guess not. Except maybe one thing.”

Oh, this should be rich
.

“And what’s that?”

She looked straight at me. “We both really like a certain TA and don’t want him to get in any trouble.”

I tried to keep my face immobile. Was she trying to trap me—get me to confess something? Her warning and Daniel’s cautioning words came back to me.

Don’t let her bait you.

“He’s been a good TA,” I said guardedly. “I don’t see why he would get in trouble.”

“I figured you’d say that. I’m actually kinda
glad
you said that.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re being more careful.”

What the hell?

“Cara, you’ll have to tell me what you’re talking about. I’m a little confused.”

She sighed. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t expect you to, like, say anything or whatever. Actually, don’t say anything. I don’t want you to.”

I sat back on the bench, crossing my arms. “Okay. Shoot.”