Chapter 5 5

I covered my mouth the second the words came flying out. It wasn't my fault though; he was provoking me.

Dr Woodley sighed, walking in the direction of the amphitheater doors. "Do me a favor, Miss Cactus, since you're an artist, paint a desk and hang it on your wall. That way you won't forget your manners." He said with a cheeky smile. Oh, he definitely wanted me to answer back.

"Maybe I should gift it to you. That way you won't forget how to pronounce my name."

I expected him to say a strong remark, to scold me, but he just made an angry, shocked face, like I had defeated him. His expression then softened as he said touché in an American accent.

He walked out of the room, the noise from the corridor filling the amphitheater. My knees were shaking and I watched him walk away, the strong muscles of his back moving beneath his dark suit.

I waited a few seconds before walking out as well, not wanting to bump into him in the corridor. I texted Nia, asking where she was. She said she was by the main entrance having a cigarette.

I walked the long way out of the Art building, into the main building, and out the door. Once I found Nia, her cigarette in hand, she took me to her favorite lunch spot, a small bistro five minutes away from Princeton.

The smoke from her cig was making me want to smoke as well. I hadn't smoked in almost two years, and I was really trying not to throw that effort away. I reminded myself the temptation would end as soon as we entered the bistro and started eating.

As we sat down, Nia wasted no time in asking how the conversation went.

"Well, honestly, I think I made him madder." I said, honestly.

"What do you mean? Did you insult the guy?"

"No, I don't think I did... It's hard to tell. I can't figure out what for him is just banter and downright disrespect. It felt like he was provoking me."

Nia laughed, shaking her head. "What a guy. Maybe he isn't quite right in the head. It wouldn't be a far-fetched idea. How else would someone so young be lecturing a master's course? He is probably one of those geniuses with low emotional intelligence."

No, that wasn't it, I was sure. No one with a low EQ would be able to understand the nuances of sarcasm the way he did or know exactly how to annoy me the way he did or give such an engaging (albeit nerve-racking) lecture the way he did.

"Maybe," I answered shortly. "How old do you think he is?"

"A girl from our class said that she read one of his theses and in the bibliography it said he was born in 93."

"No way! He's just 30?" I gasped. Now that she said it, he did look like a 30 year old, but I'd say he was at least 32 or 33.

"Like I said, it's a mystery how he is a college professor. Maybe he pulled some strings. Who knows."

***

The rest of the day was uneventful. In comparison to DR. Woodley's lecture, it wasn't difficult for everything else to be anything other than boring. As I walked home at around 4 in the afternoon, I couldn't get Professor Woodley's request out of my head.

Paint a desk.

Of course, he had said it just for the sake of the argument, but something compelled me to do it. I had never used a desk as the centerpiece of a painting, so maybe I'd surprise myself with what I came up with.

As soon as I got home, I got to work. I put on some relaxing, soft music and started sketching my idea. My flatmates came to check on me a few times. They were amazed at how long I could sit at an easel, finishing a painting. I wanted to make this one particularly bold and rich, like the conversation with Dr Woodley. I also made sure to keep the lines smooth, alluding to the blurred lines of our remarks.

When I was finished, at around 10 P.M., I took it to the living room and showed it to Jeffery and Deyah. They were impressed by my work, and I had to admit, so was I.

After eating something light, I watched a National Geographic documentary on Nord Mythology in bed before turning off the lights and going to sleep