Professor Davis leaned forward on the old oak lectern, facing the class. "Sonnet 18. 'Shall I compare
thee to a summer’s day?' Who can tell me where the change occurs in this sonnet?"
Emma watched three hands shoot up in the front of the class. The front always answered. That’s
why Emma sat in the back. Volta, line nine, 'But thy eternal summer shall not fade', she thought to
herself. Online Cliff Notes were a gift from God. English was not her best subject by any measure.
But an hour and a half to stare at the professor three times a week was worth every minute of plot,
theme, and symbolism torture.
She shifted in her hard metal chair to get a better view of Davis. The tall British woman moved to the
chalkboard as Emma studied her lean form. Tan slacks and a blue cardigan led up to the professor’
s shoulder-length hair, brown with golden highlights. Emma knew the highlights were a recent
addition, but she approved of the change. Not that Davis cared if she approved or not, since Emma
was just auditing the class. Emma suffered through these lectures, surrounded by English majors,
Liberal Arts types, and who knows who else. All so she could sit in the back and bask in the
beautiful British accent of Professor Nicole Davis. And beautiful British smile, and British hips, and
British backside.
"Excellent," Davis said, jarring Emma back to the present. One of the over-achieving front-row types
must have given the correct answer. "Now which of Shakespeare’s favorite themes appear in this
sonnet?"
Love, changing of the seasons, use of time, Emma thought. She didn't volunteer the answer,
though. Her photographic memory, which knew every word of the Shakespeare Cliff Notes, was an
unfair advantage over her classmates. So she kept quiet. Of course, the fact that she turned into a
complete idiot whenever Davis spoke to her also helped to keep her mouth shut. She was probably
the only Harvard graduate student in Mathematics who obsessed over Shakespeare and other early
poets this semester.
Her thoughts wandered, remembering how she had bumped into Davis at the bookstore during
winter break. She'd heard her voice first, arguing with one of the student drones who worked at the
store. Emma had glanced around a pile of first-year Physics books to see who was telling the clerk
off in such polite but scorching terms. She wasn't prepared for the sudden arousal that had swept
over her at the first sight of Professor Davis. She'd waited to pump the frazzled clerk to find out who
she was. Emma had already given herself over to a hopeless infatuation when she signed up to
audit one of Davis's classes. It wasn't until later that she realized she'd committed herself to
studying her least favorite subject, Shakespeare's English.
Davis’ rich accent filled Emma’s thoughts. She paced down the aisles as she lectured. Her tan
slacks clung to long legs with a hint of strong thighs just beneath the curves of a well-exercised
backside. Emma sank back into her chair when Davis came down her aisle. Her soft brown eyes
met Emma's for an instant and then moved on to the next student. Emma studied her notebook just
long enough for her flushed face to regain its natural color. This is why she came to class every day,
she thought. Pathetic, but true. After weeks of auditing the class, Davis had noticed her, even if it was
only a passing glance during class.
"Next week’s assignment will be to read aloud and analyze a sonnet of your choice."
Emma joined the class in a group groan. Davis had one of these open readings every month, and
Emma hated it. The room became a shuffle of backpacks and papers as the class readied to leave.
Emma lingered at her desk as the rest of the class got up.
"If you need help, you know my office hours," Davis said over the heads of the departing class.
Emma stuffed her notebook in her pack and made her way up the aisle to the exit. She managed to
be the last one at the door when Davis called. "Sorry, could you hold that open for me?"
Emma stood with her mouth hanging open. Nice impression, she thought. She shut her trap and
waited as Davis hoisted a box from under the lectern and walked out the door that Emma held open.
"Cheers," Davis said, and stepped past Emma.
Emma felt her face burn as Davis passed by. She caught the scent of the professor's perfume and
struggled to recognize the scent. She regained an inch of sanity and followed Davis down the
hallway, close enough to watch, but far enough to not be an obvious stalker. She hoped.
thee to a summer’s day?' Who can tell me where the change occurs in this sonnet?"
Emma watched three hands shoot up in the front of the class. The front always answered. That’s
why Emma sat in the back. Volta, line nine, 'But thy eternal summer shall not fade', she thought to
herself. Online Cliff Notes were a gift from God. English was not her best subject by any measure.
But an hour and a half to stare at the professor three times a week was worth every minute of plot,
theme, and symbolism torture.
She shifted in her hard metal chair to get a better view of Davis. The tall British woman moved to the
chalkboard as Emma studied her lean form. Tan slacks and a blue cardigan led up to the professor’
s shoulder-length hair, brown with golden highlights. Emma knew the highlights were a recent
addition, but she approved of the change. Not that Davis cared if she approved or not, since Emma
was just auditing the class. Emma suffered through these lectures, surrounded by English majors,
Liberal Arts types, and who knows who else. All so she could sit in the back and bask in the
beautiful British accent of Professor Nicole Davis. And beautiful British smile, and British hips, and
British backside.
"Excellent," Davis said, jarring Emma back to the present. One of the over-achieving front-row types
must have given the correct answer. "Now which of Shakespeare’s favorite themes appear in this
sonnet?"
Love, changing of the seasons, use of time, Emma thought. She didn't volunteer the answer,
though. Her photographic memory, which knew every word of the Shakespeare Cliff Notes, was an
unfair advantage over her classmates. So she kept quiet. Of course, the fact that she turned into a
complete idiot whenever Davis spoke to her also helped to keep her mouth shut. She was probably
the only Harvard graduate student in Mathematics who obsessed over Shakespeare and other early
poets this semester.
Her thoughts wandered, remembering how she had bumped into Davis at the bookstore during
winter break. She'd heard her voice first, arguing with one of the student drones who worked at the
store. Emma had glanced around a pile of first-year Physics books to see who was telling the clerk
off in such polite but scorching terms. She wasn't prepared for the sudden arousal that had swept
over her at the first sight of Professor Davis. She'd waited to pump the frazzled clerk to find out who
she was. Emma had already given herself over to a hopeless infatuation when she signed up to
audit one of Davis's classes. It wasn't until later that she realized she'd committed herself to
studying her least favorite subject, Shakespeare's English.
Davis’ rich accent filled Emma’s thoughts. She paced down the aisles as she lectured. Her tan
slacks clung to long legs with a hint of strong thighs just beneath the curves of a well-exercised
backside. Emma sank back into her chair when Davis came down her aisle. Her soft brown eyes
met Emma's for an instant and then moved on to the next student. Emma studied her notebook just
long enough for her flushed face to regain its natural color. This is why she came to class every day,
she thought. Pathetic, but true. After weeks of auditing the class, Davis had noticed her, even if it was
only a passing glance during class.
"Next week’s assignment will be to read aloud and analyze a sonnet of your choice."
Emma joined the class in a group groan. Davis had one of these open readings every month, and
Emma hated it. The room became a shuffle of backpacks and papers as the class readied to leave.
Emma lingered at her desk as the rest of the class got up.
"If you need help, you know my office hours," Davis said over the heads of the departing class.
Emma stuffed her notebook in her pack and made her way up the aisle to the exit. She managed to
be the last one at the door when Davis called. "Sorry, could you hold that open for me?"
Emma stood with her mouth hanging open. Nice impression, she thought. She shut her trap and
waited as Davis hoisted a box from under the lectern and walked out the door that Emma held open.
"Cheers," Davis said, and stepped past Emma.
Emma felt her face burn as Davis passed by. She caught the scent of the professor's perfume and
struggled to recognize the scent. She regained an inch of sanity and followed Davis down the
hallway, close enough to watch, but far enough to not be an obvious stalker. She hoped.
All stories on this website contain mature content involving same-sex relationships. If you are under legal age or
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Sandra Barret
Excerpt from Lavender Secrets
