Free True Grey by Clea Simon

across the table, took up the gauntlet, answering the question in her usual pedantic manner. Slightly too loud, definitely condescending, but right now, a life saver, Dulcie thought. She smiled and nodded for the skinny sophomore to continue. ‘A description that’s not literally applicable – do we all understand “literally”?’
    This was going too far. Dulcie was about to interrupt her, when she realized that several of her students were staring at the bespectacled student with rapt attention. Very well, she not only had been outmanoeuvred as a scholar, now she was being shown up as a teacher. Maybe if Thalia kept rambling on, they’d actually learn something. Besides, she thought as she glanced at the clock, the section had only ten more minutes to go.
    â€˜But what about the whole “as” and “like” thing?’ Didi really shouldn’t talk and chew gum at the same time, Dulcie thought. How did a girl like Didi get into university?
    â€˜
Dulcie.
’ She didn’t need the feline reminder to make her realize just how uncharitable her thoughts had become. Maybe the girl was a chemistry whizz. Maybe that perfectly done hair sheltered the brain of a mathematician, one who had chosen to broaden her education with a literature survey course.
    Maybe, the morning’s interaction coming back to her, she didn’t know her role. What did Esmé mean, anyway? And what was the relationship between her new pet and Mr Grey? The voices in the room faded into the background as Dulcie pondered her feline messengers. She had wondered why Mr Grey had not warned her about this Sloane Harquist person. Now she had to ask what part Esmé played in everything.
    â€˜Ms Schwartz?’ She came back to life to find everyone staring at her.
    â€˜Sorry.’ She ducked her head. ‘Is everything clear now, Didi?’
    The freshman shrugged. From the smug look on Thalia’s face, she’d probably fielded several other questions from her classmates while Dulcie daydreamed. Dulcie couldn’t help it. The sophomore annoyed her.
    â€˜Great. So, Thalia?’ She turned toward the sophomore, trying to keep her voice level. ‘Why don’t you share your thoughts on the burgeoning anti-American strain in the country’s first century?’
    The skinny girl opened her mouth, and then closed it, and Dulcie immediately felt a pang of guilt. Here, sitting around the table in what was supposed to be a collegial gathering, she had intentionally tripped one of her students up. This week’s lecture had dealt with the new republic’s growing pride in itself, its sense of itself as something fresh and new. Something very different from the Old World.
    As the color rose to Thalia’s thick-framed glasses, Dulcie decided to bail her out. ‘Our class has only touched on it, but try to recall what we read of Thomas Paine’s writings. In the wake of war in Europe, the United States fell into political turmoil. France, after all, had been our ally – and England our enemy. But some of the émigré writers who came here looking for a fresh start found something very different.’
    Around the table, twelve pairs of eyes were watching her, when it hit her. She couldn’t talk about the discrimination that the author of
The Ravages
had faced. She couldn’t discuss the persecution that led her to disguise her writing, perhaps write in hiding. She had no verified literary examples to offer them – no proof. But she was Dulcinea Schwartz, fifth-year doctoral candidate. She was not going to be daunted by an English 10 section.
    â€˜Sophie.’ The ponytailed sophomore was always reliable. ‘Does this spark any ideas?’
    â€˜Actually, it does.’
    Dulcie smiled. Sophie was one of her best students, the kind Dulcie liked to encourage, but between her weight and a tendency toward acne, she usually hid behind her long, thick hair.