Free The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) by Georgina Guthrie Page A

thoughts of Daniel at bay all day. Of course, the fact that I was swamped with reading and research was partially to blame for the limited space in my brain for wayward thoughts, but there was no need to admit that. I was quite enjoying patting myself on the back, thank you very much.
    Back in class on Wednesday, Julie and I sat close to the door again. I focused entirely on Professor Brown’s lecture, taking lots of notes that would support my use of The Taming of the Shrew in my independent study paper. As Julie and I packed up at the end of the class, my brain was still ticking over ideas for my essay when Daniel crossed the front of the room, heading down to the tutorial room for his Wednesday session. As he passed, he cast a pained smile in my direction. Although his gesture stopped me dead in my tracks, I gritted my teeth and willed myself to feel nothing.
    Rien .
    Niente .
    Nada .
    “ The lady doth protest too much, methinks. ”
    What, even Hamlet’s mother was talking to me now? Shut up, Gertrude, I thought. Isn’t there a poisoned chalice around here you’d like to take a swig of?
    I stormed out of class in a huff, wishing I could fast-forward to the concert with Julie on Thursday night.

Chapter 9
    Expectation
    Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
( All’s Well That Ends Well , Act II, Scene 1)
    O NE T IME W HEN I W AS A K ID , I went to an amusement park with my parents. There was this cool ride, and I had to go on it. My parents advised me against it, but I refused to be dissuaded. Despite my efforts to be brave, within two minutes I wanted to scream, “Stop the ride! I want to get off!”
    That’s how I felt as I crossed the quad on Friday morning. I was completely overwhelmed. I didn’t want to go to work, I didn’t want to go to class, and most surprisingly of all, I did not want to go to see Hamlet that evening. I had the strangest feeling of lethargy and dread combined. I wanted off the ride.
    I could almost hear my parents’ voices. “You need to pace yourself or you’re going to get run down,” Mom would say. My dad would warn me against “burning the candle at both ends.” But what could I do? I needed my nine weekly hours of employment. I couldn’t make ends meet without the four hundred or so dollars a month those hours of work guaranteed me. There was no way I was about to start skipping classes either, not with the dean’s list right there—a brass ring, ripe for the grabbing. As for my social life, I’d only started enjoying some “me time” after months of what had amounted to self-imposed exile. I’d have to plough through.
    I dragged my ass into the office, trying to talk myself into facing my day. Dean Grant was holed up with his door closed when I arrived, so I grabbed a coffee and sat at my desk, resting my head on my folded arms and wondering what the heck was wrong with me. I’d been home from the concert and in bed by midnight the night before, dropping off to sleep easily. When Dean Grant popped out of his office to grab himself a coffee, I lifted my head to look at him wearily.
    “Good grief, Aubrey!” He stopped in his tracks. “Are you feeling okay?”
    “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m a little tired.” I tried to brighten my expression, turning to the computer and opening my student liaison email account. “Once I get rolling here, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    “Are you looking after yourself?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together with concern. “Eating properly, getting enough sleep?”
    “I’m doing my best. I’m having one of those weeks where a few assignments are due at the same time. I went out with a friend last night, too. Probably overdoing it a little,” I confessed.
    “It’s a good thing you only have one more week of classes before Reading Week. Make sure you get plenty of rest over the next few days,” he advised.
    “I will. Thank you, sir,”