Page 25 of Zombies, Satyrs and Vampires, Oh My!

chapter

three

Harriet

A few months later…

I’m on my laptop, sitting on the floor leaning up against the sofa in one of the many rooms at Atticus and Vivian’s house. Mansion… whatever. I’m sending a chat request to one of my former professors.

And by “former professor” I actually mean “favorite professor.” Which is really saying something, because as a self-proclaimed serial student, I have had a lot of professors. For a lot of different topics. Over a lot of years and a lot of universities.

Hey, you can judge me for my academic dalliances all you want, but if you were me, you’d probably do the same. I have a sizable inheritance that means I don’t have to work, and I love learning. So why shouldn’t I indulge myself?

My point is this: in all my years of being a student, one professor has stood out as my all-time favorite. I’ve taken every online class he’s offered. I would happily take in person classes if he offered them, but he doesn’t. I love listening to him talk. I love hearing his ideas. I would climb inside his brain and curl up in there if I could – metaphorically speaking, of course.

So, am I hot for teacher?

Um … yeah, pretty much. Alas, the professor of my (occasionally naughty) dreams is very professional and would never behave inappropriately with a student or a former student.

And I gotta admire that kind of stern, uncompromising morality.

I wouldn’t be reaching out to my professor now if I didn’t really need his help.

While I wait to see if he’s available, I send a text to my little brother.

ME: What’s up, dork?

STEVEN: Hey sis.

ME: Are you working?

STEVEN: Always.

ME: Working on a new song?

STEVEN: Yes. But I can’t see it yet.

My brother, Steven, is on the spectrum and has synesthesia. He can see the music he composes, and it comes to him in colors. I can’t say that I understand it, but the seven million followers he has on Youtube clearly get it. I mean, I understand that he’s talented. Like ridiculously talented.

His music is amazing, even to my untalented ear.

Our parents put both of us in piano lessons when we were younger, and Steven took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Meanwhile I think I still remember how to play chopsticks. Probably. At least, I’m sure it would come back to me if I needed it.

STEVEN: They’re moving forward with the lawsuit.

ME: I figured. I’ve got an idea. Dare I say an ace up my sleeve?

STEVEN: It’s not illegal, is it?

ME:

STEVEN: Harry, I’m serious.

ME: Me too. I don’t do illegal things.

ME: Okay, I don’t do BAD illegal things. And honestly, speeding shouldn’t count. And that time I walked out with a mug from that restaurant was totally an accident. So that shouldn’t count either.

STEVEN: Yet, they do, in fact, count.