Faking It (McCullough Mountain) Read online

  Like every other time she finished a good book, she lamented. Her free time was cumbersome and her other classes only occupied a small amount of her days. Paging through her assignments, she tsked. There wasn’t much left to finish and she was already ahead in her reading assignments. Maybe she should start looking for a job.

  Her tuition was covered by a few grants she’d held in her account for the past five years. She didn’t have the same amount of funding she would have been awarded had she attended college right out of high school, but she still was attending Princeton under a decent scholarship. A job wasn’t necessary at the moment, but it would definitely ease the remainder of the loans she’d have to pay when she graduated.

  Snatching the newspaper off the table, she kicked on her iPod and went about making lunch.

  Wesley the Wank pounded on the wall. “Shut up!”

  She growled. “Bite me, Wynona!”

  “It’s Wesley,” came his muffled shout.

  “Sorry, you sounded like a girl.”

  That silenced him and she went back to eating her PB and J and reading the paper. As she was walking her plate to the sink there was a sharp knock at the door. She sighed and pulled it open. Wesley stood on the other side, his brown hair sticking out on end and his mouth set with displeasure.

  “For months I’ve tolerated your abysmal taste in music and tried to be respectful. Will you please turn it down?”

  She scoffed. There was just something about this guy that bugged her. He walked around like he was better than everyone else, but she had as much right to be there as him.

  “What’s abysmal is your wardrobe. Stop banging on my wall.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Look, I have a heavy course load this semester and I can’t afford distraction.”

  She ignored him and sucked a dab of jelly off her thumb. His cold stare followed the motion, his glare slightly thawing, and she scowled at him. “Then go to the library. This is my home and I’m not breaking any rules. My music isn’t even that loud.”

  He scoffed. “Everything you do is loud. I’m asking nicely. Please, keep it down.”

  Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “I’ll do my best.” With that she slammed the door.

  On her way back to her couch she turned the volume down three notches, but that was all he was getting. It wasn’t that she was a bitch. She was sympathetic to his need for quiet. But she’d given him quiet—bucket loads of it—and he’d still complained. She’d keep it down and he’d complain again in a short matter of time.

  * * * *

  The following Tuesday she arrived at Philosophy anxious to see her grade and hear Alec’s praise. The three-hour lecture seemed to take twice as long as usual, but that was because her anticipation had a way of slowing down seconds to hours.

  When class finally ended, she slowly gathered her books and waited for the others to leave. Alec popped his briefcase on the podium and casually approached her desk. She smiled up at him and he nodded in greeting.

  “Ms. McCullough.”

  “You can call me Sheilagh.”

  He nodded again. “Sheilagh.”

  “Is that my essay?”

  “It is.”

  She tried to read his expression, but found he gave away nothing. “Did you like it?”

  “I found it… interesting.”

  Interesting. That was good. She waited for him to say more.

  “You certainly have a firm grasp of the English language. You’re use of metaphors is impressive and I couldn’t find a single grammatical error.”

  “Thank you.” She stuffed her pen in the side pocket of her bag.

  He hesitated and she wasn’t sure why. Her eyes drifted over the buttons of his dress shirt and lingered on the buckle of his leather belt. Dr. Alec Devereux dressed nice.

  “I want you to know, if you ever need any extra assistance with the material, my office door is always open.”

  She smiled tightly. That was a nice offer, but she’d never been one to require tutoring. “Thanks.”

  “I also want to direct your attention to the portion of the syllabus that details my rubric. I always allow students to go back and correct any mistakes. My goal is to teach them. I have only a few months to make an impression, but I want them to get their money’s worth. No grade is ever final in my class.”

  “Okay.” She frowned. Why was he telling her this?

  “Okay then. Here you go.” The paper landed on her desk with a gentle click. Alec stepped back and turned, his attention on packing up his briefcase.

  She flipped open the cover and waded through the pages of her essay. There were no markings until the last page. She read his note and then suddenly choked. “You gave me a D?”

  His broad shoulders tensed and he slowly turned. “Like I said, your mechanics were impeccable. They saved you from an F.”

  Her jaw unhinged. No one had ever given her a D. She’d only ever gotten a B once and that was in gym and mostly because she’d been going through a bratty teenage stage and didn’t like running because she’d just developed boobs. This—this—was a bunch of bullshit!

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “I’m afraid not, Ms. McCullough. While I’m certain you read the material, your grasp on the moral is lacking. I suggest you read it again and try to take your time. These are some of the most intricate philosophies you will likely ever find, broken down in simple form. It’s not a book report, Ms. McCullough. I’m more interested in your thoughts and application of the subject matter.”

  “I gave you my thoughts!”

  “No, you gave me a synopsis.”

  “That’s not fair. The syllabus said to summarize The Republic.”

  “Thank you, Socrates. Perhaps you should go back to Book I if you intend on arguing the quarrels of justice. Your essay provided a source of characters and descriptions. What I want to know is how those characters relate to you.”

  Her lips pressed tight. Every nice thought she’d had about the professor went out the window in the face of his bullshit grading scale. She gathered up her belongings and stood.

  “I suppose you’re the philosopher king that wields the advantage of the stronger.”

  His mouth kicked up in a half-grin. “Very good, Ms. McCullough, but if you’ll recall, his theory was disproved, stating that even political figures are imperfect and sometimes transact unjust laws. Justice is for the people’s benefits, not the ruler’s.”

  “Yeah, I can really see how this D benefits me,” she snapped, shoving the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

  “Then make it an A, Ms. McCullough. I’ve seen your transcripts. I know what you’re capable of. Don’t come into my classroom and think to give me a fraction of the effort my class deserves.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to side with Socrates on this one. This is a blatant crime against wisdom meant to benefit a certain group of people, not the whole.”

  Alec nodded, seeming unimpressed with her response, but accepting it all the same. “And like every other free thinking individual, you hold the right to remain ignorant.”

  She gaped at him. What a fucking asshole. She had nothing else to say. He’d given her a D and called her ignorant. Turning on her heel, she marched out of the lecture hall and fumed the entire way home.

  When she reached her apartment she threw her bag against the wall and growled. She should go to the head of his department and complain. She should talk to her advisor about withdrawing from the course and finding a professor who wasn’t an idiot.

  The knock on the wall drew her glare. She shouted at the place the pounding came from, “Eat shit, you ninny!”

  Chapter Two

  That cock sucking motherfucker thinks he’s so smart with his oxford shirt and dapper tweed blazer. He’s an idiot! How he works here is beyond me! I intend to inform the board they have a jackass on their hands and insist they find a new professor with the actual credentials to teach and grade! Stupid cockney speaking dick face! This is
not over!

  Sheilagh didn’t go to the head of the philosophy department. Nor did she visit her advisor. What she did do—after her temper faded—was open up The Republic and start from the beginning.

  The stories read the same as they had the first time. Thank God she was actually interested in the subject matter, or rereading such a fat book would have been intolerable.

  It took her three days to finish and when she was done she sat down at her laptop and started typing. Her words were impassioned this time around. She seemed to breathe a bit of fire into every sentence, slipping jibes into her phrases and grinning as she imagined Alec interpreting her essay for the slap in the face she wanted it to be.

  How dare he give me a D!

  She didn’t wait until the following Tuesday to turn it in. She missed her Friday morning classes in order to apply the finishing touches to her essay. As she closed her freshly printed pages into a new glossy binding, she grinned. “Let’s see what you have to say now, Dr. Devereux.”

  Bundling up, she marched her way down to the Philosophy building. Dr. Alec Devereux’s office was on the fourth floor. When she reached it, the door was open and the soft keystrokes of Chopin filtered into the hall.

  What a pretentious prick. She knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Easing the door open, she waited for him to turn. His office was filled with relics from around the world. She was surprised he didn’t have a bust of himself sitting front and center for him to admire. Clearing her throat, he slowly turned, removing the glasses perched on his nose in the process.

  “Ms. McCullough.”

  By the way his brows lifted she knew he wasn’t expecting her. She dropped the essay on his desk. “There. I think you’ll find this one a bit more acceptable.”

  He eased back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin, and making no move to take the essay. “Tell me something, Sheilagh. Are you used to getting your way?”

  Shifting, she met his challenging stare. “No. I’m used to being ignored and getting the exact opposite of what I want.” That was a little TMI but she certainly wasn’t spoiled.

  “Yet, you’ve always been gifted A’s in school.”

  “I wasn’t gifted anything. I earned every grade I got.”

  He nodded slowly. “But I don’t believe you’ve ever had to work hard for those grades.”

  “I did every bit of the work expected of everyone else in the classes I’ve taken.”

  “And with those impeccable grades I see you’ve also earned a sense of entitlement.”

  Her mouth opened in a shocked gasp, despite herself. “You don’t know me, Dr. Devereux.”

  “No, I don’t, but I’ve known other students. Do you know which ones impress me? The ones who have to pour their sweat and tears into earning a C. There are students here who have sacrificed everything and worked themselves to the bone trying to avoid academic expulsion. Your arrogance is an insult to them.”

  She could not believe she was standing there listening to this garbage. “Where do you get off insulting me? You’ve called me ignorant and arrogant and I’ve never said more than a few words to you.”

  “I said that you, like every other individual with free will, have the right to choose ignorance. The choice is yours, Sheilagh. If you’re intelligent, which I believe you are, make the educated decision to enlighten yourself, otherwise you are choosing ignorance over wisdom.”

  She wanted to choose to give him the finger. “I am not arrogant.”

  “No?” He eased forward and swooped up her essay, paging through it leisurely. Without looking at her, he asked, “What did you think of Gyges’ theory in Book II?”

  She shrugged. That was one of the least interesting books of The Republic.

  He raised a brow and speculated aloud, “Did you tell your peers about the asshole professor who dared to give you a D?”

  “No.”

  “Why? I wonder.”

  Mostly because she didn’t have peers. She lifted a shoulder with indifference. “Because I don’t care what others think.”

  “Ah. And when Gyges suggested that to give a man a ring granting them invisibility would only give them license to perform unjustly, did you agree with him?”

  “I guess.”

  “We all act differently when we assume others can’t see us. The issue, Ms. McCullough, is that I want to see into your mind.” He held out the essay. “You can’t hide behind words and ink. This isn’t a simple essay. I’m going to give this back to you to save you the outrage of what is likely no better than a C. Take off the invisibility ring and show me who you are.”

  Was he kidding? “You aren’t going to read it?”

  “Do you really want me to? Is this your best work?”

  Gritting her teeth, she snatched the essay out of his hand and turned to leave.

  “Have a lovely weekend, Ms. McCullough.”

  She couldn’t reply without cursing him out so she just kept walking.

  * * * *

  It took her a full week to rewrite the essay. The second draft went into the shredder and this time she really put her heart and soul into examining the theories of Plato and paralleling his philosophies with her own experiences.

  She wasn’t an open person. That didn’t mean that she was shy. She had a very outgoing personality, but she also kept her personal business to herself. The idea that she was expected to bare her innermost thoughts to some man who thought he was a supreme being didn’t sit right. This was philosophy, not confession.

  When she finished her essay she read over it several times, looking for any pitfalls Dr. Devereux might find. This was definitely an improvement from her first two attempts.

  She was surprised how quickly her opinion of her first efforts had changed. Fine, he had a point. She was capable of better, but accepting her imperfections gracefully was never a strong suit. She’d work on it. College was about growing. She just didn’t want to reach her freshman fifteen by filling up on humble pie.

  Sheilagh refused to let him belittle her efforts again without taking a decent look at her work. He’d drawn unfair conclusions about her based on her first essay and this was by far better. She dropped the essay off that following Friday, slipping it under his door and disappearing before he could say a word.

  When Tuesday’s class arrived, she found her essay sitting on her desk. Alec didn’t look at her as he conducted his lecture and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

  Taking a deep breath she turned page after page, again, not finding a single note in the text. When she reached the second to the last page she held her breath. As the page turned over, she spotted his scrawled comment.

  See me after class. D-

  It took everything she possessed not to scream and march out of his lecture. A fucking D-? This had to be some sort of a sick joke!

  She didn’t know what he was babbling about because she couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ears. As the rest of the class scribbled down lengthy pages of notes she stared daggers at Alec Devereux’s arrogant head.

  At one moment he caught her stare and his words seemed to falter. Good. However, he continued his statement with the same impenetrable ease he seemed to handle everything else. She really disliked this man.

  When class was over she decided to leave. She wasn’t sitting through another one of his bullshit theories.

  “Sheilagh?”

  She stilled. People were still exiting the room and when the last person left she turned. “What?”

  He carefully folded his arms over his chest. “I asked you to stay.”

  “Yeah, well I really don’t feel like listening to any more lectures at the moment.”

  He ignored her. “Which did you identify with, the guardians, auxiliaries, or the laborers?”

  She was so sick of this book. “What?”

  “Are you ruled by appetite, reason, or spirit?”

  “How should I know?”

  “It’s a simple question.
You’ve read the material several times at this point. I’d expect you to easily identify with one of the three. Are you driven by your biological desires? Is it honor that directs your spirit? Or are you ruled by your reason and control? I highly doubt it’s the latter.”

  She turned and marched down the steps that separated the desks and didn’t stop until she was in his face. “You know what you are? A hypocrite. You sit up there every day and teach with other men’s words. How about you, doctor? Which one are you? Why don’t you bare a little of your soul from behind that podium?”

  “I’m all three.”

  “You can’t be all three,” she argued.

  “Sure you can.” His voice was low and she had to lean closer to hear him. “My passion is what motivates me most, yet I’m honor bound to sometimes make difficult choices in order to act justly, and my reasoning for this helps me maintain control.”

  She growled. “You’re impossible! This essay is impossible. Your standards are impossible. I quit!”

  She turned and he said, “The idea is not whether or not it’s possible, the point is that it’s simply the ideal.”

  Baited, she pivoted and said, “So said Socrates in Book V.”

  “Very good, Sheilagh.”

  “Yeah, too bad I don’t care anymore.”

  His head tipped slightly to the left. “Why is that?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be changing your minor?”

  “What?” What did her focus have to do with him and his stupid essay?

  “To be a philosopher means to seek the ideal forms of things. If you don’t have this desire, I’m afraid you’ve selected the wrong field of study.”

  “Well, maybe I have.”

  She made it to the door when his words stopped her again. “Does that invisibility ring ever get cumbersome, Ms. McCullough?”