Thanks for reading – I hope that you enjoy the story! If you like this, you could also check out my earlier stories, Connections and Peter's Story. The plan is to publish a new chapter each month. Let me know if you'd like to be put on the mailing list.
The building was one of the classic old classroom structures that the campus was famous for, with the wood paneling, ancient glass globe lights and stone floors of its classrooms creating a great stage for the performances of both teachers and students. Scanning the chamber for empty places, the two undergraduate girls took seats at the front corner of the cavernous space, near the largely unused carved oak lectern. Their perches were away from the main entrance door but within clear viewing distance of where most of the students were slowly trickling into that first class of the semester. Both saw themselves as eager young scholars and enjoyed sitting at the front of the class so that they could better participate.
Their positioning was also an advantage if the class had a male professor or guest lecturer and he was especially attractive. No harm in mixing business with pleasure, they told themselves. This class being a fairly advanced seminar on the finer points of constitutional law for non-lawyers, however, they resigned themselves to a semester of brilliant nerds.
With low expectation on the stud front, it wasn't intentional that they had arrived early for this first class, but it did give them the opportunity to at least check out the guys as they came into the room. As there was also a back door to this particular room, they slightly rotated their chairs to make sure that they didn't miss any opportunities.
"How about that one?"
"Hmmm...a little mousy. Looks like he's staying up too late studying for his LSATs" her friend replied, as they both giggled. "Be nice, though. We may need him for our study group."
"Yes, at least we'll be able to focus. No distractions," the second one replied as they pressed their lips together to stifle their laughs.
This went on for the next five minutes, as they gradually evolved a numbers rating system for the guys coming into the room. Ten was the ultimate hottie, and zero was, well, the opposite. Their speech lost almost all sentence structure and was reduced to only numbers and a few adjectives and nouns.
"Wow...seven."
"Hmmm...a little short...6, maybe..."
"Four."
"Three-and-a-half, maybe four"
"Seven-and-a-half."
"Five."
"Five! The other retorted. Jeeze, you're hard to please today."
"I know, I know! Maybe I just need lunch!" she replied as they both laughed again before resuming their game.
"One."
"If that!"
"Whoa...!" They both said at once as a tall, definitely athletic guy came in the door. He was almost 6'3", with solid wide shoulders and neatly combed brown hair. He seemed oblivious to the stares of the girls. But it wasn't just his appearance that got their attention.
"Do you know who that is?" the first girl asked.
"I sure do!" he friend whispered.
"God, he's even better looking in person. What a hunk!"
"Well, don't get yourself too excited. You know what the whole package is with him and his family."
"Don't remind me. Like I think his Dad might be the most reactionary billionaire in the country. And his Mom..."
"Stepmom," the other corrected.
"Oh yeah, the stepmom, the publisher. She's even worse, if you could imagine it. She rivals Rupert Murdoch for peddling trash."
"So what's the word? What's he like?"
"Kind of aloof, from what I gather. Not real outgoing, even though he's a jock. Lu Chen was in a class with him in some kind of political science seminar. "
"His Dad could probably teach that class, or at least the right-wing version of it."
"I'm surprised he can get out alive at a liberal campus like this."
"Yeah, Lu said it got kind of tense at times. People used to bait him, but she said he seemed to slough it off, or just ignore them."
"Probably an expert in that area, being from that clan," the other replied. "But in the meantime, you should stop staring," she commented nonchalantly, redirecting her attention to the front of the room, a sly smirk on her face.
"Me!" her friend shot back, rolling her eyes. "Don't think that no one notices that hand playing between your thighs."
While the girls were trying to stifle their laughs, the professor and someone who looked like a grad student had entered the room and were huddled around the desk at the front of the class.
"So, the dude with Professor Kliner up there, who is he?" the first girl asked as she studied the new guy. He was in profile to her as he bent over the desk making a last, quick scan of his notes.
"I don't know...but looks like he's in nice shape. Cute butt. Slim, but not skinny. Nice face. Really cute, actually, at least from here. And a real, clear, prominent Adam's Apple. I like a guy with that. I always think that means a lean, hot body."
"What!?"
"Just a theory. But that really does mean not too much body fat."
"Well, I'll take your word for that," her friend replied. "It really sounds scientific. You know, I've always said you should be pre-med," she continued, again almost laughing out loud.
"But he's certainly closing in on ten."
"I will give you that, I agree! And ..." She was just about to continue when professor called the class to attention.
"Okay, everyone. We'd like to get started now, so please turn off, down, or whatever you need to do to your phones as we'd like have an uninterrupted class, or as near a facsimile as possible," she ordered. There were a few chuckles but mostly the sound of chairs and backpacks shuffling along the floor as the students refocused themselves to the task at hand.
"Oh my gosh," the one girl whispered as the visitor lifted his face from the desk to look back at the class.
They now had a complete view of his face. And it shocked them both.
The side that they didn't see, the one that was earlier tuned toward away from the rows of seats, was badly scarred. It looked like skin grafts or scars from some horrible accident. An explosion, fire, who knew. But whatever it was, they were both jarred by the contrast.
They just looked at one and other and sighed. "Wow. I didn't expect that," the one girl said.
"Me neither."
Going over of the logistics of their section for the coming semester, including basic content, outline, and of course, evaluations, the prof also explained that she would be inviting in specialists to give other viewpoints and perspectives and that today would be the first of those visits.
"I'd like to introduce you all to Mickey Deringer. He's a second year law student, and has a special interest and expertise in constitutional law. And since we'll be studying some of the milestones of Supreme Court decisions as they affect our main focus on political history, Mickey will be a resource for us today and will speak about the constitution."
"But I don't give tests and I don't have any input on your grades," he interjected, getting a few nervous laughs out of the class. He didn't directly address his obvious condition, as it never seemed to help as a way to put people at ease. All he could do was be himself and do the best job he could. There was nothing he could about the other stuff.
The professor smiled. "That's right, you are all completely at my mercy. Thanks for clarifying that point, Mickey," she added.
"To tell you more about him, Mickey isn't just any law student. He is one of the top scholars in his class and was even nominated to edit the law review, so we're all privileged to have him here,"
"Hey, don't raise the bar too high!" he pleaded as he playfully scowled at her, getting a few more laughs out of the class. Even Drew Patterson, who seemed to have inherited some of his father's famous reserve, smiled.
Although the presentation from Mickey was meant to be more of a lecture, his style was to be as interactive with class as possible. Starting with the private writings of some of the authors of the constitution, he compared and contrasted their views with examples of how a few of the more important issues were actually interpreted over the years and then asked the class what they thought.
As the class went on, many the students spoke up and used the opportunity to do just what Mickey had hoped, to participate in discussions and present a range of viewpoints that could be dissected and discussed. But for some of the more outspoken members of the class, however, any answer was just an opportunity to reference or make attacks on Drew and his family.
"I wonder what James Madison and Thomas Jefferson would think about the current influence of the wealthy and their retainers in determining who runs the country. What do you think?" one of them asked Mickey. It was the most tangential reference possible to what he actually was trying to get them to talk about.
"I wouldn't necessarily say that," he replied, "and, while an important issue in its own right that needs to be addressed, I certainly can't see where that would be relevant to anything that we've discussed about the musings of Jefferson and Madison that we're focused on here."
Ignoring the controversial nature of the earlier speaker, Drew raised a point about some of the personal letters between the writers, especially between John Adams and Jefferson.
"That's a really good point you've raised," Mickey responded. Besides his relief the Drew didn't go for the bait and distract the discussion, he was impressed by the insight of the remark.
But the original provocateur wouldn't be denied.
"I, for one, am not surprised at the ability to focus on such fine points by those who have an interest in protecting the status quo," he declared. "It always serves their purposes to distract from the more important discussion that we need to have."
"And those discussion need to be informed and intelligent to be worthwhile," Mickey interjected, "and the purpose of this class, or the what I was lead to believe was the purpose of this class, was to dig into that background so the we can all have a little bit better understanding of over two hundred years of judicial history before we declare what each of us believes or doesn't believe."
It went on like this for the next half hour, with the more hostile members of the class periodically trying to turn the class into a mock trial. What was surprising to Mickey was that Drew seemed almost more annoyed by his few supposed defenders than by the presumed ideological adversaries. He visibly winced when one of them talked about the high-minded virtues of the more affluent founding fathers and how that translated to today, but again didn't respond directly.
And the growing contentious atmosphere was reinforced by the din of banging drums and shouts outside.
Because of a local labor dispute, there was a nearby march on the city streets to protest working conditions at a local gun factory, which happened to be owned by a subsidiary of one of the Patterson family companies. The target of the chants was not only the local management, but also the distant masters of the enterprise.
"Hang them all!" some of mob shouted. They were mostly from a well-known anarchist group that often infiltrated these demonstrations and didn't have patience for the peaceful approach.
Even though it was an Ivy League school, it was right in the heart of a former New England mill town so there was no way of getting away from the social rumblings of urban America. It was a new taste for many of the students from more sheltered environments, but a not an unfitting compliment to the class discussion, at least if it remained peaceful.
"Could one of you guys shut those windows, please," Mickey asked, as he saw some of the students on the street side of the room craning their necks to get a better look.
"Maybe we should leave it open," one of the students said, "It's just the right background for the kind of discussion that we should be having here."
"Like I said, there's definitely a place for that discussion," Mickey responded, "and I'd really like to participate in it, but it's not what the people in this class signed up for and not what we need to accomplish here today."
The challenger sat back in his chair, resigned, but not about to give in. "I thought someone like yourself were be more sympathetic to those dispossessed people outside. After all, you have a disability yourself. I'm just surprised."
Turning red and gritting her teeth, the professor was just about to get out of her seat before Mickey looked at her and silently mouthed, `I'm OK.' It wasn't the first remark that he'd ever heard about his face and far from the meanest, but it was certainly the first in a classroom setting.
He cleared his throat, a nervous reaction that also gave him a second to collect his thoughts. In front of a captive audience was about the last place in the world he wanted to address something like this, which was a lot more painful to him than any of them could imagine. For a moment there wasn't a sound in the class except for the distant beat of the drums and chants.
"Whatever my situation is, and frankly, I'm the only one who it concerns and no one else, the principles of this discussion are still the same and the goals of this class are still the same. Both have a purpose, and sometimes even the conclusions that I draw from them or not necessarily in my interest. But I'd like to think that the process we go through always reflect principles that I live by and that we all live by in order to get along. That's all I'm going to say about this. And now we're going to return to the subject at hand."
As he spoke he didn't take notice of any of the many faces intently looking at him, except for Drew Patterson. That guy didn't say a word, of course, but even his silence could not have been mistaken for anything but rage and embarrassment. His face turned red and Mickey could almost hear the teeth grinding.
Professor Kliner was still mortified, but in the end, decided that Mickey's approach was the right one and let the class move on.
It was awkward for the next few minutes, of course, but the class seemed to stumble back to some semblance of a normal discussion, though not without some periodic rumblings of the more radical side. In spite of his controversial position, Drew continued to participate and was one of the anchors of the return to normality. And before anyone knew it the two hours were up.
"I want to thank you all for this great discussion, and especially for Mickey, for his time...and patience," she said, not being able to control her own sarcasm in the light of the earlier remarks. "We'll be back again next on Thursday and in the meantime please read the original letters that Mickey referenced in his talk," she ordered amongst the noise of scraping chairs and shuffling backpacks.
"Hey Mickey, I'm really sorry about that guys comment. I can't believe how out of line it was," she was finally able to say as she turned toward him.
"No worries, there's nothing you could have done about it. Even at schools like this," he said, as he pulled on his own backpack, "You get all kinds of people. Anyway, thanks for inviting me. I really like talking about this stuff and I hope that they all got something out of it."
"I'm sure they did learn something. Especially at the end, I think that they were really getting engaged. And they learned about some other things, too." she added, putting her arm on his shoulder and squeezing.
"Well, thanks, again. Just call if you need me to do a remedial course," he said before he headed out of the classroom on his way to the library.
Mickey could still feel the beat of more protest drums as he walked through the hallway and down to the exit stair. As he got to the bottom landing he heard what sounded like the parting shot at the end of some argument.
"You got it, dickhead? If you want to attack me, or my Dad, go right ahead. I can take it, and believe me, I can dish it out, too. But that was mean and nasty and stupid what you said to that Mickey guy. You should apologize to him. But whether you do or not, that's your problem. But leave him out of it."
"Hey man, just chill, Okay. You're too fuckin' serious!" The guy shot back, but with only a fraction of the force of Drew's voice.
He wasn't exactly sure where the sounds were coming from. The walls of the old building had lots of stone surfaces and echoes were everywhere. Ever since he had arrived on campus for law school he had thought that the reverberations inside these old building were part of the charm of the place. But that charm was pretty incongruent with the testiness of the exchange he had just heard.
Suddenly, just as he was about to turn into the main corridor, someone came rushing out of one of the classrooms and almost hit him head-on.
"Whoa!" Mickey yelled out.
It wasn't a hard hit, but it sure was a surprise. In the past, he always blamed himself for these mishaps, as, like now, he was often daydreaming or not focusing on what he was doing. With an apology on the tip of his tongue, he looked at the other guy – and it was Drew.
"Oh, jeez, sorry," Mickey said as put his hand in the air and quickly backed off. "I guess I was just barreling through here, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going." Even though he had just barely grazed him, Mickey had a tingling feeling in his arm.
"No, no! It's my fault! I just blowing out of that room without even looking." Drew replied. "Did I hurt you?
"No problem, I'm fine, I'm good. But thanks for asking. What about you?"
"I'm good, no serious damage, I think."
Being this close, Mickey realized that their eyes were at almost exactly the same level. Drew's plaid shirt, which seemed to be pretty nicely filled out, was unbuttoned, but a crew neck t-shirt allowed only a few curls of chest hair to peak over the collar.
Oh, man!' he thought to himself, I can't get a boner for Drew Patterson. His family members finance some of the biggest homophobes around, and he and his dad are such jocks,' Mickey thought to himself.
He was jarred back to reality when he heard Drew say something.
"You're sure you're all right?" Drew asked again.
"Oh, yeah...sorry, it was a just...kind of...' He was going to say `stressd,' which is what he really wanted to say. But he didn't want to directly bring up what happened in the class.
"...absent minded on my part. I've got to get some other work to get done tonight and just got a bit distracted, that's all. But thanks for asking."
"Oh, Okay, as long as it's nothing serious," Drew responded, although not in a way that Mickey thought was convincing. But whatever he thought, Drew thankfully didn't press him about it.
"Hey, are you headed out this way," Drew asked, his head nodding toward the north exit on the street side of the building."
"Yeah, I can head in that direction, too. Lead the way," he responded as he gestured with his hand for Drew to walk first. Actually, the more direct route for him was at the other end of the corridor. Plus he had some concern about the continuing street demonstration and would have preferred to go the other way to avoid any confrontations. But from the overheard conversation and his still angry complexion he could tell that Drew himself was also pretty tensed up. Maybe it could do them both some good to chat a bit before they headed off to wherever each was going.
As they opened the doors, the noise from the demonstration became exponentially louder. The ancient wooden panels were thick and heavy, with tiny leaded glass windows and were almost too good at insulating the sound. When Drew and Mickey came out of the doors it was like they had gone from a cloister to a football stadium, especially with the now almost numbing volume of noise from the demonstration.
"Well, before we can't hear each other, I guess I should formally introduce myself. I'm sure you know my name, but just so I can remind myself of who I am, I'm Mickey Deringer." Mickey almost shouted as he reached out his hand.
"Drew Patterson," he responded as he chuckled at Mickey's comment and shook his hand.
Drew's grip was very firm and confident, as Mickey learned to expect from people who grew up in affluent families, where learning business protocol was taught in the home before unknowing peers ever even knew it existed. But his large hand was surprisingly moist, like he was nervous or anxious. Probably because of the verbal altercation that he had overheard, he thought, though Drew didn't mention anything about it.
"By the way, Mickey, I thought that you did a great job in there. You were really clear, and I liked the way that you tried to draw everyone into the conversation." With the continuing chants and drums pulsating from the demonstration, he practically had to yell to be heard.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," Mickey responded. "I think I almost did too good of a job. Maybe everyone didn't necessarily need to participate." After the words got out of his mouth he regretted even obliquely referring to the obnoxious comments. But it drew another laugh from Drew.
"You can never predict how these things will go and what people will come up with, you know. People say what they want to say. But you have to give them a chance, and you did."
As Drew was speaking, Mickey detected movement coming toward them out of the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw that a group had broken away from the demonstration and was clearly marching in their direction.
"Hey, it's `The Man!'" one of them yelled out. "Hey Patterson, why don't you use some of your billions to take care of all the people that your old man is throwing into the street!"
Mickey turned to Drew, "You'd better get going! They don't look too friendly."
Before he could say anything else, he felt a sharp pain on the side of his face, like he'd gotten hit with a pellet or piece of gravel. It was the injured side which didn't have as much feeling as his good side, but he still felt a sting none the less.
Then he saw an egg fly by Drew's face. "Get out of here! There's no time to talk about this!" Mickey ordered.
"Yeah, but you can't stay here either," Drew replied, roughly putting his hand on Mickeys' shoulder to push him behind Drew's own body and away from the hostile crowd as they quickly moved away.
Mickey noticed a couple of riot control police in the distance, running toward them. But the breakaway group was a lot closer.
"Hey, you don't need to..." Suddenly, Mickey saw a guy coming at them from the opposite direction of the crowd. This guy somehow did an end-around the mob and was on a collision course, his mouth wide open in a loud, primal scream. Mickey knew that Drew was looking back at the crowd behind them and was about to get blindsided.
Without thinking, he pushed Drew away just in time, but it left him right in the path of the charging bull.
Quickly turning around after he felt the shove, Drew had no time to react as he saw the huge monster crash into Mickey.
"BAM!"