Become

Raine's first game started in a few hours, and I typed the last sentence of an essay that wasn't due for another week, a cigarette clutched between my lips. It wasn't often that I had the dorm room all to myself, and my sister Penny sat on my bed to keep me company and to ensure I made it to the game on time. It wasn't the right season for soccer, but some of the colleges liked to scrimmage during the off-season to help out new players.

"College suits you," she commented as she watched the printer spit out my essay. "How much homework do you have left?"

"None," I answered and closed my laptop. "It's Friday, and I like to enjoy my weekends." It seemed obvious to me to finish my homework during the week so I could be free to do whatever I wished over the weekend. Sometimes the lack of logic in the world baffled me.

"If only it were that simple," Penny sighed, and I spun in my chair to give her a flat look.

"It is simple, but that doesn't make it easy," I corrected. "Discipline isn't a common trait found in college students. Let's go; I want good seats." I pulled open the top drawer of my desk to retrieve my gloves and stuffed them in my coat pocket with my phone.

"I'll walk with you, but my friends are already there and waiting for me," she said, and I scowled for a moment before catching myself. Raine was the only friend I had made, and while I got along just fine with Mr. Arthur, I didn't think being a teacher's favorite meant we were friends. Penny wouldn't mind if I sat with her, but it would be the equivalent of rubbing my forehead against a cheese grater dealing with her poor friend choices.

After we reached the stadium, I waved goodbye to my sister and hugged my jacket tightly against the cold, scanning the bleachers with distaste. First of all, they were made of metal, which meant it would be freezing, even with my coat, sweatshirt, gloves, fur boots and scarf. Secondly, I underestimated the dedication of students to sports. Few open spaces showed between the groups of chummy students, laughing and talking incessantly. For a moment, I considered leaving, but then the soccer players came out and Raine waved at me enthusiastically before joining in warm-ups. Well, crap. I waved back with a grin and stomped up the nearest set of steps in search of a place to sit.

"Where are your friends, Vivi?" I stopped and looked to my left. Mr. Arthur, or John as I was allowed to call him, sat alone. He wore just as many coats as I did, maybe more, and held a paper cup of coffee in his gloved hands.

"Have you met me? I don't have friends," I answered wryly, and obeyed when he patted the empty space next to him. It wasn't a half bad spot. "So, do you like soccer?" I asked, and he scoffed and rolled his eyes. He handed me the mostly full, still hot coffee.

"Here, have this one, I'll buy another," he said and stood. "It's called football, and yes I do enjoy it every now and again. Save my seat for me?" It was a hazelnut macchiato. I wasn't turning that down, even if it did have traces of John's lip balm on it. He seemed well groomed enough, so I wasn't worried about catching anything.

"Absolutely not." We shared small smiles and John chuckled and shook his head as he trotted down the steps. Of all people, he understood my humor. Maybe John really was one of my friends. He returned as soon as the game started, his new coffee steaming in the cold.

"How are you enjoying your classes?" John asked, his eyes locked on the field and following the players as they ran back and forth.

"They're okay," I answered, picking out Raine's number four jersey and watching her. "Dreadfully easy. Theater is the best, obviously."

"You're talented, I think you'll go far," he said matter-of-factly, and then shouted at the top of his lungs, "Oh, come on! Just take the bloody ball from her!"

"Thanks," I said, smirking at him. "Why did you leave London? Surely it's a much better place than...Boston." He turned to me, half-smiling and raising his eyebrows skeptically.

"It's all perspective," he explained. "I grew up in London, I moved out from my parents' house in London to an apartment in London, so I could act professionally in theater in London. I wanted a change of scenery."

"And you didn't join a different theater company because...?"

"It's complicated," he said vaguely, and I saw his right eye scrunch up a little and his lips pursed. He brought his coffee to his mouth and didn't elaborate further. That meant only one thing, and it probably had a lot to do with his bare left ring finger.

"Women usually are," I said conversationally, and he nearly choked on his coffee. "Really, though. They're assholes."

"You talk as if you aren't one," he said with an amused smile.

"By popular vote, I'm a machine with no emotions and no heart," I said, smirking. "I think my classmates would agree with my family's deduction."

"I know I don't matter, but I completely disagree," he said, and I laughed softly. "You can't call someone a machine just because you don't understand her. Which one is your friend?"

"She's, uh, number four," I answered, and hid my face behind my coffee. You can't call someone a machine just because you don't understand her. "Apparently she fought tooth and nail for it. Goalies are usually higher numbers."

John noticed my sudden change of tone, and looked away from the field for a period of time to measure me with his pale eyes. I pretended to ignore him and stayed silent until my coffee was almost gone. No one said nice things to me, usually because I never had anything nice to say back, and it threw me off. His expression changed as if he had a sudden thought.

"Would you like to go and see a play?" he asked suddenly. "With me, obviously. I get the feeling you don't get out much and a play would be a perfectly good reason to leave the dormitory." My first reaction was to perk up and tell him I'd love to go, but what I said was completely different.

"Isn't there some kind of rule that prohibits students and teachers attending events together outside of school?" I asked, but John shot me a mischievous look.

"Isn't this a non-smoking campus?"

"Touché, Mr. Arthur," I said, and drained the rest of the coffee from the paper cup in my hand. "I would love to go. What are we seeing?"

""A Midsummer's Night Dream"," he answered, and procured two tickets from his deep coat pocket. "As I'm sure you've already guessed, a woman decided she wasn't going to fly to Boston to visit me. A more attentive, emotionally available man took my place, and not to mention he has a successful acting career."

"You have a successful acting career, we just need to get you back at it," I pointed out, and he looked down bashfully. "Don't be embarrassed; I looked you up before coming to this university and you are an incredible actor. I won't be satisfied until I see you back on the stage where you belong."

"Please, you're too kind," he said, holding up a hand. "I can hardly compete these days."

"Don't underestimate yourself, John," I argued. "And definitely don't underestimate me. I always get what I want."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he laughed, and nudged my shoulder. "But really, I have no desire to return to theater. I enjoy leading students like you to their dreams more than following an old, dead one of mine."

"We'll just see about that," I muttered, more to myself than to him. YouTube held a considerable amount of footage featuring John Arthur, and he was nothing short of phenomenal. According to every article I could get my hands on, he left very suddenly and he didn't send out a press release telling his reasons. A gap of about six years passed before an announcement in the local paper said he took a position at Boston University.

The game started to get interesting about halfway through, and both of our attentions were drawn to the field. Raine blocked every ball that tried to go into her net. I could see why she received a full-ride to play soccer. Her team ended up winning three to nothing, and I went out to the field to receive a big, sweaty hug.

"I can't believe you left the dorm," Raine teased, and gave me another one-armed hug before rejoining her team. I let her go and turned around to start walking in the direction of the dormitories, lighting a cigarette and taking a long puff. Someone drew up to my left and lit a cigarette of his own.

"I'll walk you back," Mr. Arthur said, mimicking the way I held my cigarette and buried my other hand into my coat pocket. We walked in silence until most of the students had dispersed to various parties, and we passed a house where my sisters Blaire and Chloe waved from the porch.

"Viviana London, get your ass into this house and drink right now!" Chloe shouted, her red Solo cup swaying dangerously.

"No thanks, Chloe," I called back. "Sorry. My sisters are...something else." They shouted my name until we rounded the corner and were out of sight.

"You don't have to be responsible because a professor is with you," John said, stopping to put out his cigarette and squish it.

"I don't want to chance someone drugging me," I replied, staring forward and lighting another cigarette. John was making me nervous by being so kind. "People would find it hilarious to see me out of my element."

"You are awfully thoughtful for someone so young," he said with a touch of wonder in his voice. "Are you sure you're only eighteen?"

"Ugh," I scoffed. "I hate that number. I can't wait to have a gray hair. Maybe then people will stop judging me by my face and start judging me by my mind. I am not a child."

"I know, it's incredible," he said, and embarrassed me into silence again. Two times in one night I was quieted by the compliments of a man. A successful, attractive man who held the same interests claimed to understand me and thought I was incredible. Surely something was wrong with him. I couldn't bring myself to speak again until we reached my dorm building.

"I'm going to go drink and play my piano," I announced, and started walking to the door, but I stopped. "It's late, so if you don't want to join me tonight, feel free to stop by any time."

"Thank you, but drinking and grading papers wait for me at home," he replied, and held up a hand. "Good night, Vivi."

"Good night, John."

The blankness that filled my mind until I reached my room felt strange. Never, ever was I at a loss for words, or a witty comment, or even a snarky thought. I didn't realize how vastly inappropriate it was to invite my professor to my bedroom to drink until the memory dredged itself to the forefront of my mind. I played my piano and drank bourbon until the sun rose, hoping to drown out any other thoughts that would surely plunge me into the depths of embarrassment and shame.