My Professor(3)

I’ve prepared a little speech and everything. My pithy elevator pitch will knock his socks off.

“There’s no way everyone in here is registered for this class,” Sonya says, turning around in her seat to look around the lecture hall.

I agree. “I got here twenty minutes early and the front half was already full.”

This course is a requirement for upper-division undergraduates within the school of architecture, but it’s also an option for other students who need an upper-division elective, like Sonya.

“Professor Barclay’s popularity knows no bounds,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Apparently.

It’s ten minutes past the start of class time. He should be here right now. In other classes, people would be complaining. Instead, it only seems to build the anticipation to a fever pitch until the side door of the auditorium opens and heads whip in that direction. A hush immediately falls over the crowd as the man of the hour walks in.

Slowly, like I’m stepping into a hot bath, a flush starts to creep up my body as I get my first good look at him.

I’m surprised, actually, to find that the rumors about him are true. In fact, they don’t do him justice.

He’s unlike any professor I’ve seen before. No tweed jacket. No 1970s handlebar mustache. No tire protruding around his middle. The man is…inappropriately good-looking.

Sonya leans into me and whispers, “God.”

He walks with long confident strides toward the podium in the center of the room, and I use the opportunity to catalogue every detail, even though I know I shouldn’t. From this distance, I can’t make out his eye color—a pity—but his hair is a warm brown, thick and styled to the advantage of his features. His sharp jaw is nearly obscene, especially paired with the cleft in his chin. All combined, it’s chiseled perfection on par with Mr. Superman himself.

I only realize as an afterthought that his dark heavy brows are furrowed with a look of annoyance as he drops his leather bag beside the podium and starts to log into the lecture hall’s computer. While he works, and without looking up at us, he begins to speak in a curt, impatient tone.

“I apologize for the late start. I’m Professor Barclay, and this is ARC 521, History and Philosophy of Historic Preservation. This course explores the values and ethics of preservation and urban conservation to set the framework for judgments and choices made in building projects. Our topics of study will include issues related to tradition and innovation, as well as various types of historic preservation such as private restoration, adaptive use, and conservation.”

He caps off his short summary with a sigh of frustration at the computer, which is taking its sweet time letting him log in. Giving up for the moment, he props his hands on the podium and leans toward the class, finally deigning to look up at us.

My breath arrests in my chest.

I swear we all collectively lean toward him.

“This course consists of three lecture hours a week. We’ll meet here at ten AM on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Though the details and framework of the course are outlined in your syllabus, which you may read on your own time, I want to be clear that your grade will be made up of three exams as well as one term paper. Each one is weighted an even twenty-five percent. I won’t take attendance. I won’t assign homework. Keep up with the reading or fall behind—it’s your choice.”

His computer finally allows him to log in, and he inserts a USB drive, finds the file he’s looking for, and opens his lecture slides. Then he begins.

“As many of you well know, historic preservation plays an important role in American society. Think of the Empire State Building, the White House, the Guggenheim—these are buildings known across the globe, and they form the bedrock of our nation’s identity. Why is it important to preserve them? How can we use historic buildings to better serve their surrounding communities? In this class, we’ll discover how we can use architectural conservation as a way to remember the past and lay the groundwork for a more sustainable future.”

He steps away from the podium and, using his remote to switch between slides, starts to run through a list of famous buildings. While doing this, he delves into a discussion of how buildings can act as talismans, transforming the space around us, converting a pile of stones into a sacred icon.

His lecture is so interesting that we make it fifteen minutes in before I realize I haven’t written down a single thing.

“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, and the students around me laugh at my apparently not-so-quiet curse.

I hurriedly try to jot down the last few pertinent points, and when I look back up, Professor Barclay has paused his lecture and is staring straight at me.

Blue, I realize now. His eyes are a glacial blue.

For a long aching moment, he keeps his gaze locked on me, and I don’t move a muscle.

Then slowly, he steps toward my section of seats, and my heart drops.

“Ms…” he begins, obviously wanting me to fill in my last name.

“Mercier,” I say, so quietly I have to repeat it again for him to hear me. “Mercier.”

It’s obvious his patience with me is dwindling as his gaze narrows gently.

“Ms. Mercier, unfortunately you’ll have to be my example for the class.” He sweeps his attention across the room. “We have a lot of ground to cover in a relatively short amount of time. Each week, we’ll work through a chapter of Mayer’s A Richer Heritage as well as Haywood’s Historical Preservation in America. If you want to disrupt class…if you want to waste my time…” He pauses to look back at me, and it feels like the floor is falling out from underneath my chair. “I suggest you save us all the trouble and stay home.”