The Broken Web

An English professor gives Eleanor a book she's read many times before, and Vanessa knows what she wants in a guy...or thinks she does.

             “The grading is simple,” Dr. Varner says, “There will be three writing assignments, each twenty percent each, where you will use news articles to support a thesis.” I hear a sharp intake of breath from farther down the conference table, and the girl sitting across from me grimaces as she turns the page of the syllabus. “The remaining forty percent is a final project where you will write your own news article following the techniques and guidelines laid down in this class.”

                  The boy next to me taps his pen on a drop/add form. Dr. Varner removes her glasses, looking up from her copy of the syllabus. Her short blonde hair slopes from her head like a rooftop. “Class will be cancelled often. This is essentially an independent study course, and you will be responsible for keeping up with your work. I will be available during my office hours and through email for help...any questions?” She waits several moments, then says, “Class dismissed. Have a great term!”

                  The class is sluggish to leave. Bags zip up slowly as each person waits for someone else to go out the door first. The moment I leave the table, ten other people stand up.

                  I walk through the empty corridor to my next class. There are holes in the carpet and the paint is peeling. A few of the fluorescent lights are out. I glance into the classroom windows"not many classes meet this early in the morning, and those that do have few students.

                  I get to Dr. Tawney’s class early, and the only other person in the room is a girl in a sleeping bag in the middle of the floor, black shoulder-length hair fallen over her face. Her book bag lies open on the floor, some of the textbooks sliding out. An alarm clock is on its side by her head, and she clutches an old, stuffed lamb in her sleep. I take my seat without waking her and turn to the first page of Plato’s Republic.

                  Twenty minutes before class starts, another student comes in. He’s wearing a suit and tie, and it is only his walk that shows that he is not a teacher. He opens his briefcase on a desk and removes his notebook and pen. Then, strutting with his hands in his pockets and whistling a lively tune, he comes to the girl in the sleeping bag and takes the stuffed animal from her grip. Immediately, she jolts awake and sees him dangling the lamb above her, just out of reach.

                  “Damn it, leave me alone!” She pulls herself out of her bag and we see that her pajamas are old and ragged.

                  “Nina, I’m surprised you’re wearing clothes!”

                  “Give that back, you little f****t!”

                  They are posed in some odd duel, Nina repeatedly lunging for the lamb, but he yanks it away every time. Finally, he throws it on the floor and she snatches it up.

                  “What are you doing sleeping in here anyway?” he laughs.

                  “I’ve already taken this course once. I can never get up for nine-thirties, but I simply cannot miss any classes this semester.” She gathers her sleeping bag in her arms and dumps it in a less visible corner of the room. Her alarm clock goes off, and she hits it with her palm until it stops.

                  “Really? I thought you couldn’t afford real housing.”

                  She throws her clock at him and barely misses. The smirk disappears from his face for a mere second, and then he laughs at her. “You’re making yourself look bad,” Nina says.

                  “What?” For the first time, he notices that I’m sitting here, trying to read my book. He takes a seat next to me and holds out his hand. “Hey, I’m Demetri Fowler.”

                  His handshake is firm and professional. “Vanessa Arnold.”

                  “Really? I interned for your dad this summer!”

                  “So you did.”

                  “Yeah, he talks about you a lot. Are you trying out for the swim team?”

                  “Thinking about it.”

                  “You should. The women’s coach is great.”

                  “I’ve heard.”

                  Demetri looks at the clock. It’s exactly nine-thirty eight. He shoots up from his seat. “I’d love to continue this conversation,” he says with a wink, “Just a minute.” He opens the classroom door wide and bows as Dr. Tawney walks in.

                  Dr. Tawney is a rotund man with sparse, gray hair and a flabby, pock-marked face and dark, beady eyes. He’s wearing a tweed suit and strong cologne, and he has a briefcase identical to Demetri’s. “Good morning, Mr. Fowler,” he grunts with approval.

                  “Good morning, Dr. Tawney. I rearranged my schedule just so I could get into this class. I just couldn’t resist the…intense lure…of the greatest political thinkers of all time! With your unique twist on the subject, sir.”

                  Nina mumbles, “Brown-noser.”

                  Dr. Tawney waddles to Nina's seat, and Nina clasps her hands in her lap, her eyes averted. “Miss Buncombe…nice to have you in my class.” He smiles, revealing tobacco stained teeth. “Again.”

                  “It’s great to be here, Dr. Tawney,” Nina mumbles.

                  He turns away, piercing eyes lingering on her for a moment. “Ah,” he says. “Here is someone I haven’t seen before.”

                  I mark the page in my book and set it aside. “I’m Vanessa Arnold. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Tawney.”

                  “Miss Arnold, I see you’re getting ahead of the class?”

                  “I couldn’t help it. Plato is just that interesting, sir.”

                  I catch Nina giving me a wink.

                  “You don’t know how to read Plato yet.” Dr. Tawney shakes a finger at me.

                  “I’m sorry, sir. I had briefly forgotten that there are different ways to read literature.”

                  “In this class, we don’t start reading a piece until we know the necessary background information.”

                  “I know some background, sir. Didn’t Plato write this during the reign of tyrants? It’s a bit of a slap in the face"at the time this book was written, all of these characters would have been executed for the ideas they’re sharing here.”

                  He purses his lips. Demetri smiles as broadly as he can. “I haven’t even cracked the book open, sir! I’m waiting on your instructions!”

                  Dr. Tawney walks to the front of the room and opens his briefcase on the table. “Miss Buncombe, would you move to the front row with Mr. Fowler and Miss Arnold?”

                  Her eyes wide, Nina grabs her bag and takes a seat next to me. She looks at the clock. It’s ten minutes after class was supposed to start. “Is this…is this all of us?”

                  “There are only three students on the roster so far.” Dr. Tawney hands us each a syllabus and stands behind the podium. He speaks as though the room is full of thirty students. “You are all in Political Science 103: Political Thought, and I’m Dr. Richard Tawney. Over the next few months, we will be studying selected works from modern and ancient political thinkers. Miss Arnold…I believe I just said something about reading ahead.”

                  I turn the syllabus page back.

                  “Your entire grade in this class is based on ten response papers, each counting ten percent. Each response paper must be five to seven pages long. Your first one is due this Friday. Miss Buncombe, you would be wise not to reuse the papers you wrote last semester.”

                  Dr. Tawney spends the next forty minutes explaining The Republic’s historical setting. I already know this information from high school. We leave eight minutes late, and Nina gives me a light punch in the arm before we part ways.

                  “How’s it going?” Schwartz says. He has been sitting outside the door, playing a game on his laptop.

                  “You found me.”

                  “I hacked into the administration system to get your class schedule. Did you know that you’re the only Eleanor on campus?”

                  “Have you fixed my car?”

                  “I sent you an email about it.” He hands me his laptop, open to the campus email login.

                  “Why can’t you tell me right now?”

                  Schwartz grimaces. “I can’t remember what I wrote.”

                  The pot smell lingers on him. “Can you open your outbox?” Schwartz types away into his computer.

                  “Hey, you emailed me back…man, you sound like you were angry.”

                  Schwartz reads the message, shoulders drooping.

                  “What did I say?” I ask.

                  He clears his throat. “’Schwartz, I never want to see you again. You’re a nasty pothead and a real big creep. Please stay away from my dorm. You smell bad. Sincerely, Eleanor Reed.’”

                  My cover is blown. I take a seat next to Schwartz, who looks ready to cry. “I did not write that.”

                  “Seriously?”

                  “Yeah, Vanessa and I switched identities before we came here so we could pursue our majors. We switched our email accounts as well. Don’t tell anyone.”

                  “Dude, you can trust me. I do that all the time.”

                  “Switch identities?”

                  “What’s that? Wait…what are we talking about?”

                  I believe I can trust Schwartz on this matter. “From now on, if you want to send me something, send it to Vanessa Arnold. Write that down.”

                  He types it into his computer. “Well, what I was saying in my email is…I’ve got myself a hiding place in the old chapel. Your car is parked behind the building. I’ve ordered the part I need, and it should be here in two weeks.” He hands me the laptop. “Do you want to check yours? The neonet connection in here is a little shaky, but it’ll load eventually.” I receive the laptop from him and wait for my inbox to load. “How are classes?” he says.

                  “All right. I think Dr. Tawney’s watch is eight minutes slow.”

                  “That sucks. At least it gives me more time to get here from the computer science building, right?

                  I quickly browse through the messages and delete most of them, but I read the one from Dr. Nix:

 

Dear Students,

                  I’m very sorry. The reading list provided by the bookstore is completely wrong. Here is the correct list in the order that we will be reading them: The Broken Web by Walter Reed, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, A Shade Apart by Pamela Thompson, and Little Man, What Now? by Hans Fallada. I won’t expect you to have all of these until the bookstore gets them in. Enjoy your first day of classes, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!"All Good Things, Dr. Viola Nix

 

                  “You know, there’s this dance Friday…”

                  I hand the laptop back to Schwartz. “I need to go see Dr. Nix.”

                  He frowns. “What for?”

                  “One of the books on her reading list is hard to get hold of.”

                  “Will you be back?”

                  I stand up and swing my bag over my shoulder. “I don’t know. I have a class in less than an hour.”

                  The English department is a ring of offices at the far end of the neighboring building. No one is in the hallway except for a student asleep on the floor against his book bag. I walk around the department until I see a paper sign by a door that says, “V. Nix.” The door is open, and I see her inside, unpacking moving boxes full of books. She is a tiny woman in her late sixties, but her arms are still strong and nimble, easily lifting hefty stacks of books and binders.

                  I knock on the door, and her face lights up. “Please come in! How are you? Would you like some sweet tea?”

                  “No, thank you.” I step inside. “My name is Vanessa Arnold, and I’m in your ten o’ clock class on Tuesday and Thursday…”

                  She takes my hand firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Vanessa. Is there anything I can help you with?”

                  I can feel my lips form an involuntary smile. “I was wondering about the reading list. The Broken Web is only available on the black market. I don’t think the bookstore will stock it.”

                  “Oh, that is a problem. I might have to go out there myself and buy a copy for each student. I don’t mind at all!” she laughs, “It’s worth it. Actually, I may have several copies here already.” She rummages through one of the boxes and finds a heavily used copy of The Broken Web. “This is my favorite book!”

                  “Yes, I’ve read it.”

                  Dr. Nix’s face brightens even more. “Have you really?”

                  “I had Mr. Reed sign my copy, but I’m afraid I’ve lost it.” Wordlessly, she puts her book in my hand. “Dr. Nix…I can’t accept this.”

                  “Take it for the semester, then. It’s not every day I meet a Walter Reed fan! You are very special, Vanessa. It’s such a pity he was in Charleston…it’s a pity for everyone else living there…but Mr. Reed was a very nice man.”

                  “You met him?”

                  “Yes, he made a few visits to the USC English department"that’s where I’ve been working these past twenty years"and he has some devoted readers there. Did you know that everything he writes about is drawn from his own personal experiences? All that mafia business, book smuggling, and his wife’s suicide really happened.”

                  She seems happily lost in her own medium, but suddenly, she c***s her head and furrows her brow at me. This lasts for a very brief moment. She lapses back into her regular cheerful attitude, but now with a realization.

                  “I should probably be getting to class,” I say.

                  Dr. Nix shakes my hand again. “Thank you for stopping by. It will be such a joy to have you in my class, Vanessa!”

                  “I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

                  I slip out of the English department quietly and find Schwartz pacing in the hall, balancing his laptop on his head. “Are you stalking me?” I ask.

                  “I stalk everyone. Will that be a problem?” He puts his computer back into its case.

                  “Not as long as you know where the line is.” I walk on towards my next class. Schwartz follows me out of the building. The sun glares in our eyes.

                  “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t follow you here. I actually had conversations with two people after you left. Martin is an interesting guy, but he was pretty busy eating cereal. Demetri seemed cool, but he turned out to be a jackass.”

                  “Was he wearing a suit?”

                  “As a matter of fact, yeah. Are you stalking him too?”

                  “No. No, I’m not.”

                  “Me neither. Now I’m following you because you’re the most interesting person I know who hasn’t told me to go to Hell.” He has a bounce in his step. “What class do you have next?”

                  “I thought you hacked my schedule?”

                  Schwartz sighs and droops. “I was just making conversation…”                  

                  “Transformation of United States Politics with Dr. McKenzie.”

                  He’s back to skipping like a schoolgirl. It’s incredibly easy to make him happy. “That sounds pretty intense, man. I don’t think I’d last five minutes with a course title that long.”

                  We cross the courtyard into the political science building, and I find the lecture hall. “I guess I have to leave you here,” Schwartz says.

                  “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

                  The only other people in here are three girls in sorority jerseys in the back of the room. I tune out their meaningless jabber and take a seat in the front row to read The Republic. The Broken Web is hidden deep in my bag. After a few pages of Socrates’ ramblings, the lecture hall is nearly full. Demetri passes an empty seat on the front row and shamefully takes his place in the back.

  At eleven-thirty sharp, Dr. McKenzie strolls in, humming a lively tune I don’t recognize. It’s difficult to guess his age"anywhere between forty and fifty-five. Fine gray and brown hair sticks out from under a plaid cap on his head. He has a green army satchel over one shoulder and walks with a long, black umbrella like a cane.

                  He puts a stack of syllabi on the first desk he passes and takes a seat on the table at the front of the room. “We all think that university campuses are liberal communities, but there are things we’ll talk about in this classroom that you don’t want to shout aloud to the authorities.” He speaks as though to three people instead of thirty, his sneakered feet dangling over the edge of the table. “But you need to know all this before you go on to become politicians and lawyers. Keep those syllabi passing around.  I’ve also posted them online for posterity’s sake.”

                  The syllabus is a single sheet of paper, fresh off the printer. I take one and pass the rest to the next person. Dr. McKenzie continues. “A certain head of department requires us to read aspects of our syllabus aloud to you, even though you can all read for yourselves. The only three grades in this class will be on the two projects and overall participation, and each will be about a third of the final grade. I’ll tweak the weighting in individual cases for your benefit. I don’t believe in grading.  It’s just something we’re required to do. The two projects can be anything you want them to be. If you can best express your understanding of the transformation of US politics through a research paper, suit yourself. I’m also open to musical composition, mathematical functions, poetry, culinary production, film, et cetera. As long as you can explain the relevance, it’s perfectly acceptable. Any questions before I move on to the fun stuff?” He waits. “Why are all the Kappa Alphas cowering in the corner?”

                  Demetri and his fraternity brothers shrink in their seats.

                  “The theme of this course, and national politics, is containment,” Dr. McKenzie continues, “We are contained within physical borders and within social classes. This is a good and a bad thing. Your grandparents’ generation spent twenty years sleeping in bunkers, hiding from the ‘Enemy Within.’ People used to pass freely over state borders, but that was too conducive to weapons trafficking. The government shut that down, and then went even farther, restricting communications.” He leans forward and speaks softly. “This especially does not leave the room. They tell you that the reason we can only receive signals within thirty miles is that there are particles in the atmosphere left over by bombs. They just don’t want you to call or email your terrorist friends. Folks higher up in the government still have access to satellites, the Internet, and all sorts of services that they can’t trust us with. If you break into the capitol building, you could pick up a phone and call China.”

                  The classroom is unnerved. Dr. McKenzie seems amused by everyone’s discomfort. One of the sorority girls pipes up. “Who’s China?”

                 

                  For the whole afternoon, I lie down on Vanessa’s noxiously pink couch and read Plato, scribbling notes in the margins. My suitemates play loud music and jump on their beds. I can hear people running down the hall outside my closed door. Vanessa doesn’t come back until ten o’ clock. “Hey! I’ve been hanging out with Josh Gordo all afternoon. He’s such an awesome guy! How was your day?” she says, swiveling in her desk chair.

                  “Good.” I put my book aside. “What does your father do?”

                  She raises her eyebrows. “That’s a random question.”

                  “Demetri Fowler interned for your father this summer. If he starts another conversation with me, I’d like to know what he’s talking about.”

                  “Oh, my dad’s just a senator.”

                  “Just a senator?”

                  “Did you know there’s a dance Friday?”

                  “I may have heard something about that"“

                  Vanessa jumps up from her seat and claps her hands, giggling. “How it works is we both go out and find dates for each other and bring back the boy’s tie!” She hands me a very worn, silk tie from a desk drawer. It’s covered in twisted, humanoid cartoon characters. “That belongs to your date, and I’m not going to tell you who it is! It has to be a surprise. And when you find me a date, don’t tell me who it is, either. Not even if I beg you.”

                  I put the tie on my desk. “So,” I clear my throat. “What kind of guy are you looking for?”

                  She bounces up and down. “I’m so glad you asked! I made a list.” She hands me a sheet from a legal pad. I glance at the list: HOT, gentlemanly, musical, HOT, sweet, sociable, easy-going…

                  “This should help,” I say.

                  Vanessa giggles. “The best place to look is the floor right above us.” She looks at me and then to the door. I put the piece of paper in my pocket and leave.

                  I get to the floor above, and I hug the walls to avoid contact. The ground tremors with the loud music, and a group of guys drinking from unlabelled bottles sing along, missing every note.  Someone flies past me on a skateboard, hopping over a poker game in the middle of the floor. One guy and his girlfriend chase each other through the hall, completely nude. A strange, purple fog seeps out from under one door.

                  I knock on the door with the name “Josh G.” by it, but no one answers. I duck through the open door of the next room, narrowly avoiding a skateboard accident. Josh’s neighbors are in here. One is sitting on the heater, scribbling on his sketchpad. “What’s up?” he says.

                  “Are you Josh Gordo’s suitemate?” I ask, thumbs in my pockets.

                  “Yeah, you looking for him? I don’t know where he is right now, but I’m right here.” He winks at me. “I’m Martin.”

                  Martin’s room mate is in the corner, sitting at an electric keyboard, wearing a set of earphones almost as big as his head. His thin body sways with the music that only he hears, unaware that anyone is watching. Strong, spidery fingers dart across the black and white keys, playing from a sheet of hand written music. Martin throws one of his crumpled sketches, and it bounces off his head. He takes off his headphones, runs a hand through his fine, dark hair, and sees me beside him. “Hey, I’m Oliver,” he says with a genuine smile, shaking my hand.

                  “Eleanor,” I say.

                  “It’s great to meet you. Sorry about…” He nods to the keyboard.

                  “I just came to get a tie from Josh. I’ll be in and out.”

                  “No problem.” Oliver leans back in his seat and shouts through the open bathroom door. “Josh? Are you in there?”

                  Josh maneuvers his way through the bathroom"he is wearing a guitar from a shoulder strap...and nothing else. Oliver stares at a spot on the floor near the opposite wall, scratching the back of his head with a grimace.  Josh grins mischievously. “There are supposed to be more girls than this.”

                  “Never mind," Oliver says, "Just keep doing your thing.”

                  Josh disappears from the doorway. “Put some pants on before you go walking around!” Martin shouts.

                  After waiting an appropriate amount of time, Oliver gets up and gently shuts the bathroom door. “I cannot, with a good conscience, help set him up with anyone.”

                  “I understand,” I say, taking a step toward the door.

                  “What kind of guy is your room mate looking for?  There are a lot of really nice people on our hall.”  He catches himself.  “Not to say that Josh isn’t nice. He’s just…”

                  “Sleazy?” I say.

                  “…a nudist.”

                  I unfold Vanessa’s list and hand it to Oliver.  He sits on his piano bench, reading it over with a bemused expression.  “She’s a girl who knows what she wants, isn’t she?” he laughs.

                  I take a seat next to him. “Does anyone come to mind?”

                  “That depends. I know someone who’s a rock and roll history buff, but he doesn’t sing or play an instrument. Would she consider him musical?”

                  “Probably not.”

                  Martin jabs a finger at Oliver and says, “Music major!”

                  Oliver hands me Vanessa’s list. “I don’t know about everything else on there, though.”

                  “I think you’re above Vanessa’s standards,” I say.  “Do you have a date yet?”

                  “I do now.” Oliver disappears into his closet.

                  Martin stealthily crosses the room and takes Oliver’s seat. “Are you an art major?  Because I think I’ve seen you around.”

                  “No,” I say, standing up from the piano bench. “Political science.”

                  “That’s great!” Oliver says from the closet, “My uncle’s a political science professor.  He convinced me to come to school here.”

                  Schwartz bounces into the room. “Hey, Eleanor!”

                  I cross my arms. “Am I wearing a tracker?”

                  Oliver comes out of the closet to see who has come in, holding a few neckties in each hand. “Hey, Schwartz! It’s good to see you.”

                  Schwartz notices him for the first time. He shouts, “Dude! You remember me!” and grabs Oliver in a bear hug.

                  Oliver pulls away politely. “You’ve met Eleanor?”

                  “Yeah, yeah, she’s cool. Eleanor!” he says to me, “Do you know who this is?”  Oliver’s cheeks go red.

                  “Yeah, we just met a while ago,” I say.

                  “He’s Oliver McKenzie from the Dark Nicks!”

                  Martin frowns. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

                  “No, it’s totally fine,” Oliver says. He shows me the ties. “Pick one.”

                  I pick a green one. Schwartz wanders to the keyboard and stands in awe. “Is this the one you use at concerts?”

                  “That’s the one,” Oliver says. “Do you play?”

                  “I used to. May I?”

                  “Yeah, sure.”

                  Schwartz unplugs the earphones and strokes the keys as though the keyboard were a sacred relic. Then he clumsily plays “Mary Had A Little Lamb.” I take the opportunity to slip out of the room.

                  Vanessa squeals and jumps up and down when I hand her the tie. She never actually says anything to me, but she runs into the next room to tell our suitemates all about it. I grab my book and sit at my laptop to start my political thought essay, but not before reading the new message in my inbox:

Dear English 101 Student,

                  Dr. Nix will not be able to teach this semester. Within the next month, another English teacher will be found to take her place. Please note that the course material will be different. We apologize to anyone who has already purchased textbooks.

                  If, for any reason, no one is found to teach the class after one month, the class will be cancelled, but each student will be given credit for English 101. Please respond with any questions, comments, or concerns and someone will get back to you as soon as possible.

 

Mr. Jacob Maddox

South Carolina Literary Censorship Council

Author's Note

I am wide open for criticism!

Reviews

[Emily Elizabeth]

Demetri is a bit of a twat, isn't he? XD Such vivid and interesting personalities, you've created!
Its so sad about Dr Nix, I love the sudden change of atmosphere the reader feels at the end iwth the note. One can only imagine what will happen to her.
Also, you've painted college/university life AMAZINGLY. The details in the academic and social atmosphere are dead on perfect, like the roles and personalities and the general vibes that usually come with every university. Also, and I hope its not me being a geek here, but its so nice to read something surrounding uni like that, with the academic side to it presented too, like the syllabus and the interesting topics Elanour will be studying. Normally, with books set in university, all you get is the air-headedness, the arificialness, and they're normally just about teens partying. But you've included everything, and it makes it more real, more beleievable, and, to studious geeks like me, more interesting.
Another brilliant touch is the social statuses, which you've included ever so subtly, that make a real impact. For instance, the teachers being of the highest status, but still beneath the authority, and Vanessa and Demetri being of a very high class, and looking down on people like Nina and Schwartz, who are obviously of a less wealthy and respectable place. Its fantastic, and really well-done, and status isn't an easy thing to convey in story form either.

[UponATyme]

I really love the way you've described the university and everyone in it. I can see parallels in my own friends and peers in my university. It's very realistic! I'm not so sure about the identity switching thing being common knowledge to everyone except teachers. Word gets around fast and I would think in a world like you've created something like that would be caught on to quickly. One more thing: Is Dr. Tawney male or female? You describe Tawney as male, but then one paragraph seems to switch into "she" and "her." I think maybe you changed the gender at one point and maybe didn't catch all the pronouns?