Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,28
Dairy Queen as a reward. The certificate had been lost when her house was dispersed after her death. He hadn’t seen it in over fifteen years, but he remembered its shiny blue seal and his name printed in an elaborate font.
Julia nodded. “I’m the first person in my family to go on to anything after high-school. Nobody quite knows what to make of me.”
Several of the others nodded in acknowledgement then Seth spoke. “And then of course, there’s our girl, Leanne.”
“Me?” Beside him, Leanne stiffened at the comment. “I’m like everyone else. Just working to get my thesis written sometime this century. Find a job. With the job market the way it is, that’ll probably mean teaching a first year survey course at some junior college. A week of Chaucer, a week of Pope. Maybe two on Shakespeare and Austen. If I’m lucky.”
“Lucky?” Seth argued. “You’re a finalist for the Walters ‘I’ve-got-more-money-than-Croesus’ Prize. I guarantee you won’t be teaching at any third-rate institution. You’ll get a primo tenure-track job and a big research grant and settle in as the youngest departmental chair in Wellington History.”
“Even if I win the Walters Prize, I can’t expect to have everything handed to me.”
From beside the stereo, Cassandra laughed. “I love you, Leanne, but sometimes you’re oblivious. Kessler loves you. Rose loves you. You’re the best thing to happen to our department since God knows when, and everyone who’s anyone knows that. You’re on your way up and I don’t think anything could derail you now.”
Leanne smiled at Cassandra’s assessment but Brandon sensed her unease at all the praise her friends heaped on her. They were proud of her success, but how did she feel about shouldering their expectations?
“You’re in the running for the Walters?” he asked quietly when the conversation moved on to a film Ginny and Seth saw over the weekend. He tried to ignore how her hair curled over her shoulders and her warm thigh pressed against his. She shifted, as if uncomfortable at the attention on her accomplishments, and her fine wool trousers rubbed against his worn jeans. The friction distracted him and he focused on her words rather than risk embarrassing himself completely.
“Yeah. I applied last spring and made it onto the short list in October.” She turned and her eyes were imploring. “But there’s no guarantee I’ll win. I’ve tried my best, of course, and I think my research is important but…”
“There’s no guarantee,” he finished.
“Exactly,” she said.
“When do they interview you?”
“Next week,” she said. “My advisor’s been pulling his hair out for weeks, trying to get me ready. Faculty members keep stopping me in the hall, to give advice, suggest trial question or wish me luck. I understand why they’re doing it, of course, but a part of me wishes they’d just let me get on with it, you know?”
“It’s a big deal. You’re a big deal to your department and the university,” Brandon said. “You should have heard Cora today, when I stopped by.”
“She talked about me?” Leanne took a sip of wine. She squirmed, wriggling awkwardly in the deep cushions.
“It’s a big deal,” Brandon repeated, trying to reassure her. But it only seemed to make her more uneasy. Deciding to drop the subject for now, until he better understood her concerns, he tuned in to the other conversations around them
Cassandra was still talking about the Walters Prize, enumerating the hoops Leanne had jumped through over the past seven months.
“You keep mapping out my career, Cass.” She stood. He’d grown to like the feel of her next to him. He comforted himself with the observation that t when she was standing in front of him like this, he had a great view of her very fine ass. “I’m going to help myself to another plate. Anybody want more wine?”
“I’ll have a glass of red,” Brandon said.
“Me too.” Ginny picked up her empty glass from beside her chair leg.
“Me three,” Julia chimed in.
“Why don’t I just bring the bottle?”
By the time the food had been devoured and the wine bottles drained, Leanne’s nerves were at their breaking point. Brandon fit in among her friends better than she could have hoped. Or feared. She watched as he traded jokes back and forth with Joe and then offered his opinion on the latest obscure musician in Cassandra’s gargantuan collection.
He melded in effortlessly. That was a serious problem if she was going to keep this whole thing filed under the casual heading where it needed to be contained.
Steven had never