Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

Empty Promises

This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend soupsaga who correctly guessed that Miss Lane is 32! (We'll just pretend she didn't already know the answer)

"What is now referred to as 'the Method' was developed in the first three decades of the 20th century by Sanford Meisner—"

"Stanislavski." I muttered, not quite under my breath. Caleb raised his arms in disbelief. Miss Lane looked exhausted and had been off her game all morning — obviously, on my end, every mistake that I clocked was another opportunity for me to gloat. Caleb looked like he was one comment away from getting up and sitting somewhere else.

"Miss Harris, do you have something to share with the class?" She snapped, the sharpness in her tone causing my eyebrows to shoot up.

If she was going to call me out in front of a room full of people, two could play at that game.

"Yes, I suppose I do." I smiled sweetly. "Sanford Meisner was a student of Method acting who created the Meisner Technique, sometimes referred to as behavioural realism. Konstantin Stanislavski was the one who developed the System, which was later referred to as the Method. It's easy to get the two confused if you forget that the Meisner Technique doesn't utilize affective memory."

Whispering and nervous laughter seemed to be coming from all around as Miss Lane looked up at me from the podium.

"It's great to see you paying attention for a change." She called up, her voice icy. "For a moment I almost forgot I was a human being capable of, God forbid, slipping up during an hour long lecture. Since Miss Harris here clearly possesses a far broader understanding of the subject matter than I could ever hope to attain, perhaps you all would rather she take over as your instructor?"

Sure, I was being snarky, but did it really warrant public humiliation? I glared at the podium, my fingers closing into a fist around my pen.

"Atta girl, Tiny!" Someone yelled from the back of the room, using the unfortunate but not altogether intolerable nickname I'd been given at my first college party due to being the youngest in the class.

Caleb continued to stare straight ahead as if my presence next to him was somehow incriminating. His crush on Miss Lane was so obvious it was sickening. The least he could do was repress it and channel it into vague resentment and annoyance like the rest of us.

"That's Professor Harris to you, asshole. Didn't your mama ever teach you to respect your elders?" I heard Jackson reply, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Miss Lane looked as if she wanted nothing more than to either, A, strangle every last one of us, or B, walk straight to Professor Keane's office and quit her job.

"Relax, Miss." I ignored the two boys, secretly grateful that they'd stood up for me —regardless of how un-helpful their method. "If I were planning a coup d'état I'd pick a class I actually enjoyed."

"Would you just shut the fuck up already?" Caleb piped up finally after having held his tongue for the entire period. "Un-fucking-believable." He muttered under his breath, and my expression turned nothing short of murderous.

I was getting ready to ream out my so-called best friend when Miss Lane slammed her notebook on the podium and stalked over to the first row of the auditorium-style desks, the click of her heels ringing out uncomfortably loud in the sudden silence of the classroom.

"I don't want to hear another word from any of you for the rest of this lecture." She yelled, the authority in her tone leaving me speechless. "That includes you, Mr. Gunderson — I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself. Am I making myself clear?"