Jared nodded and licked his lips. “I think we’re going to get along very well, Vera.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek and shifted in my seat. Jared was handsome and intellectually on my level. It was rare I found someone as excited about class as me. He tossed smoldering looks my way, rendering me nearly speechless.
But I couldn’t help the little thought in my mind that he wasn’t Hamilton. Not even close.
The front door opened, and in walked a woman wearing kitten heels, a cheetah print skirt, and a button-down black blouse. She had black hair tied up in a bun and round glasses. “Okay, class. Let’s get started.” She pulled down the projector screen and flipped off the lights. Jared shifted in his seat, brushing his arm against mine. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence by going over the syllabus. You’re more than capable of reading the thorough description of my expectations in the packet I emailed last week. We’re going to dive right into one of my favorite philosophical topics.”
The screen flickered on to a single quote. “You,” Dr. Bhavsar said to a slender brunette girl seated four chairs away from me. “Read it.”
The girl cleared her throat before speaking. “Those who tell the stories rule society.”
“You,” Dr. Bhavsar said while nodding at another student. “Tell me what this quote means.”
He looked around the room nervously before answering her. “The stories we tell have the power to control our realities,” he answered.
“What a beautiful textbook answer. I believe you read that on page fourteen, did you not?” He nervously nodded. “Stories are essential to building perception, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot function as a society without them. And he who tells the story, controls the narrative.” She licked her lips and clicked the next slide. “Stories help us make sense of the world around us, but they can also be dangerous. In many ways, stereotypes were created by irresponsible storytelling. Tell me a quality about yourself, and I can tell you a story that the world has assigned you. Most of the time, they aren’t even true. But again, those who tell the stories rule society. And there are many people in positions of power who profit off irresponsible narratives.
“What makes a credible storyteller? Why do you trust me to stand at this podium and talk to you about people long dead? Is it the multiple degrees hanging in my office? That thesis I spent four years writing? You”—she nodded at Jared beside me—“tell me why you trust me to stand here and teach you.”
Jared’s eyes widened, and he squirmed in his seat before answering, “You’re an educated woman who’s dedicated her life’s work to studying philosophy.”
“You don’t know me, though. How can you be certain that I’m not inserting my own bias or beliefs into my lecture? I’m molding the minds of future leaders. The next generation is under my thumb, and if I were persuasive enough, I could convince you that my version of events is correct, could I not?”
“We don’t know,” I replied, feeling embarrassed for speaking out of turn the moment those words left my lips.
“Oh?” Dr. Bhavsar asked. “So, what do you do? How do we navigate a world of potentially lying storytellers?”
“We tell our own stories,” I mumbled. “We research. We question everything, even people in positions of power—especially people in positions of power. Credibility is established over time, through fact checking. We don’t allow bias or opinions to shape our realities. We create our own through putting in the work. Those who tell the stories only rule society if society allows it.”
Dr. Bhavsar smiled. “Exactly.”
“I can’t believe we live in the same apartment building. Now I’m absolutely going to bother you all the time,” Jared said with a grin. Jared had walked me to my classes and even had lunch with me at the dining hall. I wasn’t expecting him to spend the day with me, but I wasn’t angry about it.
“You don’t live at the frat house? By the way, I’m still surprised you’re in a frat. Aren’t you supposed to be a raging alcoholic that parties all the time? All the nineties college movies I watched to prepare myself for this year really missed the mark.”
Jared touched his chest. “I’m really hurt by that stereotype, Vera,” he replied. “We aren’t all party hard frat daddies with daddy issues.” I giggled as we walked toward our apartment building. “But maybe your assumptions are partially true. Part of the reason I moved out of the Pike house was because they are slightly disgusting, and I never got any sleep because they were too busy partying all the time. I swear to God the communal showers were coated in a thick layer of cum.”
“That sounds disgusting.”
“I stay for the cute guys and my parents’ approval, but I’m tempted to leave for the same reason. It’s a tragedy.”
Cute guys? I thought Jared was hitting on me before. I guess—
“I see the cute wheels in your head turning. No worries, I’ll happily explain. I’m pansexual,” he explained. “I lost my virginity to a woman twice my age in London. Last year, I dated a football player. I spent last month in New York hooking up with a beautiful trans woman. Last night, in the psychology building, I sucked a mediocre dick belonging to a very confused fraternity president. And right now, I’m really hoping you’ll let me take you on a date.”
“Oh. I…” I wasn’t expecting him to ask me out. It wasn’t his sexual preferences that had me pausing. It was thoughts of Hamilton. I was just about to explain that I wasn’t looking for a date when my phone started ringing. It was a FaceTime call from Hamilton. “Excuse me, I have to answer this,” I whispered. One of the stipulations of watching Little Mama was that I answer whenever he called, as long as I wasn’t in class.
