She retreated to her office with the same knowing grin. “You too, Mr. Donovan.”

He took a deep breath and headed in the general direction Paula had pointed out, following the room numbers as he walked. So that is one of the friends who probably knows all about me. He hoped he made a decent enough impression, since women did talk. He stopped outside of the open door of room 155 and peeked in.

Her friend hadn’t been lying when she said the class was popular. Five or six students surrounded Victoria’s podium as she tried gathering her things. One young woman was jabbering excitedly about something... John leaned against the door frame to eavesdrop on the scene.

“So, do you think I can write ten pages based only on Irie Jones’s trip to the salon? I want to talk about a biracial girl’s hair journey through a Marxist lens.”

Victoria nodded. “Of course, you could write ten pages, Izzy. Irie would make for an excellent character analysis. She’s trying to navigate two worlds in a London that claims racial diversity, but falls short.”

The young woman was practically mooning over her professor’s words. “Do you think Zadie Smith based Irie Jones on herself?”

“It’s hard to say. Maybe, maybe not?” Victoria shrugged. “When you do analysis work, it’s really tempting to put the focus on the author, but we have to avoid that. You must take the text at face value, as a stand-alone textual artifact. Unless Smith says ‘this is me on the page,’ you have to treat Irie with objectivity.”

Izzy scribbled something in her notebook. While other students clamored for face time, he noticed how Victoria hitched her satchel on her shoulder and glanced past the small group. Her gaze landed on him, standing in the doorway with a potted plant in his hands, and her eyes widened. He flashed her a smile and watched her expression turn from surprise to mild embarrassment. She returned his smile, but he saw the fleeting emotion and it stabbed him in the chest. John stepped away from the door and back into the corridor. He could hear her tell the remaining students to email her any questions. When she finally made it to the hallway, Victoria flashed him another smile. This one, John noted, didn’t feel as carefree as the one he’d grown accustom to. This one felt...off.

“Mr. Donovan,” she said in a breathy voice. As her small band of groupies left the classroom, she took him by the arm and guided him back towards her office. “I’m sorry I’m late getting out of class.”

John peered down at her. “It’s not a problem,” he said coolly, allowing himself to be led by the elbow. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your students.”

She shook her head. “They’re great kids, but if I let them, they’d add an extra hour to the class.”