Page 41 of Hushed

“Ah-hah. So, in other words, peer pressure worked on you. This is an example of code-switching. How many of you have ever heard of that?”

A handful of hands raise.

I smile at them. There’s a table next to the podium. I grip it behind me so I don’t fall over. “So let’s look at my name. What can you guess from there?” I say, pushing on. This lesson is already in tatters.

“That you’ll have a French accent?” Cecilia asks. “But you don’t.” She’s not raising her hand either. Levi cuts her a hostile glare that says, Back the fuck down. She doesn’t catch it.

I relax into my natural French accent. “But the problem is that some of my students have a problem understanding me when I speak. And I have found that there is greater advancement from not being so exotic. So I made a strategic choice.” I shift back into my Anglo accent. “When I am at work, I try to clean up this accent so that I can be better understood. I cannot eliminate it all, but for me, it makes my life easier.”

“Does it, really?” Levi asks. “It sounds like a lot of effort to try to be what you’re not.”

I look at the floor in frustration. Why won’t he just back the fuck down? “This is called cognitive burden. And yes, when I am very stressed, I will revert naturally to my own language and speech pattern. Has anybody in the class studied French?”

A few hands raise. Levi’s does not.

“I see a few hands here. The French psychoanalyst Charles Melman wrote, ‘La langue maternelle est celle dans laquelle on compte, on pleure et on prie.’ Your mother tongue is the one in which you do what, fellow francophones?”

“Count, cry, and…” Cecilia says.

I make the sign of the cross, close my eyes, and put my hands together. Please make this go away.

“Pray!” I hear Levi say. I open my eyes and force a smile. Levi glances resentfully at Cecilia and writes down something on the syllabus very seriously. Then he taps something on his phone.

Please let him be dropping.

No. Please don’t let him drop.

Fuck. He’s making me stray from my lecture. How does he do that? What’s next in it? I have to send a message somehow. Is he emailing me? I cross to that side of the class and walk into the aisles in time to see the words, You have successfully registered on his phone. He looks up at me and beams, mouthing the word French.

Of course it is. I take a deep breath and stare out at my students, most of whom have pivoted in their seats and are expecting me to do my job despite the fact that my nerves are shredding through a meat grinder. I clear my throat. “How we present ourselves varies according to the situation. I don’t think there is a contradiction between the core of my self and how I’m behaving, but that’s because my brain is very actively trying to reconcile it.” I exit Levi’s aisle and work my way into another aisle on the other side of the room so that it doesn’t look suspicious. “External observers would see shards of me that make them feel like they know me, but that is not possible. Especially on a short acquaintance of, say, four or five days.”

“That’s bullshit,” Levi says. The class gasps. Most of them are straight out of high school, and are still thinking that they’ll be sent to the principal’s office. I force myself not to look at him, sweeping my gaze over the class. “Well, what do you think, class? Do you think that someone who’s seen only one side of you knows you?”

“It depends on the circumstances,” Cecilia says.

“But those circumstances change,” I counter. I go back to the podium. “Let’s take, let’s see…” I run my finger down the roster. “Matt Comstock. Are you here?”

A man with dark red hair and freckles raises his hand.

“Excellent. Let’s say there was someone you knew in high school, and this person caught feelings for you. And maybe even followed you here. What would you say if he just showed up, in this room, and made you uncomfortable? What would you do?”

Matt looks uncomfortable already. He mulls it over. “I’d ask him what he was doing here. In this class. In this town, actually. I chose it because none of the people in my high school had ever heard of it. Well, except for one, apparently. He went here.” He shrugs.

“Can I speak for the other guy?” Levi asks.

No, you cannot. “I don’t think that’s—”

“Matt,” Levi says, “this is a wonderful coincidence seeing you again. But I’m going to take advantage of it. I was hoping, if you’re not doing anything tonight, we could just grab a coffee and talk.”

“No?” Matt says, as if there’s a right answer and he’s trying to guess it. He looks at me anxiously.

“Is that really a no, though?” Levi prompts. “You don’t sound sure of yourself.”

“Levi,” I say in warning, “let him speak. Matt, your no is valid as it is.”

“Why is it a no, though?”

“Matt doesn’t have to explain himself.”