Page 46 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

“Don’t want what?”

“What’s happening right now? I don’t want to be the weak girl. I don’t want to have to be saved by my male relatives. I don’t want to have to rely on a man. I want–I need to be able to do for myself.”

He sighs. “You promised you’d start letting me help you, Red.”

“I can’t–”

He pulls me tight against his body. “Letting someone who cares about you help is a lot different from being helped by someone who doesn’t think you can handle things. I know you can handle things on your own. I just…” he stops for a long moment, “I just hope one day you’ll trust me enough to be the first one you come to when things are going wrong.”

“I do trust you, Zach.”

He shakes his head sadly. “You like me and you think I’m incredibly hot,” he smirks a little as I roll my eyes at that, “but you don’t trust me, not yet.”

Chapter Eighteen

In Which Red Attends Her First Day Of School

Soojin doesn’t stay open late Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday nights, so Zach switches his days off to match mine. We hang out at his house, playing with the kittens, pissing off Dolly Purrton by constantly having sex, and just generally being lazy. We try to keep our schedule the same and go in after closing to work on the stage.

Every day we get a little closer to the final product, I get a little more excited. This is the first big project I’ve ever attempted without supervision and it’s satisfying to know the years-long break I took from woodwork didn’t take the knowledge from me.

Tuesday afternoon is my first class of the semester. Zach insists I take a “first day of school picture” like his mom does with her students, and so I stand by the door with my backpack on and a bag with snacks he insists I take.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” Zach asks me for the millionth time.

I laugh and shake my head. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” With my first two installment payments taken care of, I walk into my first class–Dr. Morales’s Intro to U.S. History–feeling a lot lighter.

I sit in the front row because I’m old, at least I feel old among the mostly 18- and 19-year-old students. Dr. Morales smiles in my direction as she takes the podium in the huge lecture hall and starts reviewing the syllabus. It’s not quite as terrifying as I had pictured. Quizzes every other week, three major tests, and a paper.

“I promise you, if you come every day and sit your butt in one of these seats and truly, truly pay attention,” she tells us. “You will pass this class. In fact, you’ll probably do more than pass, but my Dean gets mad when I say that.”

She clicks through a few slides until she comes to one that says, “Why study history?”

“We don’t have a lot of time to get into my first lecture, but I always like to start off the semester with this question. Why study history? Anyone?”

The class is silent. Honestly, I’m afraid to answer, too.

“There are only three history majors in here, that I know of, so the rest of you scholars are here because the university makes you show up. It’s a box to check, a spot that has to be filled. But why? Why do we spend so much time on history? You’ve been doing this in some form or fashion since kindergarten. Why do future engineers and artists and chefs and bankers need history?”

A small girl midway up raises her hand. “Those who fail to learn from it are doomed to repeat it.”

Dr. Morales nods. “It’s a very wise statement. Those who fail to learn from it are doomed to repeat it. But do we learn? Think about your own lives. We all have patterns we’re repeating in our day-to-day choices and in our relationships. Humans are creatures of habit…getting out of those patterns can be nearly impossible. So what other value does it have?”

The room sits silent.

Dr. Morales looks down at her roster. “I agree with you, Ms. Blake,” she says to the girl, who was brave enough to answer. “Things we don’t learn from will circle back to us time and time again. But there is something else I want you to leave here with and–” she smiles, “it also brings us to our discussion of everyone’s favorite topic–our final paper. See what I did there?”

There are groans throughout the room, but Dr. Morales just smiles. “I know, I know. Don’t everyone cheer at once. Your final paper for me is going to be a little bit from what you’d expect. I personally believe that it’s important to study history to develop connections with our past, to humanize these figures we tend to put up on pedestals as if they were gods. For your final paper, you’ll pick a figure who lived during our time period–1600-1865–that had a role in U.S. history. You’ll give me an in-depth biography of them and explain how you are connected to them. Not through birth or lineage, but through circumstances, life situation, or even upbringing. I want you to relate to someone great in our past.”

She pauses, looks up at me, and smiles. “I know that’s a lot to throw at you on your first day, but I promise you that, one, you are up to the challenge and, two, I will be with you each step of the way.”

She checks her watch and smiles. “It’s two-oh-seven. Technically, I have you until two-fifteen, but you caught me on a sleepy day. Go forth, get a snack and come ready for tons of notes on Thursday.”

I pack my backpack slowly as the other students quickly file out, feeling slightly shell-shocked. I haven’t written a paper in forever. How am I even going to tackle this?

“Hey, none of that,” Dr. Morales says as she comes down the steps, her own bag on her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

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