I was still wondering about it and debating my next move as I sat in practicum on Tuesday morning, half listening to Dr. Tarsus’s lecture on prudence. Outside our classroom window, storm clouds were rolling in off the mountain.
“And while I’m loath to imply that it’s simple,” Tarsus was saying, “I do think the formula is instructive.” She wrote with her finger on the front wall, and an equation appeared there in green chalk.
Pr = K/n * R * I
“Prudence, Pr, is a function of n, the number of knowable facts, K, the number of known facts, R, the actor’s inherent capacity for reason, and I, the actor’s commitment to action.” Tarsus paused and surveyed the room. “Questions?”
“Can you maybe do an example?” Dana asked, her voice echoing a little in my pod’s headrest speakers.
“Certainly,” our teacher replied, turning back to the wall. “Let’s use a historical—”
“You’re missing something,” I blurted out. Tarsus’s eyes darted my way. I clasped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“By all means, Rory, enlighten me,” she said, crossing her arms. “What have I left out?”
“Unknowable facts,” I said weakly, wishing I’d just kept my mouth shut. It seemed so obvious to me, but Tarsus was looking at me like I’d said something unintelligible.
“I think perhaps you’ve misunderstood,” Tarsus replied, her voice dripping with condescension. “The variable n represents all facts that could be known by the actor.” She tapped the letter with her fingernail. “K, then, represents the number of those facts that are known by the actor. Thus, any ‘unknown’ facts are accounted for in—”
I interrupted her again, this time on purpose. Her tone was really irritating me. I had the highest grade in her class and she was talking to me like I was an idiot. Plus, I felt sure of myself in a way I often didn’t. Not in a cocky way. I just knew I was on to something. “Not unknown,” I corrected. “Unknowable. As in, not susceptible to perception by the senses. Factors the actor cannot comprehend with reason alone.”
Tarsus’s expression darkened for a moment, then her lips curled into a sour smile. “Since I’d like to avoid wasting class time with this useless frolic, I suggest you and I continue this discussion after class.” Without waiting for me to respond, she moved on.
When she dismissed us, I strode to her desk, angry enough to be bold. Tarsus looked at me with arched eyebrows. “You seem upset,” she said.
“I’m not upset,” I said. “I’m confused. When the syllabus said ‘class participation encouraged,’ I thought it meant you were willing to listen to what we had to say.”
Tarsus smiled. “So your feelings are hurt, is that it?”
“No, my feelings are not hurt,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I’d just like to understand why you were so quick to shut me down.”
“Because I knew where the conversation was heading, and I was trying to help you, Rory. ‘Unknowable facts’? Have you ever heard the expression ‘You can’t un-ring a bell?’” She cocked her head, examining me, her black eyes even more eagle-ish than usual.
“What bell are we talking about here?”
“There’s no doubt that you’re bright, Rory,” she said in a knowing voice. “But your comments in class today were very concerning. Someone with your background ought to be careful about what she says.”
“My background?” I asked, as though there was any doubt what she meant. Tarsus didn’t bother elaborating.
“You know what the word akratic means, don’t you?” she asked. “It’s Greek for acting against one’s better judgment. And while you’re doing very well in this class, I saw you in our exam on Friday. You said the word wait out loud, as if you were talking to someone. Who could it have been?”
The boldness I’d felt just seconds before fluttered away, leaving only a pounding heart in my rib cage.
“No one,” I said quickly. “I wasn’t talking to anyone.”
Tarsus cocked her head. “Are you sure about that?”
I knew I should just get out of there before I made things worse, but something was bothering me and I couldn’t leave without an answer.
“What would’ve happened if I had waited?” I asked her, my voice wavering just a little. “If I’d left everybody on that dock.”
Tarsus didn’t hesitate. “You would have failed the exam.”
“But in real life, the dock—”
“Collapsed. Yes, I know. But reason dictates that an overloaded dock should be evacuated to prevent collapse, not left as is in order to cause it.” She was watching me closely. “So if you’d left all those people on the dock despite knowing that the crates would explode, then I would’ve had to assume that one of two things had occurred. Either you’d been paralyzed by indecision or blinded by an irrational impulse. Both would’ve been grounds for a failing grade.”
“So you were trying to trick me,” I said.
Tarsus’s mouth curved into an icy smile. “Trick you? Now you sound paranoid. Perhaps a visit to the campus health center would do you some good. I can write you a referral if you’d like.”
I swallowed, my throat like sandpaper. “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”
Tarsus just laughed. “I don’t care about you enough to hate you, Rory.” She turned away then, having gotten the last word again. “Please close the door on your way out.”
I somehow made it through history, but there was no way I could choke down lunch. So I changed into sweats and went for a run through the woods instead, letting the sound of leaves crunching beneath my sneakers drown out the cacophony of noises in my head. It started to drizzle as I was starting my third lap around the cemetery. Without thinking, I climbed over the fence and sprinted toward the mausoleum, cutting across the graves to get there faster. Other than the rhythmic sound of rain split-splatting on dry leaves, it was quiet as I approached. It wasn’t until I’d slipped through the wrought-iron gate of the mausoleum that I heard the music.
I put my knuckles to the granite to knock, but that seemed a little ridiculous, and it’s not like they would’ve heard me anyway. So I took a breath and leaned the weight of my body into the stone the way I’d seen North do. The rock slid away.
I was expecting the whole band so I jumped a little when I saw only North. He was on the floor, leaning against the marble coffin, a laptop on his lap, its speakers blaring.
“Rory,” he said as I stepped inside the tomb. There was surprise in his voice, and relief. He set his computer aside and scrambled to his feet.
“I got your note,” I said.
“How’d you know I was here?” He moved toward me slowly, his eyes never leaving my face, as if he were afraid I might disappear.
“I didn’t,” I said. Then softer, “I just hoped you were.” I shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “You said you could explain.”
He nodded. “I can. But you should probably sit down.” He gestured toward the mourner’s bench behind us.
My stomach dipped. “Okay,” I said, and sat.
He sat down next to me, angling his body toward mine so our knees were nearly touching. “I tried so many times to get in touch with you,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. His hair was wet from the rain. “But no matter whose account I used, you blocked me. I even thought about sneaking on campus, but the school got a restraining order against me last year and—”