Heart Attack • Shirbert

• 42 • professors, pressing, and pride

'Live right now, yeah, just be yourself

It doesn't matter if it's good enough 

For someone else'

--

"You must be Anne Shirley-Cuthbert."

Anne walked into a classroom at least four times as big as the one in Avonlea when a tiny red head woman addressed her.

"I'm Elizabeth, welcome to University of Toronto."

"You're Elizabeth?" Anne gasped. 

Anne expected the female intellect books always described to her. Straight brown hair, sometimes pulled into a bun. Tall but not too tall. A long skirt with undergarments to cover the remainder of her legs. Everything a woman was told to avoid in fear of becoming "boring" or "unappetizing to men" while still abiding by societal standards.

But Anne couldn't be more wrong.

Elizabeth stood proudly in a loud pink top with wild auburn curly hair riding down her back. She couldn't be more than 5 feet tall naturally, but she had an indescribable energy that screamed confidence. 

"Call me Liz." She held out her hand and Anne took it excitedly. 

"You're remarkable," Anne's eyes lit up, "I knew you would be great because the fantastical Miss Stacy told me all about you but...." She trailed off, feeling faint with excitement.

Anne was rarely speechless.

"I heard you were quite theatrical, and I can see Muriel wasn't lying." Liz smiled politely and pulled her hand away, "Let me show you around."

--

Anne watched the class in silent amazement. The room was mostly male students, with a few girls in a clump near the front of the room. They looked intensely focused and always raised their hands when Liz needed someone to answer a question. 

"Tell me Maggie," Liz sat on her desk, "What did you write about for today?"

She glanced back at Anne for context, "They write three pieces a week. Monday, Wednesday, and here we are on Friday."

Anne's eyes widened, "Three?"

"Whenever you enter the profession, you'll be writing much more than three pieces a week. It'll be three a day, if you're working somewhere prominent." Liz left Maggie behind.

Anne knew she should complain about doing so much work, but the proposition made her excited. She had the opportunity to grow and improve. Right now, she was writing maybe once a week with the newspaper. But three? It was remarkable. 

"That's scrumptious." She murmured quietly. 

Liz couldn't help but smile. Anne was much more...special than she expected. She was bright and fiercely intelligent. She was going to change the world. Liz would stop at nothing to get her in this classroom.

"Anne, what have you written about recently?" Liz walked to the back where Anne was seated, "What's happening in the mystical Avonlea?"

Anne could feel herself blush. She had at least 40 eyes on her now. Eyes of college kids who were probably smarter than she was.

But she remembered when she first came to Avonlea and walked into the schoolhouse knowing she may be behind the other students. She remembered the triumph of winning spelling contests over Gilbert. She remembered sitting at her desk at home for hours until she could do long division. 

She could do anything.

"Avonlea is home." She stated firmly, "But it has a long way to go before it's as accepting as it should be."