eleven
"Check your syllabus for next weeks assignment. It's a lengthy essay that I recommend getting ahead of before it's too late," Professor Thornton announces to the class. "With that being said, you're dismissed."
I gathered my things a tad quicker than everyone else with the intention of escaping before Professor had the opportunity to stop me. The last conversation we had was the night he invited me over. During the entire lesson, he avoided looking in my general direction completely.
Perhaps my incisive need to overanalyze warped my perception of professionalism, but whatever happened between Professor T and I exhausted more energy than I cared admitting to myself. All the while, our alone time seemed to loom in my mind—even managing to creep into my dreams.
A large pile of ungraded assignments stacked high on his desk steals his attention once he finishes erasing the writing from tonight's lecture from the chalkboard. Professor shoves the stack of papers into his satchel.
"Screw the idea of other people having places to be, right?" Terrance says, nudging me with his shoulder, motioning towards a few girls obstructing the stairs leading out the lecture hall—holding a cluster of us behind until they decided to clear the way. His outburst yank me from the daze Professor T's gracefulness sucked me in. Once he notices the sudden instinctive jerk his voice caused, he laughs then apologizes for startling me. "Finally," he adds as the jam of people thin out. "You heading home?"
"Thankfully. My bed is calling me as we speak."
The laugh he releases catch brief glances from the girls in front of us at the commotion and once they turn to continue out the room. Terrance turns to me with his nose scrunched and top lip pinned to it as if smelled something horridly foul
"Ms. Castillo, can I see you in my office, please? I need to discuss a few details regarding the assignment you turned in."
"Jesus, Castillo, in trouble already?"
"Whatever," I laugh, nudging him in the arm. "Wait for me?"
He nods and we continue down the stairs. Professor T greets Terrance as he approaches the door leading out the lecture hall and the three of us head in the direction of his office.
The corridor was vacant once the remaining students from Professor's class emptied—us being his last class of the day. Terrance's ringtone fill the hall with music until he declined the call, though it rings again. He pulls his phone from his pocket, violently tapping on the screen of his phone to reply to a message he'd just received. Brows furrowed, stiff lipped, and flared nostrils shifts his entire demeanor from what it once was before we left the classroom.
"Hey, everything okay?"
Professor Thornton turns around eying us both before coming to halt in front of a locked door. Terrance glances from his screen while a half smile stuck in the crook of his mouth, desperately trying to hide the uneasiness creeping upon him.
"Actually, no," he sighs. "I have to run, something's going on with one of my friends right now. Sorry I can't stay back. Will you be okay?"
"Of course. I completely understand. I hope everything is okay." Terrance nods before saying goodbye to Professor and I. I trailed him all the down the corridor until he finally jogs out of view.
Professor T invites me into his office after he flicks on the light. He lays his satchel on top of this desk and encourages me to take a seat on the sofa in the opposite side of the room.
"Am I in some kind of trouble? Is that why you needed to talk to me in your office?" My palms pool with sweat anticipating his answer.
"Trouble? No. This is good news. You actually received the highest grade out of all my classes on your recent paper. That's why I pulled you aside. Every course the university allows the english department to select a very few number of students to enter a scholastic arts writing competition. It's as much prestigious as it is exclusive. It requires a copious amount of attention and effort. The winner is awarded twenty grand and a chance to have a piece of your writing published. I want to recommend you and one other student in your class to participate," he ends, intertwining his fingers.
I've never been the person to doubt my ability of moving people with words or the endless amount of stories circling in my mind but somehow sitting across from him on this sofa, doubt crept. Was he recommending me for this competition as some screwed up way to buy my silence?
"Is this something you'd be interested in?"
Professor T looks down to his desk as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. The distance between us made it impossible to make out his chicken scratch from the sofa. Once he puts the pen on the desk, he glances up again, waiting for my answer though even myself hadn't decided.
Obviously it was a no brainer if his intention was pure.
"Who wouldn't? Twenty grand plus the chance to be published isn't something someone just happens to stumble across,," I half laugh, swallowing the possibility of disaster what I planned to say next would cause. "The skepticism is because I want to be sure you're not recommending me out of guilt about the other night. I'm not going to tell anyone, but I also wouldn't want someone else to miss out on an opportunity like this because you're afraid of what I might say."
Professor glances over to the door of his office—that he instructed me to close upon entering—then walks in front of his desk, pressing his weight against it with his arms folded to his chest. He keeps quiet but never pulls his gaze from me. Our eyes meet momentarily until it's me that breaks under the pressure of his stare.
"Alex," he says, allowing his arms to fall to his side before hoisting himself on his desk. My name slipped from his lips like butter to warm pancakes. "I'd never recommend a student for something they weren't capable of achieving." His lips remain perched as if there'd been more he wanted to say, but he doesn't.
"No, of course," I say to fill the silence.
"As far as the other night goes, what did happen?" I go to speak but before the words could leave my mouth, he continues. "It's not often that I invite anyone into my home. Especially students. The consequences following the misconduct my actions have are exponential and as a single father with a daughter to raise, I can't afford my spontaneity getting the best of me."
His words fill the room—almost suffocating me out of my last viable breath and still, it had been like nothing that left his mouth processed the way he meant it to. Truthfully, his words left me as confused—if not more—than our dinner together.
What was that night?
"I—yes. That's what I mean. I don't want mine and Taylor's lack of responsibility causing problems with your position. I apologize for allowing the first night to come in the middle of our professionalism. It was highly inappropriate asking you to compromise your job for some lousy night I ended up walking out of. I'm sorry."
Professor Thornton shakes his head, inching closer to the edge of his desk before standing from it completely. I scanned his face for the slightest micro expression, but all that remained was his ever present half smile and the dimple hidden behind the stubble on his face.
"An apology is not needed, if anything, it should be me apologizing for saying something that made you uncomfortable."
"Professor Thornton, there wasn't a single thing you said or did that made me uncomfortable," my hitching breath gains his once steady expression and drowns it with perplexity.
All this talk regarding unprofessionalism increasingly complicated the situation. Apparently my sudden departure in the name of avoiding miscommunication only added to the madness transpiring now.
"Forgive me for my inability to grasp what's happening right now. You've expressed there was nothing that made you uncomfortable, but that doesn't explain your sudden departure."
There was absolutely no way a man in possession of a double doctorate degree had difficulty trying to grasp the concept of a school girl's crush. Even he could never deny the obvious attraction his appearance held. If the male to female ratio in our class wasn't evident enough, perhaps their voices wrapped it delicacy and distasteful giggles clued him in on the interest he held with the girls on campus.
"I felt it was the appropriate thing to do," I gulp in attempt to swallow away the lump forming in my throat. It doesn't budge.
"As opposed to?" he trails.
It was obvious nothing would rid us both of this uncertainty than my ability to tell the truth.
"Pretending my motives were as pure as yours may have been. It was inappropriate of me to invite myself as company fully aware of my attraction towards you."
I didn't know what expression to expect from him but it wasn't the half smile he wore on a regular basis. Professor Thornton shifts slightly against his desk, folding his arms promptly over his torso again, holding the silence in his favor as if it weren't the cause of the palpitations happening in my chest. Two pings from my phone breaks the stiffness of my posture and for the first time, a breath of relief immerses.
On the night of the party, Lynn, Taylor and I attended, we created a group message to keep in contact with each other.
Taylor: Alex, where are you? With Lynn?
Lynn: She's not with me, I'm in the lab cramming for a stupid test.
Instead of replying, I lock my phone then stand from his sofa to make my way over to his door. Their text couldn't come at better time. Scratch that—a minute earlier and I would've avoided completely embarrassing myself in front a professor that was most likely gonna have me removed from his roster.
"Sorry," I pause, opening the door to his office. "I feel like I'm doing a lot of apologizing and walking out, but I really should be going. The library awaits. Better get started on that twenty grand worthy award winning piece of writing," I say in a terrible execution of easing the awkwardness I'd caused the both of us.
If the opportunity still stands that is... His expression remains as it always had and I used his lack of response as reason to leave.
"Alex," Professor T calls out. Almost immediately after, electricity courses through every veins in my body. My breathing syncopates to warmness until my eyes could fully process the fact that my hand was secured in his. He uses the strength of his left arm to turn me in his direction. Our bodies practically magnetize in closeness, allowing less than an inch of space between to dwell in the midst of our body heat. "Study well," he ends with a step back. The dissonance and electricity seize the moment our hands no longer touch.
He walks around his desk then takes a seat in his chair, his usual half smile converted in a smug smirk.
I probably looked like a deer caught into a headlights until the sound of a notification broke me from yet another trance he so easily could trap me in.
Taylor: Alexandrea? You do know your read receipts are on? It's almost midnight and you're not here, i'm getting worried.
In library with an essay that's kicking my ass. Don't wait up. Oh, and you got this, Lynn!
»»»
Instead of painting myself a liar, my feet peddle all the way to the library preceding my departure from Professor T's office. Besides a few stragglers lingering in separate corners of the library's only accessible floor after hours, the place was vacant and void of administrative personnel. Students enrolled in night classes received unsupervised reign over the library since lectures had tendencies to run longer than they were intended to.
Professor Thornton's essay prompt dwelling in the email of my syllabus took an hour to edit and submit. A time you felt helpless—really? Somewhere down the line, my life matriculated into a series of unfortunate events so the list of hardships came easier than I supposed they were meant to. The only thing possibly worse than reliving trauma through my one escape was knowing Professor Thornton had access to the depths of what made me, me.
Professor Thornton.
Though he was miles away from me now, the smell of his signature scent faintly lingered in the palm of my hand where he placed his moments ago. I'd exhausted almost every ounce of energy convincing myself that our brush of physical contact was nothing more than happenstance. It had to be. Right? Nevertheless, I shook away all thoughts of the both of us ever engaging in anything beyond a comforting handshake—if you could call it that.
My chair heaves along the wooden floor on its way underneath the table. By the time I decided to leave, the few stragglers here when I arrived had already gone home for the night. I regretted allowing myself to be here this late.
The can of mace Presley provided suddenly seemed more relevant then it did underneath the light of a sunny afternoon. I clutched my phone in my palms, pacing towards the exit. Faint jingling of metal intensely growing closer caused the hairs on my nape to stand, tiny bumps slowly appearing on my arms.
"Wait," a voice echoing through the silence in the room. A subtle laugh following the jolt of surprise and defensive posture of the mace in my hands. Sweat pooling in my palms and my racing heart must've missed the jokes punchline.
"What the hell," I gasped, clutching my chest for my breath. "You scared me. Don't you know better than to walk up on a woman late at night? I was prepared to kill you."
A boy with pale skin, eyes rounded in a faint shade of purple probably caused by lack of sleep, and cracked lips inches closer in my direction. He shoves a hand into the front pocket of his khaki shorts, his other holding a pen meant for an iPad. He was no where to be found during my brief search of the library—I'd remember the distinct style of his hair that had been slipped down the middle with two separate colors on each side; platinum and copper. There was a chain filled with keys attached to the front of his pocket that clinked every time it hit his thigh as he walked.
"With a can of mace?" He laughs again, extending the arm with the apple pen clasped between his fingers. A familiar piece of floral washing tape wrapped around the center of it confirming it as mines. "You dropped this."
"Thanks," I reply, giving him a dismissive eye roll as he hands over the pen. Goosebumps on my arms still visibly noticeable. He takes a step back once I grab the pen from him, probably desperate to ease the fright my body was obviously still in, but I'd still been more interested in returning home. I turned on my heals to leave.
"Wait," he interjects, stopping me in my tracks once again. "I apologize for scaring you, it really wasn't my intention. Library's normally empty around this time so when I heard squeaking from the second floor I came down thinking you were someone else. Once I realized you weren't, your pen had already fallen out of your bag."
"Isn't the other floors of the library closed after hours?"
A humorless laugh leaves his mouth. He nods and reaches for a key attached to the chain on his khakis and shakes it. "My dad is apart of the school board plus he's an alumni," he shrugs. "Guess that gives him special access to school amenities. I got the keys from him."
"And instead of actually using them for work you choose to lurk in the shadows waiting on the next person to scare? Got it."
He follows close behind me once I start to walk away. Perhaps my lack of interest in a conversation wasn't clear enough for him. Nevertheless he continues.
"Actually, no. I thought you were someone else," he pauses, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Guess she decided not to show up. I'm a supplier." He pulls a small sandwich bag filled with colorful worms from his pocket and dangles them between the both of us. His hand hovers in place until I reach for the bag and he lets me grab them.
"Awe, you sell candy. That's adorable."
"Adorable? No," he laughs. "I sell edibles. They're loaded with pot. You have no idea how many college students want edibles. No one is looking for this type of stuff. They go straight for the cloud of smoke, never the person eating a bag of candy. That would've been the eighth bag I sold today."
An unintentional scoff falls from my lips. Of course the son of a member on the school board uses the school's library to sell weed to students.
"And your dad is completely okay with you using his key to sell weed on school grounds?" The bag in my grasp suddenly seemed degenerate.
"He has no idea." I go to hand him the bag of edibles back, but he doesn't reach for them. "You keep those. Consider this my apology for scaring you. Eat one and give it at least two hours. Don't eat too many though," he says sternly. "Oh, and my name is Sawyer, you are?" Sawyer notices my look of uncertainty but insists I give them a try.
"I'm Alex."
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