Love Lessons by Cassie Mint

One

Avery

Irush across campus, my backpack bouncing and my class schedule clutched to my chest. My sandals slap against the hot paving stones, baked all summer long, and I gasp for breath as I sprint across the quad. My sundress floats around my thighs, my hair streaming behind me, and other students mutter and step out of the way as I barrel through them.

I’m late. Late. This wasn’t the plan. When I woke up this morning, teeth gritted with purpose, this wasn’t what I had in mind. It took me all summer to build up my courage, to sign up for Professor Kent’s class, and this is how he’ll find out? When I burst into the lecture hall five minutes late, red faced and wheezing?

Kill me now.

I’m rushing so fast, I almost sprint right past the English building. I skid to a halt, arms pinwheeling, then duck past a group of staring grad students to push through the doors.

A clock hangs opposite the entrance, ticking my seconds away. Two minutes until the first class of the semester starts.

Two minutes until I’m late.

Until I see him.

I check the schedule crumpled in one fist, smoothing it out with shaking fingers. My breaths come quick and loud as I read the room number, sending up a silent prayer of thanks.

It’s just here. The nearest lecture hall, tucked around the corner.

I’m going to make it.

I smooth my wild hair down. Tug on the hem of my dress. Swipe my forearm over my dewy forehead, my skin flushed hot from running. Then give myself my third pep talk of the day.

You can do this, Avery Jennings. Now get your ass in that room.

It’s pretty basic, as pep talks go. Nothing like the elaborate mantras in the self help books I’ve been reading all summer. But it does the trick: I square my shoulders, hitching my backpack higher, and march around the corner to the lecture hall. I don’t break stride, pushing the door open and plunging inside. The rows are two-thirds full, with students laughing and leaning past each other to catch up. They call out nicknames; toss balled up class schedules at each other’s heads.

I don’t even see them. Not really. I drift to an empty seat in the third row, the din around me fading to nothing, and sit down clumsily.

He’s here.

Professor Kent stands at the lectern on the raised platform at the front of the room. He stares at me, white-faced, his hands gripping the lectern so tight that I can almost hear the wood creak.

Even though it’s another hot, sticky day, he’s wearing a white button down shirt with only the top button undone. The fabric fits him perfectly, hugging his toned shoulders and nipping in with his slender waist, and it’s not just the heat that makes my mouth run dry when I look at him.

God. Professor Kent is a walking dirty daydream.

One of his dark curls hangs over his forehead, and he presses his mouth in a tight line. His gaze rakes over me where I sit, just as hungry as I remember, and he swallows. Hard.

A bell rings out in the corridor. The last student to enter slams the door shut, a steady hush falling over the crowd, and now we’re trapped here. Together at last, for the next sixty minutes.

He’s annoyed. Distracted. I’ve thrown him off his usual self assurance, the deep confidence which makes so many of the students sigh. Professor Kent throws one final irritated glance at me, clears his throat, and begins.

Shakespearean Literature. It’s not really my thing. It’s not his thing either, but I’m not supposed to know that. I shouldn’t be able to read his moods the way I do. I took this class for one reason alone, and he’s currently gripping the lectern like he might crush it to splinters.

His calm voice belies the tension rigid in his body as he introduces the class. Highlights key dates and assignments. Gives reading lists.

Macbeth. Romeo and Juliet. The Taming of the Shrew.

Yes, fine. Whatever. I’ll read whatever plays this man assigns. I’ll hand in all the assignments; do every scrap of suggested reading.

Anything, to finally be near him again. To hear his deep, melodic voice. To feel the heavy weight of his gaze on me.

I’m not as strong as Professor Kent. Or—or I am, but this is a different kind of strength. One I’ve been building up all summer with my mantras and self help manuals.

I won’t hide from my feelings. Won’t pretend that I don’t feel his presence from fifty feet away; that I don’t forget to breathe whenever his gray eyes land on me.

Professor Kent haunts my dreams.

And I can’t stay away anymore.

* * *

“A moment, please, Miss Jennings.”

His stern voice cuts through the din as the students file out of their rows, chatting about their next classes. I have a free period, but even if I didn’t there’s no way I’d be shuffling out that door. Not yet.

I nod and grab my backpack, not daring to meet his eyes as I zip away my notebook and push to my feet. All the confidence that buoyed me here—it’s draining fast. Oh god, will he hate me for this?

“Hi, professor.” My words come out in a whisper as I step up onto the stage. Professor Kent keeps his head bowed, his square jaw clenching as he packs away his notes. I shift my weight, biting my lip.

He waits until the last student leaves the room. Until the door bangs shut, the sound echoing through the huge space. Then he turns to me, eyes molten, and hisses his question.

“Avery. What are you doing here?”

“Learning about Shakespeare,” I mumble. He jerks his head to the side, annoyed. He knows I don’t care about Shakespeare. That’s the problem, really—we can read each other entirely too well for professor and student.

“Cut the crap.” I wince, and he scrubs a hand over his face. He’s agitated. More out of control than I’ve ever seen him. “I told you last year. One class was enough. This isn’t—this is a bad idea. Do you understand?”

I scowl down at his chest. His shirt is perfectly pressed. Does he do that himself? Or does he have a wife or girlfriend who does it for him? Jealousy crawls through my stomach, sickly and slow.

“I’m here to learn,” I grit out, eyes burning, my gaze fixed on that top button. It’s a lie, but all the pretty speeches I rehearsed, all the declarations I had planned—they’ve evaporated like fine mist. And besides, I don’t want to tell Professor Kent how much I love him when he’s being an ass. So there.

“Forget it. I’m taking you to change your classes right now.” He grabs my elbow, then drops it just as fast. Like he’s been stung. I huff and cross my arms, walking ahead of him off the platform.

“You can’t force me to switch.”

“I can, actually. I can transfer you for bad behavior. I can fail you outright. You’re leaving, Avery.”

I wrap my arms around my waist tighter. This is not what I’d imagined, all those long nights of planning over the summer. I knew he’d be surprised. Maybe taken aback.

I never dreamed he would be cruel. And the pain of his harsh words—it cuts right through me. Right down to the bone. Tears sting my eyes, and before I can help it, my breath catches right here in the silent lecture hall.

“Wait.” His command comes from behind me. I keep walking, my sandals slapping against the tiled floor. “Avery. Are you crying?”

The door is heavy as I wrench it open. I keep my spare arm wrapped around my waist, holding my insides together.

“Avery,” he says again, more desperate this time. I step through the doorway and into the corridor.

It’s cooler out here. Shadowed. I duck my face and hurry far away from Professor Kent.