But it was only a fantasy, nothing real, and I doubted anything would ever come of it. The night before had been a mistake; he and I both knew that. I could see it in his eyes that he’d realized he’d messed up. I really didn’t want this to make things weird.
I sighed as I brushed my teeth and then got ready for the day. His class was first, and I needed to play it cool—prove to him that I was mature and that what’d happened was merely an accident.
As soon as I reached Newman Hall, I knew something was off. Professor Grant wasn’t standing outside the classroom before class started like usual. He’d normally greet each of us, but not on this day.
I walked into the classroom and he was sitting at his desk, a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose and his head bowed as he wrote something on a paper in front of him.
As if he sensed my presence, his pen stopped moving and he lifted his head a fraction, his gray eyes finding mine.
I forced a smile. He did the same, then looked back down. I went to my regular seat and sat, heart drumming, belly pulsing with those damn butterflies again. Professor Grant stopped writing to check the time on his wristwatch, and then he stood, making his way to the whiteboard and getting straight into his lecture.
I wrote down notes as he did, and I admit I tried catching his eye a couple times by raising my hand to answer some of his questions, but he never called on me. He’d look at me—stare me right in the eye—but then he’d look away and pick someone else to answer instead. Someone like Alisha.
Frustrated and personally humiliated, I stopped raising my hand and wrote more notes, avoiding any means of getting his attention.
When English was over, I packed my things and watched Alisha get up and walk to his desk. She sat on the edge of it and asked him some silly question about his favorite soda flavor, to which he replied he didn’t drink soda. I rolled my eyes, slinging my bag onto my shoulder and making my way toward the exit.
“Miss Porter,” Professor Grant called.
I peered back. Alisha was making her way past me while texting on her phone.
“Yes?” I answered.
“I was just telling Alisha that I’ll be doing double tutoring sessions tomorrow. I’ll work with two students at a time. I have one more slot left at 7:00 pm. David is the other student.”
“I’ll pass. But thanks.”
“O…kay.” He prolonged the word as he held the stack of papers in his hand closer to his chest, shifting his weight on his feet. “Well, if you change your mind, the space is there,” he offered, placing the papers in a neat stack on top of his desk. He sat and started reading over something on the middle of his desk, and when he didn’t look back up at me, my chest tightened. I wanted him to look at me again. I wanted him to actually see me the way I saw him. I wanted him to be mine and mine alone, but it was never going to happen. He was the professor and I was the student, and there was no way I would be worth the risk to a man like him.
With that in mind, I left the classroom and didn’t look back. No matter how much I thought about him or how often I dreamt of having tutoring time with him, I knew wishing to be around him any more than inside the classroom was simply getting my hopes up.
7
Cole
I flipped my wrist to check the time. It was past seven, and David was a no-show. I should have known the kid wouldn’t show up. He slept through damn near half of my class every day. It was wishful thinking, but I hoped Zara would at least make an appearance. She was a great conversationalist during study sessions and even in class. I liked that she looked at things from the inside out.
The time slot for tonight was still available and she knew it, but since it was already past the appointed time, I doubted she’d show.
I collected my study notes and tucked them into my folder, sighing. As I gathered the last of the papers, I heard footsteps coming my way and looked up.
Zara was walking through the library, her thumb wedged between her tote bag strap and her shoulder and a small smile on her full lips.
“Oh, Zara. What are you doing here?”
“I gave it some thought,” she said, placing her bag down in the chair opposite mine. “And there is more to Macbeth that I want to discuss. For instance, how typical it is for a white man to just murder and dethrone someone to make himself superior. I’m sure he tried to blame it on a witch’s curse, but let’s be real, he’s the one who took it upon himself to take action.”