The following day, Tawny had her first class with Professor McCurdy. Naturally, he taught English Literature.

She sat in the back row of the classroom, as the rest of the students filed in until all but one desk at the very centre had been filled.

Professor McCurdy wrote the lesson plan for the day on the chalkboard. (While other classes had switched to whiteboards or electronic boards with styluses, he had insisted on keeping the traditional teaching implements. "He's very old-school," Maddie had mused).

He wore a navy blue tweed vest over a crisp white short-sleeved dress shirt. Tawny watched the outline of the muscles in his arm as his piece of chalk sailed across the board wth focused ease. "He must workout..." Tawny thought, absentmindedly.

When he turned around to face the classroom, Tawny realized she had been staring a little too intently and averted her eyes to her English textbook.

She felt her cheeks growing red. Had he noticed her staring? Did he remember her from yesterday...?

"Good morning, class," came the authoritative voice undercut with McCurdy's unmistakable Scottish brogue. Most of the class parroted back the greeting with minimal enthusiasm.

"I hope you've all had time to go over last week's reading material," he continued. His eyes scanned the class and stopped on Tawny, just as she deigned to look up again from her book. A small smile crept onto his lips; Tawny was unsure whether to smile back or be terrified...

Suddenly the door flew open; all eyes turned as Dylan strutted into the classroom, taking his sweet time to sit in the last available seat. He propped his legs up onto the desk and nodded nonchalantly at Professor McCurdy. "'Sup, teach."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"So nice of you to grace the class with your presence, Mr. Westinghouse," quipped Professor McCurdy. A few of the students in the class snickered (Tawny was mortified).

Dylan said nothing, simply shrugging.

"As I was saying to the rest of the students who actually care about their education," said McCurdy, "I hope that you've brushed up on your knowledge of Neo-Classical literature, as that will be the subject of your next class project."

As McCurdy turned to the chalkboard to write out more details about the assignment, one of the students, a Black male sitting next to Dylan, whispered something in his ear. Dylan nodded and laughed in response, and then fist-bumped with his fellow classmate.

McCurdy turned around once again, his face impassive. If he was annoyed by Dylan's constant disruptions of his lesson, he certainly didn't show it outwardly.

"This project will make up the majority of your grade, so I expect the very best effort from all of you. And oh yes...you will be required to partner up with someone."

Dylan's hand shot up. "I got Grady."

McCurdy tilted his head slightly and regarded Dylan with bemusement. "I'm sorry, Mr. Westinghouse, if you were under the impression that this was a democracy? No, you will be assigned a partner based on my choosing and mine alone. If you fail to comprehend that then you will fail the class, it's as simple as that."

At that revelation, Dylan removed his feet from the desk and sat up straight. "That's not fair!"

"As hard as it may be to imagine, Mr. Westinghouse, life seldom is for the majority of the planet's residence," McCurdy said. "And since you seem so eager to have a partner, I will choose yours first." This time his eyes rested unequivocally on Tawny. "You will be paired with Miss Matthews."

"What?" said Dylan.

"Who?" said Grady simultaneously.

Professor McCurdy pointed at Tawny at the back of the class. Once again, all eyes were on her.

Dylan swore and stormed out, while Tawny wished she could shrink from her desk and out of sight.