2 - Disagreements at Haleton University

Sloane POV

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I walked across the polished floors of Haleton University, my satchel swinging against my hip, hands clenching and unclenching with each step. I hated office hours. Hated the expectation that I would walk into a small room, alone with a professor, and sit politely while he dished out judgment on my every word. And yet, here I was, appointment confirmed by an impersonal email, with the time blinking mockingly at me from my phone screen.

I arrived at the door to Professor Dalton’s office, paused for a second to compose myself, and pushed it open. The room was smaller than I expected, lined with shelves crammed with books, papers neatly stacked, and a leather chair behind an oak desk that looked intimidatingly permanent. And there he was. Dalton Avery, sitting as if the office belonged to him, as if the walls themselves answered to his presence.

“Miss Mercer,” he said, standing, voice calm but carrying that precise edge that made me want to stomp my foot and storm out at the same time. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” I said, crossing my arms, trying to keep my tone neutral. “You asked me here.”

“Yes,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. “I wanted to discuss your… approach in the seminar yesterday.” His eyes narrowed slightly, just enough that I caught the flicker of frustration behind his usual calm mask.

I sat, shoulders squared, refusing to let the space intimidate me. “Approach,” I repeated slowly. “You mean… arguing my points?”

“Yes,” he said, voice low, calm, deliberate. “Arguing your points is acceptable. Repeatedly interrupting the lecture and refusing to acknowledge counterarguments from your peers is… not. It disrupts the learning environment.”

I pressed my lips together. Disrupts the learning environment? I had never been told to quiet myself for thinking critically. “I wasn’t trying to disrupt anyone,” I said. “I was contributing. I thought that’s what a seminar was for.”

Dalton’s eyes narrowed further, his jaw tightening. “Miss Mercer, I appreciate engagement,” he said slowly. “But there is a line between engagement and defiance. And you’ve crossed it.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Defiance? I’m defending my argument. You keep shutting me down before I can finish, and now you’re calling it defiance?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, a measured exhale escaping him. “You don’t understand the concept of professional respect yet, I see.” The tone was calm, but the sharpness undercut it. “Part of being a scholar is listening as much as you speak. I cannot grade your participation fairly if you continuously interrupt without consideration.”

My pulse quickened, not from attraction, but frustration. “So your solution is to summon me here,” I said, voice rising slightly, “so you can lecture me privately? Is that it?”

Dalton didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “I’m giving you a chance to understand your limits. You may think you’re prepared to argue endlessly, Miss Mercer, but there are consequences to disregarding decorum in my classroom. You will find out what they are.”

I pressed my hands to my knees, trying to keep from glaring. “Consequences,” I repeated. “I don’t need threats to know I can handle a discussion. And I won’t apologize for thinking critically.”

Dalton’s jaw tightened, a slight flash of irritation crossing his face. “You think this is just a discussion,” he said, voice calm but edged with impatience. “You will learn otherwise.”

My lips pressed into a thin line. I clenched my fists in my lap, silently cursing him for the tightness spreading in my chest. This wasn’t just a professor-student disagreement. I could feel it, the controlled frustration radiating off him, the sense that he was tired of me challenging him so openly. And somehow, instead of backing down, my annoyance only sharpened.

I had barely settled into the chair when Dalton leaned forward, eyes darkening slightly. There was a subtle shift in the room, the calm authority I had seen in the lecture hall had given way to something sharper, tauter, almost like a cord pulled tight.

“Miss Mercer,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “you persist in arguing points I have already addressed. Do you intend to continue this behavior for the entire semester?”

I bristled, hands gripping my notebook. “I intend to speak when I have something valid to say,” I shot back. “If you dismiss my points outright, that’s not my fault.”

His jaw tightened, the faintest flash of irritation crossing his sharp features. “Miss Mercer, I am not dismissing your points. I am reminding you of boundaries. You overstep them in class, and now here. Do you not see how this disrupts not only the flow of discussion but the environment itself?”

My teeth clenched. Disrupts the environment? I had spent years defending myself in debates, challenging professors, pushing peers, and never had anyone suggested I was disruptive simply for thinking critically. “With all due respect,” I said, trying to keep my tone measured despite the heat rising in my chest, “I’m not disrupting anything. I’m questioning, analyzing, engaging. That’s literally the point of a seminar.”

Dalton’s hands flexed on the edge of the desk. He leaned back, exhaling slowly, as if forcing himself to remain composed. “You are testing my patience,” he said, voice even but tight. “I am normally more tolerant of spirited discussion, but you… You are something else entirely.”

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed. “Something else entirely? That’s supposed to be a compliment?” I asked, the edge in my voice betraying my frustration. “Because right now it sounds like you’re annoyed. Or pissed off.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, jaw working. “Annoyed,” he admitted quietly, almost reluctantly, “is putting it mildly.”

I smirked, well, almost smirked; my frustration tempered it. “Finally,” I muttered. “I wasn’t sure I was imagining it.”

Dalton’s eyes flicked to me, sharp and assessing. “You are infuriating,” he said, tone low, controlled. “And I need to make sure you understand your place. This… behavior will not continue unchecked. You must understand that, Miss Mercer.”

My pulse quickened, a mixture of defiance and anticipation heating my cheeks. “Understand my place?” I repeated. “Are you threatening me, Dr. Avery?”

“No,” he said, leaning forward, forearms resting firmly on the desk, his voice tense. “I am warning you. You are smart, articulate, and capable, but arrogance and obstinacy are not achievements. They are liabilities.”

I slammed my notebook shut, the sound echoing slightly in the small office. “So I’m supposed to just… sit there and nod? Not challenge you? Not defend myself? Is that it?”

He did not answer immediately. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest exhale betraying the restraint he was forcing himself to maintain. “You think you are challenging me,” he said finally, voice tight, “but you are testing boundaries. And those boundaries...” His gaze locked onto mine, hard, sharp, unflinching. “...you will learn exist for a reason.”

My fists clenched in my lap, a sharp pang of irritation coiling in my stomach. I had no intention of backing down. Testing boundaries? Sure. But I won’t apologize for it.

I stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. “I don’t need lessons in boundaries,” I said, tone fierce. “I came here because I was asked. Not to be scolded. And I won’t be. Not by you, not anyone.”

Dalton’s eyes followed me, the tension in his body almost palpable. He leaned back slightly, exhaling slowly, jaw tight. “Sit back down,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “Or leave. The choice is yours. But know this, Miss Mercer, every action has a consequence.”

I stared at him for a long moment, chest tight, and then, finally, sank back into the chair, arms folded. I was both furious and… exhilarated. I’m not afraid of him, I thought, and I’m certainly not backing down.

My hands were balled into fists as Dalton leaned forward one last time, the faint crease in his brow sharp enough to make my jaw tighten. “Miss Mercer,” he said, voice low, deliberate, “you may think this is a game, but my patience is not infinite. One more infraction in class, one more interruption, and you’ll regret testing me.”

My teeth ground together. Infraction? Interruption? I had argued, yes. I had been persistent, yes. But regret? That word, that tone, God, he was infuriating.

Without a word, I swung my bag over my shoulder and stormed for the door, slamming it just enough to echo against the walls. The faint sound of his exhale followed me, measured, controlled, and somehow more maddening than if he had shouted.

Outside the office, the hallway stretched before me, a long corridor of polished floors and fluorescent lights. I marched down it, ignoring the occasional student glances, my frustration rising with each step. By the time I reached my dorm, I was practically vibrating, the heat of anger coiling in my chest.

I barged into the room, tossing my bag onto the bed and flopping down beside my roommate, Lila. “I can’t even,” I groaned, throwing my hands in the air. “He… he just… I—ugh! I’ve never met anyone so infuriating! He sits there, calm as a statue, and just… measures me like I’m some project or puzzle he’s going to solve. And then he warns me like I’m a child! A child, Lila!”

Lila raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Wow. I’m sorry, hun, but are you sure you both aren’t in the wrong?”

“I don’t care about who’s wrong at this point! I care about sanity. And that man is… he’s impossible. He has this… this aura of control, and it’s just—ugh! I can’t stand it! I don’t have to put up with him!” I threw myself back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, trying to cool down my racing thoughts.

Lila tilted her head, smirking now. “You know what you need? A break. A full-on distraction. Forget him for a while. Come out Saturday night with me. There’s a party at that club on Main Street, bodycon dresses, music, drinks… the works. Just one night of completely forgetting about Professor Arrogant.”

I sat up, my eyes brightening despite my lingering anger. “Saturday? That’s… perfect. One more day of him tomorrow, then I can just… drown the memory in tequila and loud music. I need it. I deserve it.”

Lila grinned. “Exactly. Tomorrow, survive his ego, and then—bam! Saturday, we paint the town. You, me, glitter, heels, and enough cocktails to erase the week.”

I laughed, a sound more like a bark of frustration turned release. I could already feel the anticipation of escape, the thrill of rebellion bubbling beneath the surface. “Fine,” I said, stretching and letting myself sink into the pillows. “One more day of Professor Arrogant, and then… Saturday, we go all out. Music, drinks, bodycon. Forget every ounce of him and his smug little warnings.”

Lila leaned back, sipping her soda. “Now that’s the spirit. Trust me, Sloane. Nothing clears the mind like a little chaos and glitter.”

I smiled, finally allowing myself to relax, though the knot of anticipation for tomorrow didn’t completely fade. One more day. I could do it. And then… Saturday would be mine. My escape. My rebellion. A temporary but glorious reprieve from the storm that was Professor Dalton.