002: lowest score

Evangeline

I drummed my pen into the desk, my foot vibrating with nervous energy.

Last night I’d barely gotten any sleep, and when I did close my eyes, all my nightmares were filled with a demon. A demon made out of 28s. Once day broke, I practically ran to school. I almost forgot my makeup.

For the first time since the semester started, I made my way down to Art class. To my surprise, the lecture hall was half filled at 9:45, most of the students gathered in front. Well, it seemed like everyone wanted to be in class early today.

I, however, wasn’t here for class.

I sat in the furthest row, angrily tapping my pen, waiting for the professor to show up. The professor who dared give me a 28.

“Unbelievable,” I scoffed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Me? A 28?!

Fortunately, my father hadn’t heard of it yet. So all I had to do was confront this professor, get him to change the grade, and return back to my life.

Crises, averted. Business Management, never going to happen.

At exactly 10:00am, the professor entered the class.

The hall fell into a hush. Something extraordinary happened. It was as if everyone’s attention was grabbed all at once, converging at a singular point.

Him. Professor Arthur Nikolai.

Subconsciously, my spine straightened.

Oh.

It totally makes sense that he would be the art professor.

He looked like a painting come to life, or a marble statue sculpted by hands that only knew beauty. He was tall, insanely so. He had long dark hair tied neatly at his back, and he breezed into the hall with the air of danger and the grace of a dancer.

He looked unreal. A creature of myth and wildest imagination, maybe. How is he so handsome? Handsome doesn’t even begin to cut it.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice deep with a musical timbre that should be illegal.

“Good morning Professor!” The students replied enthusiastically.

“Hmm?” I touched my face, and to my shock, my cheeks were burning.

What?!

That’s insane! Why would he make me blush?!

It was then I noticed. The front rows were filled with girls gazing at him adoringly. A few boys too. Their shame was clear for the world to see.

Whatever. I don’t care. I’m here to straighten that stupid 28 and that’s it.

The Professor scanned the small crowd. He seemed to be noting every face in attendance…there’s no way he knows everyone here, right? There are hundreds of students and—

His eyes fell on me.

I stopped breathing.

I was so far off that I couldn’t tell their exact color. But heavens…I felt like I was being peeled open. His gaze didn’t linger, only lasting for two seconds as he took note of my face too.

My face which was burning bright red.

He looked away, as if nothing had happened. Only then could I breathe again, drawing in large lungfuls of air.

That’s crazy. This is all crazy. I don’t like this feeling at all. I should round this up immediately.

The rest of the class went by without a hitch. I did my very best to avoid everything, listening to Professor Arthur go on and on about the works of Monet.

I honestly didn’t care. Art never struck me as anything. It’s nothing compared to the vast expanse of the universe. I’d rather spend my time buried in my Cosmology textbooks than staring at a mass of colors and trying to feel something.

Immediately class was over, I grabbed my things and shoved them into my backpack. Then made a beeline for Professor Arthur.

A big mistake.

There was a long line of students in the front waiting to talk to him, and that line only got longer the more time it took me to get from the back of the class to the front.

One girl practically had heart eyes as she asked him about a part of the text that she found difficult to understand.

It made me gag.

But then the way he spoke to them, in a kind and unhurried tone, took me off guard. Either he was oblivious to the fact that they were all flirting with him, or he just didn’t care, or he was really passionate about explaining color and shapes to a bunch of kids.

I don’t really care.

Finally. After what seemed like forever, the line thinned out. I shoved my way forward, displacing a guy that was in front of me.

“Professor,” I said, partly in greeting, partly aggravated. “May I have a word?”

He looked up from the papers he was organizing. “Yes?”

My heart caught in my throat.

Okay, maybe I understand why they were all falling over themselves.

I’ve never seen a man as handsome as him. And up close, his eyes are a startling indigo. Not quite blue, not purple either.

I cleared my throat and reminded myself to be poised. “My name is Evangeline Bramwell. I’m taking this class as an elective, although I’d rather not, but I don’t have a choice.”

He nodded, his eyes trained on me like a laser.

My heart started racing. Sweat trickle down my back and my mouth felt dry. A strange tingling coursed through my veins, settling in the pit of my belly.

There was something about him. He was like a black hole, pulling me deeper and deeper. And I was defenseless against him.

That’s stupid! He’s just a professor! Nothing more!

“I don’t recall ever seeing you in my class, Miss Bramwell,” he said.

Of course. He knows everyone in his class. Like I’d believe that.

I cleared my throat again. “I had other things to attend to. That is not why I’m here, professor. You gave me a 28 in the last test.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes. “Ah, I recall now. It was you who had the lowest scores.”