Kryptonite

CHAPTER 7

Kryptonite

•••SKYLAR•••

I couldn't remember what Prof. McAdams told the class, the annoying Westbrook kept distracting me. I checked my phone, 1:30 p.m., twenty five more minutes. Argh, someone kill me now!

An ESPN notification popped up on my screen, the headline about Westbrook's rumoured future team. My thumb hovered above his face and then I tapped it.

The article praised his hunger to be the next Tom Brady I read on, and another popped up, captioned "Liam is making his family proud," with a picture of his mom and little sister.

I clicked on it. His mom, a fit woman who could pass for his sister, and her daughter Emily, no older than six, with a missing front tooth, smiled together.

I curiously ended up on his I*******m page, his recent post read "Hey guys, meet Lukie, my buddy I rescued today, hashtag rescue a dog."

A pic of Liam wearing a baseball jersey and grey shorts, lying on his couch, cuddling a golden retriever, stared right back at me. This post was sexy. My kryptonite has always been men with adorable puppies.

I wasn't crushing on him or anything, only stating the obvious. The comment section was full of "Aww, this is cute with the heart eyes emoji," or "This makes me want to go to the shelter now!" replies.

In his next post, I watched him packaging meals, supplies, and toys for those left homeless by hurricane Kelly in two northwest states, then his third post, where he asked his fans which classical books they could recommend.

Popular classics like Shakespeare's Hamlet, Charles Dickens' Great Expectations, and Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame filled the comments.

Okay, someone was desperate to please. It was hard to stop the smile slowly spreading across my lips. Why he was doing this was beyond me.

I wasn't a slub, but I wasn't the smokin' influencer type either. It was widely known that he could have anyone he wanted, so why me?

"...That will be all," McAdams announced. I quickly got on my feet, sliding my laptop into my embroidered black tote bag.

It was strange, I had sat through a whole class, my favorite class, and hadn't learnt a single thing, because of the stupid pair of green eyes living rent free in my head. The same pair belonging to the person I couldn't stand.

To be fair, he hadn't done anything to me. It was more of his mindset that he could have any pussy he batted his eyelashes at because he threw a brown leather ball that pissed me off.

That's why my body's sudden craving for his touch confused the hell out of me. Jesus, I was a mess.

"Carte–, sorry, April," McAdams called, correcting himself, "got a minute?"

"Sure," I walked closer to the podium, where a bald, round bellied man stood holding a stack of folders in his hands. He adjusted the thick rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose and then spoke.

"April, I wanted to discuss your law school preparations. How is it going?"

"It's been draining. I'm thinking of applying to Harvard Law after graduation. It's just that the rejection rate is terrifying. I freak out when I think of competing with thousands of people who have much more impressive resumes than I do."

"There is something that could enhance your application. A friend of mine at Walter Partners has informed me that they are launching an internship program in about ten days. It's a hush affair, it's on the weekends, so it won't interfere with classes," he said.

"They will be reviewing applications strictly on recommendations to avoid going through loads of letters. He said three people will make it past the interview round," he added, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I know this adds pressure to your already busy schedule," he continued, "however, it's a great opportunity, and I was hoping you would apply."

"Professor, I'm honoured you thought of me, it's just why are you telling me this? Other guys need this break more than I do."

"Your paper," he smiled warmly, pulling out my paper from his folder.

"Your analysis of how the US government's reluctance to reform mass incarceration across its states sustains private sector employment is the best writing I have ever graded in my academic career." McAdams' praising of my paper meant a lot to me. This cold professor wasn't easily impressed by a student's work.

"You delved into how this sector makes billions in profits off over billing incarcerated families, starting from the companies that supply food and hygiene products, making $2.1 billion from poor communities that have no choice but to fund their loved one's account in prison for them to purchase basic necessities."