Professor Novels & Stories

Miss Joana asked one of the male teachers who had just arrived. "Oh? Who are you?" Miss Joana took off her glasses and looked annoyed at the man in front of her. "I'm a new teacher here. I teach English." "Really? It's no wonder I've never seen you. Oh, let me introduce myself, I’m Bagus, the mathematics teacher." Miss Joana just stared at Mr. Nice's outstretched hand without intending to accept it. Not long after, the bell rang. "Oh I have to teach now. Please move aside, you are blocking my way."

But that wasn’t the worst part. No. Because right beside him—arms awkwardly at his sides, expression horrifically neutral, eyes darting like a deer caught in a very inappropriate headlights—stood... Mr. Cristiano Wright. My professor. In his dark slacks and half-buttoned shirt. His perfectly composed face trying to calculate whether he’d walked into an emotional intervention or a domestic warfare documentary. I could see it in his eyes. That exact moment when his soul quietly whispered: “I am a dignified professor. I teach literature. I grade essays. Why the actual f**k am I here?”

I laugh. “You’re right, I can’t imagine you waking up with a prostate the size of my big-ass head,” I say and he hums in agreement after laughing. “You can bend over, I’ll stick my finger up there and check it out for you. I’m a professional.” I offer. He rejects me almost immediately. “On second thoughts, I’d rather worry about what you have to tell me.” He says, switching the conversation to where we were originally headed. “Oh, right,” I murmur.

2 XAVIER I thank whatever fucking god that all of these idiots are finally done with this class. I have taught English literature for three years now. Each year has been a different experience for me. The first year was by far the best. I was a new professor. Twenty three years old. I was so excited for my first real year teaching. I was excited to prove to the world that I didn't get the job just because my father is the dean. At the start of my first year of teaching, I was the shiny new toy. All of my students loved me, and seemed to love my teachings.

From her personality, she looks like a rich girl. "My name is Zaviyaar Khan. You can call me professor. Other than that, I don't like any names. I don't like any fun or misbehaviour in class. If anyone tries to, then later on he/she won't take the class. Let's start the session today with the introduction of the subject." Zaviyaar folded the cuffs of his arms and powered on his laptop. Along with it, he connected his laptop to the projector. Slight noises of whispers were circulating in the class.

“How’s the new professor?” I groaned and rubbed my temples. “Awful so far. Professor Stevens is old, stuffy, and a complete stickler for the rules. Her lectures are long and boring, and I swear she’s trying to kill her students with work.” “That bad, huh?” Tina winced sympathetically as she took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich.

I will let you know what he says. I typed back quickly. Kael: If he makes you uncomfortable, you leave immediately. Understand? Harlow: Yes, Sir. The Sir sent a jolt through me. She was learning. Julian was still talking about profit margins. I pretended to listen. When he finally left, I pulled up the university website and searched for Professor Drake. Mid thirties. PhD from a mediocre school. No published research to speak of. He was nothing. And he was making Harlow’s life hell.

What if it was the weird professor trying to chase her about a date? She hesitantly pulled up the email, bracing herself for the cringeworthy content. But it wasn’t from Professor Hammond. Dear Miss Jones, Apologies I had to run off so quickly earlier. I didn’t get a chance to tell you how impressed I was by your talk. Your passion for history is rare and wonderful to see. On top of that you managed to capture the attention of our students. No easy feat I can tell you! I’m not exactly sure what you do for work at the moment, but I wondered if you have ever considered a career as a lecturer? You would need a Masters degree, but t

Then the professor was coming in. “Well, good morning class. My name is Professor Maxwell Swift. You can call me Max,” the professor said as he stated that he was a Ph.D. researcher for Volcanology and he was excited to experiment with the recent volcanic activity in the news. “It seems that this class will be a very good one this year since we have our very special alumni that will be your TA for this Volcanology Ecosystem 101, Mr. Cameron Hayes,” the professor said. I blinked my eyes before Hayes was walking toward the professor and

I have so much to thank him for. From what I know, I have a few other family members, his uncle and three cousins, two guys and a girl, but I have never met them. I often wonder what they are up to or why they never bothered to stay in contact with us, but it doesn't matter. My uncle is all I need, and now Sam. I quickly grab my phone out from the back pocket, swing my backpack to my back and grab my notebook in hand. I place my pencil between my teeth and turn my phone camera on, snapping quick pictures of the massive board behind the professor.