The Student

THE STUDENT (His Dark Lessons, Part One)

Ava Claire

Copyright 2012
Ava Claire

****

I eased off the exit ramp for Hillsborough
Street
, trying, and failing, to quiet the bundle of nerves in the pit of my stomach. I still had a set of lights to go through before I turned onto campus, but I could already see the wrought iron gates that surro
unded Thomas College and I practically broke out
into
hives.

I
wish I could say my apprehension was due to the usual suspects
—the customary
steady flow of papers and assignments doled out by professors that forgot you were taking at least nine other credits, fall hookups
with boys that would break your
heart all over again,
psycho roommates--but the truth was something that I still couldn't say out loud, even though it happened two and a half months ago.

I had proof of it everywhere--
a slew of
unanswered texts, dozens of awkward voicemail messages and
long dead floral arrangements that marked my dirty apartment like headstones. I even had cards from profes
sors ranging f
rom liberal arts to the science department
. They all pretty much read the same. T
hey
were there if I needed to talk.
How inspiring my dad’s life had been.
And
I didn’t hav
e to come back in the fall if I
was
n’t
ready.

If I was
n’t
ready--it was kind of i
ronic c
onsidering I was one of those
weirdos
that actu
ally looked forward to August. Every summer, like clockwork, I bought my books early. I
even read the first chapter
and made notes
.

I was
pretty much r
eady to go back to school as soon as I turned in my final exam. Always ready to learn and become a writer, just like my father. But when I pulled down the front drive of Thomas College, heading past the oak lined gra
ss and the balloon remnants of Freshman Move-in D
ay, I didn't feel the excitement of a new year. I felt terror.

My phone buzzed on the passenger seat beside me and I glanced at the screen as I put the car in park.
I rolled my eyes when I saw the sender was my mother.

"Make it to school okay?" I read out loud incredulously. It shouldn’t have been that surprising consid
ering she’d called at 6am then
at 8
am
offering to take me out to breakfast before my 10am class. If my mother was a helicopter parent before
Dad
, she was
now
officially a
Siamese
twin
. Hell, she
’d even
wanted me to move back home after it happened.

I
knew
moving home wouldn’t fix whatever was broken. Moving back home would have just made things infinitely more awkward; like taking
the scream
ing quiet of my apartment and multiplying it by a
couple thousand square feet. M
y mother
and I had something else in common
besides
long, ink black
hair and muddy brown eyes. Neither one of us
talked
about the elephant in the room.
Neither one of us brought up t
he person sized hole that had been carved out of our hearts.

The smell of fall wafted in
wh
en I threw open my car door.
I s
moothed down my stick thin hair
before beginning
the tre
k throu
gh the leaves toward the herd
of students heading to class
. I kept my eyes forward, blinders on and in full effect. I didn’t want to see someone
I knew
or have to deal with the pity in their
eyes. It was hard enough
knowing I had to walk into the building that had become a part of my father’s legacy.
With every step I took, my chest got tighter. There’d be no escaping it
once I saw the white letters above the front door.
There’d be nowhere to hide.

I kept my head down, ignoring the ‘
Rhyder
Woods English Building’ above the entrance and pushed inside. My British Lit class was in
room
214 upstairs, but I’d have to pass Dr. Stark’s office to take the first stairwell. I glanced to the right and saw him, head bowed and chatting with some bright eyed student. I booked it in the other direction, knowing I was adding an extra few minutes that I didn’t have if I wanted to be on time for class, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

"Cass?"

I froze, the voice turning me to stone. I could pretend I didn’t hear her and just keep walking, but I had a feeling she’d just go after me.
I took a breath and
turned around.
"
H-hi
Alicia!"

Alicia Rhodes
was as bubbly as ever, completely disregarding the awkward that hung between us as she pulled me in
for a hug. When she released me,
she let out a nervou
s chuckle, toying with her blond ponytail. "Y-You look great!
"

She was lying, but her attempt made me smile in spite of myself. "Thanks." I glanced a
t her sun kissed skin,
sparkling even beneath fluorescent lights. "Emerald Isle looks good on you."

"Best summer ever!" Her face fell immediately
as it came out
. "Oh god Cass, I didn't mean-"

I waved a hand, dismissing it. "It's totally fine.
Really."

"I tried to call you," she offered. "And email. Mom and I wanted you to come up and get away from it all for a week or two."

I felt the sob rise in my throat, remembering her emails and texts.
Hers were the only ones I responded to and even then, it was no
more than a
one word response. But seeing her now, knowing she was worried about me, then and now, I couldn’t fight the tears that welled in my eyes.  I wanted to say something, tell her that e
very note from her was like a
life vest
whenever I began to drown, but I
knew it would ensure I had a
break down.

She brought me in for another hug, squeezing tight. "I'm so sorry about your dad
, Cassandra
."

I stood there awkwardly, taking it for a moment before I extricated myself with a laugh that sounded like someone stabbed me in the gut. “Oh it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, seeing right through me
.
It probably didn’t help that I’d just used ‘fine’ three times in the last five minutes
. “It’s okay if you’re not fine, you know.”

“I
know.” I clutched
the straps of my backpack so tight that my nails dug into the palm of my hand. “Well, I’ll see you later!” I pushed through the door to the
stairwell, feeling her
gaze f
ollow me as I took two steps
at a time.

I wanted to pretend
I’d done a good job and came
off normal-
ish
, but that would be another lie. I’d barely made it through a conversation with Alicia, and now I had
to sit through
a class
fu
l
l of English majors
I
’d known
for the past four years--and the one professor I couldn’t duck away from.

Dr. Madison sent two arrangements
after the accident
and when I didn’t answer her emails, came to my apartment for an awkward cup of coffee.
She was my faculty advisor and
I’d
been looking forward to her British Lit c
lass since I was a freshman,
but
now I hovered i
n the corner a few feet from 214
, afraid to walk through the door.

I inhaled deep and moved forward
, peering into the classroom
window
as I reached for the
doorknob. I shrank back
when I saw a man perched on the edge of the desk
at the front of the room
.
I could count all the male professors in the English department on one hand and none of them were below the age of 50. The guy who was staring out at the class couldn’t be more than 30.

I could only make o
ut his side profile, but it was more than enough to make me b
lush
in approval. Chestnut colored
hair hung in shaggy waves
around his angular jaw
. Tanned skin was accentuated by a black button down shirt that he
had rolled up to the elbow, paired with
midnight colored jeans. There was something familiar about the way he
carried himself. He exuded confidence and sex appeal, t
urning something as effortless as leaning into someth
ing that made me wish I’d taken a little longer getting ready this morning
. When I saw the dark flash of a tattoo
peek f
rom beneath his arm cuff
, a gasp shot from my lips like a bullet.

It couldn’t be.

Hi
s hair should have been longer and
unruly. The guy I knew wouldn’t have a tan because he spent his days indoors
with his nose stuck in a book.
He
was twenty-seven and a doctoral candidate when we met at Royal Bean, bonding over bone dry cappuccinos with a sprinkl
e of raw sugar on top. We gushed
over Tolstoy and Dickens and I swooned over someone who studied English and didn’t care that my father was
Rhyder
Woods.

I stared at the mystery man, desperate for some tell-tale sign that it wasn’
t him. The guy I knew
wouldn’t teach at Thomas
College
since he always talked about living abroad after he finished his dissertation
.
And he’d have to be crazy to stick around a
fter I told hi
m that if I ever saw him again
I would personally tear his head off.

But when his
head whipped to
the door and his eyes met mine, I covered my mouth in horror. His golden flecked eyes still stripped me to my bare bones.

Chance Crawford.
T
he only heartbreak that could still take my breath away.

I turned on my heels and walked in the opposite direction. I could put one foot in front of the oth
er and
grin and bear it through my senior year, but I wasn’t going to sit through a semester with him at the front of the class.

“Cassandra
, wait!”

I slowed,
then
gave myself an internal shake. Why the hell was I slowing down? B
y the time I’d picked up speed it didn’t matter because he’d caught up with me.

“Cassie.” He
gripped my arm tight and
wheeled me to face him. “Where are you going?”

I wrenched my arm away, trying to see past the fact that he was more handsome than I remembered.
“Where is Dr. Madison?”

“She had a family emergency,” he explained. “She’s taking a semester of personal leave.”

Guilt formed knots in my throat w
hen I remembered how tired Dr. Madison
looked when she stopped by to see me. She’d cared enough about me to be there when she was going through her own drama?

“I’m he
r substitute.” His voice washed
over me
, bringing me back to the fresh crisis before me
.
“I’ll be teaching her British literature course this semester.”

I hated to admit it,
but
I still couldn’t take my eyes off him. H
is
new haircut was undeniably sexy. The choppy brown layers
accentuated his strong jaw line, giving him a playfulness that he lacked before. My eyes trailed down
to
t
he tight muscles of his chest. It was obvious he was still running regularly from the
fit of his button down shirt. And then there were the jeans. It was like God himself had crafted them, making sure they hit him at all the right angles,
taunting me with the delicious, solid part of him
I still remembered well.

I’d hoped the years would mar his attractiveness, that he’d go to Europe and do to some other poor girl what he did to me and get beaten to a pulp. Or fall off the Eiffel tower.
Something, anything, to justify the fact that he made it impossible to ever trust another guy with my heart.