Page 94 of See Me After Class

Its towering spires reached toward the sky, and the intricate stone on the walls was a work of art in itself.

I walked through a sprawling garden, lush with bright flowers and foliage. There was an air of peace here. Not what I’d expected.

Tranquility had no business being part of a place where there was so much evil at work. But then again, that was only tied to one man. And the boys and I would handle that.

Him.

In time.

Students sat by a pretty stone waterfront and set paper boats afloat upon its shore. I sighed.

The reality of my first class just hit me hard. Not unlike how I’d have felt if a bag of bricks fell on my head from the ceiling.

That would have definitely needed a hospital visit, though.

Smiling grimly, I entered the classroom.

The baroque influences were evident in the ornate carvings on the wooden desks and the intricate patterns on the ceiling.

There were large windows casting a soft, amber glow on the room.

I had to marvel at the desk, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, with its polished wooden surface and intricate carvings.

I’d always been a stickler for Old-World detailing.

My students looked at me as I launched into a clumsy introduction.

“Hello. I’m Professor Taylor, and I will be teaching English 106. I trust all of you have gone through the syllabus. What’s your favorite part of it?”

A girl on the front row let out a little giggle. I looked at her, stuck between a frown and curiosity.

“Yes, would you like to volunteer an answer?” My British accent came out involuntarily, although I usually did my best to gel with the crowd here. Some of the students at the back wolf-whistled.

She giggled harder. Then, the whole room broke into snickering.

Man, this was going to be harder than I’d thought.

I turned my back to the class and launched into an explanation of French-English History, which was the topic I’d prepared for today.

“More than a third of our current English vocabulary owes its very existence to the French vernacular.”

I still hadn’t made up my mind whether I wanted to be an authoritative professor or a cool one. I ended by making up my mind on the spot. About fifty times.

“How d’you feel about that, my dudes?” I turned and flourished my chalk at the class.

Then I immediately backtracked. “I mean, what’s your opinion on this?” I raised my chin, trying to be more... pedantic.

Man, I wanted to be back home cuddling Sally and reading to her.

This was a comic tragedy.

Then a portly old man came into the classroom and opened a thick file of papers. “Good morning, class, and welcome to Economics 341.”

I snorted. “Economics 341? Sir, you have the wrong class.”

He looked at me with raised brows. “Well, for the last fifty years, this classroom has been designated to Economics 341.”

I wanted to whack this old man, bless his heart.

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