Page 29 of When Hearts Collide

He narrows his eyes at me before lifting his brow.

I blink and take a fortifying breath. “Yes, Professor, please begin.”

Class technically starts now, so my little incident before isn’t a disruption to class, and I won’t apologize.

His stare holds mine, as if he’s waiting for me to say something else, like stammer “I’m sorry,” but I remain silent.

The pulse, which had calmed down moments ago, erupts into chaos. I straighten up in my chair and tilt my face up, my lips curving into what I hope is a confident, composed smile.

His eyes flash with something, but his expression quickly shutters. Looking away, he strides to the podium and sets his laptop bag down before unbuttoning his suit jacket.

Leaning forward, a muscle twitches in his jaw, and he grips the sides of the podium. “I want to discuss a serious matter today. Fanny Reardon, can you come up to the front of the room?”

A brunette from the back stands up, her face as pale as a sheet of paper, her hands trembling as she slowly makes her way toward the front.

“Hurry up! We don’t have all day,” he barks, and I can’t help but flinch.

Quick footsteps echo in the quiet room, the tension thick in the air, and the temperature drops at least ten degrees. A sense of foreboding blankets the atmosphere and people shift in their seats uncomfortably.

“Y-Yes, P-Professor?” Fanny trembles before Ryland, a defendant standing in front of a judge for sentencing.

“Can you tell me where you were last Monday during our first exam?”

“H-Here, of c-course. Taking the exam.”

Professor Ryland’s lips curl into a snarl, the whites of his teeth flashing. “Do you want to revise your answer?”

Fanny cowers before him, her eyes darting to all of us sitting before her. Sweat mists her face.

“N-No. I was here.”

A stack of paper flies in front of her, landing at her feet in a haphazard pile.

“Gregory Timmons, get your ass up here!”

“P-Professor, I-I…” Fanny begins, her face crumbling, and she slaps her hands over her mouth, muffling the sobs tearing out of her throat.

A lanky blond guy stands next to Fanny, his fingers pulling at his hair.

“The two of you have the exact answers, down to every incorrect answer. Your essay responses, while the phrasing is different, share the same sentiments, again, including every single correct or incorrect response.”

Professor Ryland slowly walks around the podium, his steps slow and measured, a lion circling his prey before digging his teeth into their flesh. He cracks the joints in his neck, the sound echoing in the room as we sit frozen in our seats.

He hates cheaters. Jocelyn’s words before our first class reverberate in my mind. Oh shit.

“I can tolerate stupidity. I can tolerate ineptitude. But there’s one thing I can’t tolerate.”

The muscle twitches in his cheek as he leans down over them, even though Greg is almost the same height as him.

“I fucking despise cheaters. People who think they can take shortcuts and use underhanded methods to get ahead, to further their ambitions. Pathetic.”

My pulse riots in my ears as I watch my two classmates shrivel before him.

Fanny whispers, “P-Professor, we have reas—”

Revulsion drips out of every word from his mouth. He points to the door. “I don’t care about your reasons. It’s all bullshit. You both are the scum of the earth and I’ve reported your cheating to the dean and the disciplinary committee. Now, get out of my classroom!”

Fanny whimpers, her tears streaming down her face, and Greg shakes like a leaf before he ushers her out of the room.

---