Page 3 of Love Under Snowfall

“What?” Frankie’s stomach dropped, and her cheeks flushed crimson to match her ears. The rustling sound of her classmates turning to watch her crash and burn was deafening.

“Miss Miller, tell us what the holding was forGriswold.” He stepped out from behind the podium and removed his glasses.

“The what?”

“The holding,” he demanded, brows raised expectantly. Again with that bland expression and piercing eyes.

She was dreaming. She had to be. There was no other way to explain this particular brand of humiliation. Unfortunately, an inconspicuous pinch to the thigh did nothing but make her leg hurt. Perhaps she was in hell.

“Miss Miller, are you still with us?” His exasperation showed as he heaved out a sigh.

Around the auditorium, she felt eighty sets of eyes boring into her with intense scrutiny, just waiting for her to say or do . . . something.

“I’m sorry, but I was unaware that we had a reading assignment on the first day.”

“I see,” he clipped, running his tongue over straight, white teeth. Replacing his glasses, he picked up the list again. “Miss Landry, please tell Miss Miller and the rest of your colleagues what the holding was forGriswold.”

“Gladly, Professor Clark,” she purred, wearing a haughty smirk. “InGriswold v. Connecticutthe court held that the state of Connecticut violated the 14th Amendment when the state imposed a law that prohibited the use of any form of contraceptive drug or device.”

“And, Mr. Jacobs,” he continued without affirming Miss Landry’s response. “What was the basis of the court’s decision?”

“Well, professor,” a thin redhead of maybe twenty-two began speaking with the same air of cockiness as Miss Landry.

The rapid-fire questions and answers gave Frankie whiplash as she tried to keep up and swallow her panic. She reminded herself that she deserved to be here, and it would take a lot more than a rocky start to scare her away from something she’d worked so hard for.

Chapter two

Frankie

The class continued (painfully) the same way for the following two hours, and Frankie was utterly lost the entire time. Every other word, in the context of the cases, was new to her, and when they were finally dismissed for the day, she had a list of nearly fifty terms to look up.

Watching her peers pack up, she noted the mix of expressions ranging from overwhelmed—like hers—to arrogantly unfazed. Despite the fleeting reassurance that others were almost as dazed as she, everyone else had at least appeared to have done the reading. But the perk of being the only student flopping around at rock bottom was that the only direction to go from there was up.

Or out.

The waitlist is a mile long and full of students hoping that someone like you will wash out quickly so they can take your place.

She held back until the last student left the auditorium and approached the lectern, where her terrifying instructor huddled over some documents.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Excuse me, Professor Clark?”

He didn’t bother to look up. “Miss Miller.”

Frankie wrung her hands together. The session had been brutal, but this class was crucial to her studies. She had a lot to gain, and it wouldn’t be easy. But instead of bolting with her tail between her legs, she summoned the bravery to say, “I want toapologize again for being late to class today.”

He didn’t look up.

“And for not reading the assigned cases.”

He continued to study the papers laid across his podium. The heat of frustration began to overshadow her nerves and gather in her belly. She was trying to apologize, and the least he could do was make a little eye contact.

“I had no idea there was reading for the first day of class,” she continued.

Shoulders tense, he clenched his jaw yet carried on scanning and scribbling, not bothering to give her the time of day. “How does an L2 not know there would be cases assigned for the first day of class?” he scoffed.

Professor Clark’s pen halted abruptly, and he looked over the rim of his glasses and up through his thick black eyelashes and brows. With his chin still dipped low, his appraisal of her was intimidating, sending another prickle of discomfort up her spine to the roots of her hair.

Suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, Frankie cursed herself again for oversleeping. She’d intended to put a little effort into what she wore the first day. At the very least, she could have put on an unwrinkled, fresh-from-the-dryer shirt instead of something from her floor that barely passed the sniff test. And while her light boyfriend-cut jeans with a few too many holes were perfect for moseying around Leavenworth on a Saturday, they didn’t exactly scream, “Take me seriously.”

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