Page 11 of Forbidden Professor

There is a moment of awkwardness, where she is staring at me, trying to decide what to think of me. She tucks a stand of hair behind her ear then smiles.

“I guess not!” She wrinkles her nose. “Do you know who you’ve got for your class advisor yet?”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Oh! It’s basically the professor that you have to check in with every month. They can see your grades and what your professors have to say about you. Then you meet and they advise you on how to… I don’t know… be better at school, I guess.” She rolls her eyes. “I got Dr. Black, who is about a million years old and looks like he died awhileago.”

“Ahhhh,” I say, nodding. “I have no idea who I have.”

“Well, let’s hope you have a different professor because Dr. Black and I met yesterday and it took two hours. He lectured me on the basics of studying.” She makes an offended sound. “As if I somehow got into med schoolon a full scholarshipwithout studying. It’s like… dude, I am so on top of my studying, it would make your head spin.”

She rolls her eyes so theatrically that I can’t help but smile.

“That does sound terrible,” I agree. “And if you ever decide that you want a study partner, look no further. I love nothing more than quietly spending hours reading and memorizing while my friends are in the same room.”

“I might take you up on that offer.” Vi smiles and opens her notebook.

People begin to filter in, taking the seats around us. I glance at the three chalkboards, set up side by side.

Just looking at that blank chalkboard makes me a little sick with worry. I’m in the middle of the room. Middle of the pack. No need to draw attention to myself just yet.

It’s only the first day. Fidgeting with my pen, I make sure that my binder is ready. This is my first day of med school, my very first class.

“It’s going to be okay,” Vi says softly.

My anxiety must be showing. I glance at her, pasting a smile on my face. “I know. It’s just nerves.”

The class should be starting any minute now. My index cards already read Dr. Finch— Cell Biology 201. All around me, students are sitting down, shuffling papers, preparing.

The guy to my right opens his laptop, queuing up a note taking software.

What is that software? Why don't I know about it?

Should I know about it?

Anxiety blossoms in my chest. I’ve done everything I knew how to do, every single thing I could think of… but what if it’s not enough? What if I am so much dumber than the other kids?

God, Dr. Finch is going to walk right into this room and just know. He’ll take one look at me and realize that I’ll never make it. Breathing in and out through my nose, I flip my binder open and study the quick chart I made. Dr. Finch peers out at me from the photo I have glued to one corner of the chart.

He’s old. He’s British. Apparently he likes to talk about Camus and his own collection of parakeets.

I did my research. I just hope it pays off.

I close my eyes and breathe. There is no way that he’ll just be able to spot the future dropouts right away. That’s just something I came up with because I already respect Dr. Finch so much. I am just intimidating myself for no reason.

It would help if he wasn’t late to the beginning of his own class, though.

“I’m here, I’m here,” calls a male voice. Way too young to be Dr. Finch, and yet… “Don’t worry. I’m going to be taking this course over from Dr. Finch.”

Opening my eyes, I look down to the center of the room. There is a young man standing at the chalkboard, facing away as he writes. He has flawless mocha skin and his short, close cropped hair has impeccable edges. He’s big and broad, his muscles bunching discreetly underneath his white dress shirt. His ass looks fantastic in his dark slacks, not that I’m looking or anything.

I’m not one of those girls that gets hot for teacher. Not normally, anyway…

The hair starts to stand up on my arms for some reason.

Why does the professor look so… familiar? My breath catches in my throat.

Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

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