Page 8 of Back to Willow

“I’m Ethan, and this is my cousin, Hazel.”

“Nice meeting you guys.” The brunette on my side greets them, too, loudly once again.

I wince, feeling all eyes on us. My body automatically turns back around to the front, and I am met with the most menacing glare from the professor. But his glare quickly changes into an expression of surprise. It doesn’t last long because he shakes his head, willing back a neutral expression.

I have to admit, he’s made an impression on me. He is daunting—domineering, even. And young. It may sound pretentious, but I was expecting a much older and less attractive person in his place. It might be good, though, to have a teacher who is easy on the eyes.

“Good to know that this year’s students are so much more invested in this class,” he mentions before turning back to his desk, where he starts to settle himself. If sarcasm was visible, I’d see it dripping from his mouth and down his chin. The embarrassment has me sinking further down in my chair.

That tongue is as sharp as his jaw, that’s for sure.

“Damn, girl. That man is hot as fuck,” she whispers too loudly, with her breath close to my face and her brown locks brushing my shoulder.

“Shhh.” I try to shut her up, but he still looks up at us with a cocked eyebrow, and all I can do is blush, madly.

Oh god, I hope he doesn’t start to pick on me. I was a real nerd in high school. If this is the kind of professor that puts you aside, no matter the effort you make, I might be screwed.

“Very well,” he starts after clearing his throat. “Good morning. I am Professor Adell, and I’ll be your teacher for the semester. Not Mr Adell, nor my name if you end up finding it out. Especially not Sir or Mr.”

His eyes sweep the classroom once more, lingering on me.

Why is he lingering on me?

“You can only call me Professor Adell—it’ll save you and me a lot of trouble. Believe me.”

A light murmur echoes throughout the room, and by my side, she snickers, “Damn, that’s one bitter man.”

“Now,” he speaks again. “I know this course is directed mostly to basic education, but you will have plenty of preparation for your teaching techniques in another subject, so after consulting with the other lecturers, I’ll be focusing on what the regular Portuguese subject should be. That means we’ll focus on literature instead.”

I hear loud groans across the classroom, making me giggle quietly. I am glad since I used to love the literature side of the subject back then.

“I will pass a few sheets with the books I expect you to read and write a report about. Delivery dates are also on the sheets as well as the guidelines you should follow. In class, we will discuss five books—which are not on that list. I expect you to read those, too, and come to class with your comments about them. Your participation will make up thirty percent of your grades.”

Everyone groans loudly—again—while I happily scribble notes about what the professor’s saying. Reading those books won’t be a problem. Not only do I like to read, but I also make it a habit to read to Dylan as often as I can for him to fall asleep. He quickly became fond of this habit, so much so that we ended up running out of books for him at home.

He has started asking me to read him my books, claiming he is grown up enough to listen to them. It’s funny because while he is awake, he keeps interrupting me to know the meaning of words or about situations he doesn’t quite understand. It’s adorable!

A nudge to my ribs snaps me out of my thoughts. When I notice my surroundings, it’s entirely quiet, and a few faces are looking at me, the professor included.

“Have you finally come back to us, Ms…” Professor Adell asks sarcastically.

“Hanlon,” I finish for him. “I zoned out for a moment, yes. I am sorry, everyone.” I smile apologetically.

My gaze travels back to the seats behind me for just a quick second, but all I see is Ethan’s encouraging megawatt smile, followed by a quick nod. When I look back to the front, Professor Adell’s expression is somber. “Well, Ms, if you prefer to daydream instead of paying attention to class, you can see yourself out. There’s no point in being here.”

I gasp at his rudeness, and for a moment, I feel the need to lash back at him. Sure, I just spent like five minutes scribbling with a smile on my face, thinking about my kid, but there’s no need to overreact in this way. However, his taunting attitude won’t make me lower mine to his level. I won’t snap back.

That is not who I am.

“Of course, Professor Adell.” I grit my teeth.

I am not one to believe in first impressions, but he certainly left a negative one on me. How can someone so beautifulseemto be so ugly on the inside?

Stealing a glance at him, our eyes lock. His gaze is intense and intimidating, making me look away. His jaw clenches when I do, the discomfort in his stance matching mine. After a long minute in silence, he clears his throat and continues, jumping straight into work.

The task is to write a page worth of information about one of our favourite books and hand it over by the end of class. Once I get to work, time flies by. I get so immersed in writing aboutThe Picture of Dorian Greyby Oscar Wilde that when I look at the clock, I notice how I only have five minutes left.

Once the clock hits eleven, marking the end of class, Professor Adell clears his throat and salutes everyone goodbye. Everyone stands, handing over the paper before leaving class. I am one of the last ones and when I get to his desk, I barely place the sheet on the table when he talks.

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