Page 13 of Devilry

“I do—”

He raises his hand, cutting me off. “Please. It will make me feel better.”

Eager to stop the back and forth, I soften my voice and offer him what he’s desperately seeking. “Aiden.”

“Yeah?”

“I accept your apology.”

3

Cole

Since arriving, I’ve hit the ground running. Trying to find a new apartment, as well as getting into the swing of my new routine, the weekend can’t come fast enough.

It’s week two, and being the new teacher spread thin across the Arts and History faculties hasn’t proved to be that bad. However, replacing someone that the older students had grown to know and love is a whole different ball game.

Professor Herald was a well-known Studies of Religion professor. He dabbled in other areas of interest, but his extensive contribution to academic literature on Christianity means having him as your professor was the equivalent to having Beethoven teaching students piano.

Saying I’ve got big shoes to fill is an understatement, but knowing he left on good terms upon his retirement makes everyone slightly more receptive to the replacement.

Shuffling paperwork around on my desk, I move the senior lesson plans out of the way and prepare for my next freshman class. The first lesson wasn’t too bad. As usual, I had a few latecomers, and some no-shows. Even at a prestigious place like King, the beginning of the semester is always a case of weeding out those who enrolled in your class for the wrong reasons, or better yet, don’t even think college is for them. Typically, I don’t plan the heavy workload until week four. It seems to be a sweet spot, giving the apprehensive students enough time to decide if they’re in or out.

The timer on my phone goes off, letting me know I’ve got five minutes till the students start piling in the room. Placing the remainder of the course outlines on the edge of my desk, I set the electronic student sign in machine next to it. Lucky for me the History department has been chosen to trial the new recording strategy––customized for each class I teach and portable to take to all the rooms I’m in.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, King University is planning on introducing little electronic devices that students swipe their ID cards on before collecting their unit outline. A similar scanner is also placed at the entryway of each lecture room, and students are required to tap into that as well. Both these machines collate the data and send a list of attendees straight through to my email on a daily basis.

It’s the roll call of the future, and it’s fucking fancy.

But when the cost of a degree is equivalent to that of amortgage, and scholarships are limited, you can bet your ass parents want to know if their children are attending; and King only wants the dedicated. I’m sure if it wasn’t frowned upon, each kid would be wearing an electronic ankle bracelet so their parents know of their every move.

One single beep notifies me that my first student has arrived. Finishing up, I scribble a few more points on my notepad and then stand. Walking around my desk, I shove my hands in my pockets and situate myself on the edge and wait.

With each noise, another person enters, talking to their new friends and taking the seat that will eventually become their usual.

I love freshman classes, their enthusiasm for something new never gets old. Wide-eyed and curious, and a little bit frightened, I try not to scare them off right from the get go, no matter how much entertainment it might bring me.

Watching as the last student takes his seat, I pull the hand-sized, electronic remote that connects to the interactive board behind me, out of my pocket. I twist my torso, and point it at the screen.

The voices quiet down the second they see the screen come to life.

“Welcome, again, to Religion: Texts, Life, and Traditions. I’m glad to see most of you returned.” A light hum of chatter flutters through the room at my comment. “For everyone who read the course outline, what are we doing today?”

While the majority of students nervously flick through their booklets, an eager kid at the front raises his hand.

Surprised, and pleased, I gesture to him. “Your name?”

Before he has the chance to answer, a sound indicating someone’s arrival interrupts the class. Instinctively, every head turns to the back of the room, waiting.

Someone’s late.

The door opens, and a young man uses his back to keep it open, while holding a backpack out to someone in front of him. Not at all concerned with being late, he smiles at whoever is out of sight. A hand takes the bag out of the young man’s hold and a few more words are exchanged.

Knowing my voice echoes, I give an exaggerated cough, hoping to get their attention. Whoever plans on walking in is taking their sweet ass time, and I’m not impressed. Painfully slowly, the hidden student finally steps into view.

Fuck. Me.

My mouth dries up at the sight of him. Knowing that it’s definitely the first time he’s stepped foot in my classroom, I watch the attractive guy that fell into me yesterday with unmistakable curiosity.

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