Page 16 of Speak

Once I’m in my room, I shower, change into my favorite oversized Metallica T-shirt, and begin selecting my textbooks for tomorrow since my uniform is already pressed and put together. A wave of nostalgia hits me and I feel eighteen again, ready for my first day of college…again.

My morning classes are in the left wing across campus so I need to leave fifteen minutes beforehand which means I need to leave by eight to make it to class by eight-fifteen. I decide to only take half of my prescribed sleeping pill then open my window just a fraction to listen to the cicadas and fall asleep to the sounds of a fading summer.

______

I’m one of the first to stride into Professor Harrington’s class. I take out my notebook, a new .5mm ballpoint pen, and make sure to sit on the end side of the aisle in case being in a crowd makes me have a fit and I need to leave.

I love the smell of this classroom. It smells like old textbooks and cedar with a hint of lemon pledge. As more students fill in, I keep my eyes down when I notice they stop talking when they spot me, even though I notice more and more female students striding in. The ones that sit directly behind me talk about how hot our professor is and how their older siblings had him last year and had loved him. Except he won’t take on a TA and doesn’t like to share about himself. Which he should. Because he worked for the FBI.

My ears are practically strained from trying to listen in on their conversation so hard I don’t see the pair of expensive sneakers in my peripheral.

“Mind if I sit here?” I look up to see Jonas. My heart goes still as I gaze up at him, a halo of light surrounds his chestnut hair and those green and gold-flecked brown eyes make me feel so squirmy.

I answer him with a blink and bow my head so he can’t see the blush that spreads across my face. I can’t look at him. It’s been so long since I’ve had a crush, and Doctor Archer doesn’t countanymore since I’m no longer seeing him. I think of him for a moment, wonder what he’d think of me right now, sitting in public for more than ten minutes now without an episode. It’s not that I don’t like crowds… there’s just certain places I don’t like to be touched and being in a crowd, well, it’s easy for people to touch you even if they don’t mean to. It’s not their fault I’m a freak.

But I’m here to find the ones that made me this way. Someone here knows something.

Soon enough a man not dressed in RMU attire but a tailored navy sports jackets, navy slacks, a white button up and a book bag comes striding in with such a nonchalant flair, his dark hair slightly tousled like he just woke up, black rimmed glasses balancing on his aquiline nose and puts the bag on the desk. I swallow the drool before it can escape my lips.

What’s wrong with me?

“Good morning, students. I’m Professor Maverick Harrington.” He grabs a black Expo Marker and begins to scrawl his name in what I believe he believes is legible cursive on the whiteboard. “This is Criminal Psychology II, and over the next sixteen weeks we’ll be going over different crimes, killers, and their Modus Operandi, listening to tapes and watching recorded interviews as well. I take it you’ve all had a chance to go over the class syllabus that’s on your student portal. If you haven’t I can already tell you’re going to fail this class. Class discussions and debates of whether one case was Nurture vs. Nature will also begin commencing in two weeks so make sure you have valid arguments.”

I stiffen. That wasnoton the syllabus.

“Now, I’ll be taking attendance the old-fashioned way. Adam Alberts?”

“Here,” Adam responds from the far-left side of the room.

“Jonas Anderson?”

“Here.” Jonas says from beside me. The silkiness of his voice warms me.

Harrington lists the students one by one and when he gets to me, I bow my head further. Fuck. I wish there was just a stupid sign-in sheet. “Raven Monroe?”

I grip the edge of my desk.

“Raven Monroe?”

“Here!” Jonas squeals in a shrill voice beside me and the students around us laugh as the whispers begin.

“Quiet! Who was that?” Professor Harrington steps closer to the side where I am, and I hunch lower in my seat. Unfortunately, he catches the movement and comes toward me. My heart beats wildly. From here, I can see the green of his irises even behind those black framed glasses of his. They’re so bright. I love them.

I shake my head once and he catches that movement, too.

“Did you say that?”

I blink at him from underneath my lashes.

“Speak, Miss…?”

“Monroe.” Jonas answers for me and I’m grateful even though Maverick's stare is making my body feel wicked, vile things.

“I’ll let her answer for herself, Anderson. Speak now, Miss Monroe. I won’t tolerate insubordination. I don’t care who mommy and daddy are.”

The heat in my cheeks is now a torrent flame and I will the tear that wants to fall back into my eyeball. My breathing increases as I try to calm myself but it’s not working.

“She can’t speak, Professor.” Jonas explains and covers my hand with his almost possessively and gives it a squeeze.

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