Page 2 of Boiling Point
The next slide showed a simple electric circuit diagram. “We’ll start with circuits. Electricity is a fundamental force, one that powers nearly every aspect of modern life. Yet how many of you actually understand what happens when you flip a switch?” A few students put their hands half in the air, then thought better of it and pulled them back down. “Don’t worry—by the end of this unit, you will.”
The remainder of the lecture passed in a blur of diagrams and definitions, my voice on autopilot as my mind wandered dangerously.
Who was she?
“That will be all for today,” I said, closing my laptop. “Make sure to read the first chapter and complete the introductory problem set before our next class.”
The lecture hall erupted into a flurry of movement and noise as students hastily packed their bags and made for the exits. I methodically slid my laptop and papers into my soft-sidedleather briefcase and cast a final glance at the student in the third row.
Unlike the rest, she moved with an unhurried grace, neatly capping her pen and closing her notebook with a soft pat. She stood, hesitated for a moment, then walked toward me, weaving through the departing mass like a salmon swimming upstream.
“Dr. Hawthorne,” she said as she reached the lectern. Her voice was soft but clear, cutting through the residual din of the classroom. “I just wanted to thank you for the lecture.”
I hesitated, searching her face for disingenuousness. I found none. “You’re welcome,” I said, perhaps more curtly than I’d intended. Compliments from students were rare and usually laden with ulterior motives.
Her eyes didn’t waver. “I appreciate the structure. It’s…refreshing.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond. Most students balked at my rigid expectations. Her gratitude was disarming. “What’s your name?”
“Gabrielle.” She shifted her weight and fidgeted with the strap of her backpack. “Gabrielle Clark.”
I filed the name away, knowing somehow that it would be useful. “It’s always nice to put a name to a face,” I said politely. Her face would be impossible to forget—beautiful in its simplicity, not masked by excessive makeup. She had delicate features, sharp green eyes, and natural blonde hair pulled back in a loose plait.
She lingered a moment longer, and I braced for the real reason she’d stayed behind. Perhaps an appeal for special consideration, or an excuse proffered in advance. Instead, she simply said, “See you next class,” and walked away.
I watched her until she disappeared into the corridor, then shook my head as if to clear it. Students like Gabrielle were rarebut not unheard of—bright sparks in a sea of mediocrity. Yet something about her felt different, more compelling.
Or perhaps I was mistaken, and she’d be no different from the rest.
Chapter 2
Gabrielle
“How was the first day of classes?” Aunt Suzy’s sugary, sing-song voice carried through the phone’s speaker.
“It was good,” I answered, balancing my phone and travel coffee cup in one hand as I unlocked my apartment door with the other.
“Remind me what you’re taking this semester.”
I kicked the door shut behind me. “Today I had physics, calculus, and psych.” I flipped on the light and dropped my backpack and purse on the couch. “Tomorrow I’ve got French.”
“Sounds heavy.”
I tugged off my hat and jacket and draped them over a nearby chair, then walked into the kitchen, where I set my now-cold coffee in the microwave to reheat. “It’s not so bad,” I said, switching the phone to my left ear as I rummaged through the fridge for nothing in particular. “I’m used to heavy. Though I think my physics professor is going to be a hard-ass.”
“After putting up with my brother at the end of his life, that’s nothing you can’t handle, sweetheart.” She paused, and I could almost hear her biting her lip. “You know, Gabrielle, it’s okay if you want to take things a little slower.”
I sighed. This was a conversation we’d had many times, ever since Dad died. “I know, but I want to get my degree and be done with it. Slowing down would just?—”
“Would just give you more time to breathe,” she interrupted, her usual cheer dampened but not extinguished. “To enjoy college. To figure out what you really want.”
The microwave dinged. I took my coffee out and gave it a swirl, watching the steam rise and bead along the rim. “I’m twenty-five—not eighteen like everyone else here. I don’t need to soul-search and find myself. I’ve actually lived a bit of life. And I know what I want.”
There was another pause, longer and heavier. “Okay,” she said finally, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Just remember I’m here for you, no matter what.”
“I know. Thanks, Aunt Suzy.”
“So…any cute guys?”
