Page 1 of Boiling Point
Prologue
Callum
Small towns are supposed to be safe. Nothing of consequence happens in a forgotten speck on the map.
My sins shouldn’t be able to haunt me here.
But they can.
And they are.
The reaper has come for my soul.
And her name is Gabrielle.
Chapter 1
Callum
Another semester.
Another herd of barely conscious undergrads clinging to caffeine, shivering in hoodies, readjusting to early mornings after winter break.
January in North Texas reliably meant a biting, dry cold and an utter inability to dress for it. Hoodies counted as coats. Scarves were decorative. Gloves, apparently, were a foreign concept.
Eight o’clock on a Monday. Welcome back to Page College.
“Good morning,” I said, straightening my tie and adjusting my cufflinks—a small ritual that helped me stay composed. A few students looked up, but most remained hunched over glowing screens, already disengaged. “I am Dr. Hawthorne, and this is Physics 112. If you’re in the wrong room, I suggest you leave now.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the hall, tepid and obligatory. I scanned the rows, cataloging the usual types—the eager ones in the front row, already armed with laptops, highlighters, and pristine notebooks; the indifferent middle-section slouchers; and, of course, the back-row escape artists who thought I couldn’t see them texting under their desks. Myeyes snagged briefly on a young woman sitting in the third row closest to the window. She wasn’t slouching or scrolling like the others. She sat upright, pen in hand, focused entirely on me. She didn’t even have an open laptop—just a simple notebook and printed copies of my syllabus and lecture slides.
I avoided eye contact and started the lecture. “Physics isn’t a subject for the weak. It demands discipline, accuracy, and—most importantly—a willingness to fail spectacularly before you succeed.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but I didn’t soften them. They weren’t here for coddling. “Since you’re in second-semester physics, I’ll assume you’re still committed. But the second course is much more challenging than the first, so…buckle up.”
I clicked through the first few slides, outlining the course structure, key dates, and my expectations. “You will, of course, have already had Physics 111 with Dr. Watkins. This course will be structured similarly. Instead of the traditional lecture-lab setup, this course is integrated. We meet Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from eight until ten, and the lab component is incorporated. Physics—applied physics, anyway—is very hands-on, and studies show that a more kinesthetic approach to the material produces superior retention.” I caught a few blank stares. My words may have coasted over their heads. I made a mental note to remember these were first-year students, and the wheat had not yet been sufficiently separated from the chaff.
Page had high standards, but it was still a liberal arts school. Bright students, yes—but not all of them were built for science. Especially not in a place this small, where the top physics minds shared a residence hall with theatre majors and poets.
“Attendance is crucial,” I continued, “though not sufficient for success. Engagement is what will see you through. And yes, that means putting away your phones.” A collective groan rose from the classroom. I allowed myself a thin smile. Severalstudents begrudgingly stowed their devices, though a few in the back held out with a defiant nonchalance.
My gaze drifted to the young woman in the third row. Unlike the others, she hadn’t needed to put anything away. Her focus remained unbroken, her eyes like two deep wells of intent. I wondered, briefly, what her story was—and why she seemed so different from the rest.
“Discipline is the cornerstone of this course,” I continued. “You’ll find that physics has little tolerance for approximation or halfhearted effort. The same can be said for me.” I paused, letting the weight of my words settle over them like an iron cloak. “If you’re here to coast, you might as well drop now and save yourself the trouble.”
I flipped to the next slide, which displayed a list of bullet points in stark white text against a navy blue background.
“Let’s talk about expectations,” I said. “First, late work will not be tolerated. The universe may be flexible, but deadlines are not. I won’t take attendance because I’m not your father. However, don’t expect any grace from me if you fail to show up and then struggle with the material.”
I advanced the slide to my office hours and contact information. “These are my office hours,” I said, pointing to the screen. “I strongly encourage you to make use of them. If you find yourself struggling with the concepts, don’t wait until the last minute to seek help. I am more than happy to assist those who show initiative and are willing to put in the effort.”
She was staring at me.Unflinching. A spark of something—determination, perhaps—flickered in her eyes.
“And before you ask,” I continued, breaking away from her gaze with a reluctance I didn’t quite understand, “yes, I’m English; no, I don’t know the king; and yes, I drink tea.” Another ripple of laughter, this one slightly warmer. I’d used that line for years.
“Are there any questions?” I asked, knowing full well that there wouldn’t be—not yet. The first lecture was always a monologue. Questions came later, once they started struggling.
“Then let’s begin with a brief overview of what this course will cover.” I clicked to the next slide, which displayed a series of diagrams and equations. “In your first semester, you focused on kinetics—things you can see and measure directly, like velocity and acceleration. This term’s curriculum is far more abstract. We’ll explore circuits, magnetism, and waves—the concepts that govern the unseen forces of our universe.”
I noted the shifting postures, the subtle twinge of anxiety on faces. The abstract had a way of intimidating even the most confident students. “Don’t be discouraged,” I said, almost gently. “While these topics are less tangible, they are no less real. Understanding them will give you a deeper appreciation for the world around you—and perhaps even change the way you see it.”
