AS SOON AS spring break is over, I dive right back into my busy schedule. I've got assignments, tutoring sessions, work, and my relationship to juggle all at once.

I try not to linger on my small moments of breaks, just because they're so few and far in between with my hectic life, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss my week of sleeping in, minimal studying, and uninterrupted time with Carter and his family.

We spent our time well, and I think we're solid enough to withstand the rest of the semester, where we'll without a doubt have much less time to spend together.

Professor Kane, my pharmacology professor, seems to have enjoyed her break as well. Her shoulders aren't as rigid and her usual pale skin holds some color to them. She's relaxed in appearance but not demeanor, walking across the long white board through her lesson, small in stature but big in presence. A black marker remains in hand and her low registered voice projects authority and knowledge as she writes the different medications in our unit and their various uses.

She doesn't use slides nor does she upload her lessons online after class. Taking her means anxiety-inducing lectures where your fingers or pencils have to work as fast as her marker to get everything down before she's filled up the board and has to erase for more room.

Do not underestimate the power of her black marker.

She'll ask if anyone needs more time to copy, of course, but no one wants to be that person. Asking her to wait means holding her back from getting everything she needs to get out during our eighty-minute lectures two times a week. And trust me, she makes sure to use up every second of her eighty minutes.

She's not a bad teacher, not even close. You don't leave her lectures feeling clueless, you leave them feeling overwhelmed; overwhelmed from the knowledge she's relayed to you and overwhelmed with the tasks you need to complete to retain that knowledge.

Just looking at her stony face fills you with dread, that's why I tetter towards her desk after class, trying to decide if I should just email her later instead.

I wish she'd at least smile. With sharp cheekbones that could slice a cantaloupe and ocean blue eyes that could hypnotize any innocent peasant into submission, I feel the same way I always feel talking to her—like I'm entering a lion's den.

The devil is real.

By the time I get to her desk at the front of the class, all my other classmates have already rushed out. That's what we all seem to do, run with fear the minute we're dismissed.

"Hello, professor." My voice sounds robotic.

She finishes erasing the board, and crosses her legs when she sits down on her swivel chair.

"Sanders is it?" Her mask doesn't drop, she's as stoic one-on-one as she is in a room of sixty other students.

"Yes," I nod, "Summer Sanders."

"What can I help you with, Summer?" She turns towards her laptop and begins typing.

I stand still, waiting for her to finish her task, but when she looks back up at me still typing with a raised brow I realize she intends to multitask.

I clear my throat. "I was just gonna see if you would look over my project outline and give me some feedback. If you have the time, I can come back another time if you don't."

"Of course I will look at it. Take a seat." She gestures towards the chair positioned at the side of her desk.

She holds her hand out for my laptop and I have to hurry to pull the outline out. I take a seat when I hand it to her and let out a breath that doesn't settle my racing heart.

Professor Kane spends an extensive time scrolling down my laptop. I made my outline detailed just to cover every inch of her requirements, but still, I don't think it should take her this long to read it.

She pulls her head away from my screen and scoots her chair closer to me.

I pull back as a reflex, and stop myself from scooting away from her for fear of looking rude.

"Well." She searches my face.

I wince, already preparing myself for a massive blow to my confidence. She's known to give feedback so harsh that multiple students have walked away in tears after.

"Is that a good well or a bad well?"

She chuckles to my surprise. Her forehead lines wrinkle and her face tweeks to show a hint of more softness.

"You look as though I'm going to strike you," she says, "Summer, relax a little. It's a promising outline."

"It is?" My tongue rolls with desperation.

"I've been keeping an eye on you, you know," she says.

"You have?" I adjust the neckline of my off-shoulder top, feeling perspiration build from my face to the pits of my arms.

"I know I'm a little behind, but I've just graded your midterms and your results have captured my attention quite a bit."

I can feel my breakfast rumble in my belly and begin its journey back up for air. I'm embarrassed feeling my leg convulsively shake, and I'm even more embarrassed watching professor Kane witness it with an alarmed look.

What I'm most embarrassed about is the confirmation that I've once again underperformed and now I have virtually no chance of getting the grade I need to pass.

My studies are done, my dream is done. I'll be forced to go back home and be one more bitter failure in the family.

"Summer...Ms. Sanders, are you okay?"

"I'm-" If I answer I'll break into tears so I hold my face strong and rip the bandage. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"I keep three lists for each of my classes," she says. "From my years of teaching, I find students land on one of each list and typically stay within their list from the beginning to the end of the semester. The first list are the A students. They start off strong, remain strong in between, and end strong. The second list are students who limbo in between. They start off promising, though not quite strong, and either stay adequate or sometimes fall off. Occasionally, they even rise up and end very strong. My third list are the students who have a rough start. Typically, they continue to have a rough time throughout, and drop the class before the end of the semester. Can you guess which list you are on?"

"The third list?" I feel like she's insulting me by making me reveal my own mediocrity to her. Of course I can guess which list I'm on, I saw my test score.

"Yes, you were on the third list after exam one, but you've managed to do what very few students have been able to."

I freeze at her words, inching my head forward, begging, pleading for her to give me good news. "I have?"

"After getting a sixty-two and using up all three of your excused absences, you've managed to get a ninety-three on the midterm and ace all of your following assignments. It's a feat I don't see often, and when I do, I like to recognize it. So I'll say, job well done."

My mouth visibly drops and I have to hold my hand over it to keep the imaginary flies from flying in. A ninety-three, I've gone from a sixty-two to a ninety-three.

Exhilaration courses through me. I could run to the window, scream out of it, and perform backflips back to her desk with this level of happiness.

"Thank you." I come down from my high and start to become bashful.

"I've taken the liberty of going through your transcript and you've been solid the first two years, but I must say, you've had quite a rough year, am I right? If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to know what happened last semester."

I battle with myself trying to decide what and how much I want to tell her. I settle on giving a basic overview, minus the woe-is-me tear jerk of it all. She doesn't look like the sympathy flooding type, but I still want to keep my guard up.

When I start talking, my whole plan goes out of the window and I end up spilling everything; from my family's financial struggles, to my many responsibilities, guilt, breakdown, recovery, and new struggles this semester. I even tell her about Carter.

I speak to her like she's my therapist and has asked me to tell her everything on my mind, and I'm embarrassed as hell when I settle back after vomiting everything out.

She's gonna think I'm fishing for sympathy, she's gonna think I'm looking for handouts and preferential treatment for my struggles. That would mean a lack of respect for my abilities and I hate it even more than any tear jerking sympathy in the world.

"That is a lot." She's physically taken aback from everything I say.

"I've gotten through it, and I'm continuing to get through it. My mind is focused and I'm ready to succeed no matter what."

"Like I said, your outline looks promising and if it's followed closely, I have no doubt that you will ace this project as well. Don't ever stop believing in yourself, Summer. You're a strong girl and I need you to breathe, focus, and remain consistent from here on out. As long as you do that, you will finish strong. If you ever have any questions or need to talk about anything, my door is always open. I may be the devil, but I promise, some of my heart still remains."

"Thank you. And I just wanted to say, I'd never call you such a thing." I bite my nail, steering my eyes from her. Technically, I've never said it out loud so I'm not necessarily lying. I didn't say that out loud earlier, did I?

"Oh dear, I'm well aware of the nickname I've earned over the years," she says. "I'm strict because you guys are going to graduate and be in charge of another human's life. So many students just cruise through school, and they go out into the real world and they don't know what they're doing. Someone has to give them a real taste of what's to come. To prepare them to be the best healthcare workers out there. Only those who are fully capable should pass through, and my teaching style ensures that that happens. I want the best for everyone, that's all."

She sounds vulnerable, like she's not speaking to me directly but to a jury of her past and present students.

"Well I think you're a great teacher and I'm not just saying that, I really mean it. I mean, this class has absolutely kicked my ass in the most misery inducing way, but I can confidently say that I'm learning a lot."

She smiles a genuine smile. "That's what I like to hear. Best of luck, Ms. Sanders."