I run my finger over the top of my wristwatch in circular motions and tap my foot. I change my posture and drive my hand through my brown waves, barely bunched up in a ponytail. But none of it helps to bring back the solution I've seen for this question.

Too lost in my thoughts, I don't realize when the door has swung open or Professor Wright has entered the office. I only notice once he is standing across from me, with curious eyes and an arched eyebrow.

"Miss Stewart?" he calls out, crossing his arms in front of his chest impatiently as if he has been in that spot for a long time.

I jump from my seat. "Professor." I hold his gaze while shifting my weight from one leg to the other. Why are professors so intimidating? Why does he have to look like an angry TA ready to shred me to pieces?

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. "Are you well?"

"Yes," I squeak and nod vigorously. "Absolutely, sir."

He scrutinizes me for a lengthy moment, leading me to second-guess if I have actually grown another head. His dark blue eyes, wider than usual, scan my face. Hesitantly, he nods, then walks to his desk, and motions with his hand to the chair placed next to it.

I grab my bag and hurry to the seat. Settling down, I drop my backpack near my feet.

He plants himself behind the desk. Wright surveys the surface, his messy books, and notes.

I stop breathing. Please don't notice, please don't notice.

He glances at me, then his table. When he looks at me again, I force a tight-lipped smile.

With a sigh, he moves aside a stack of textbooks and papers, making space for his satchel. Wright pushes his round, black-rimmed glasses up his nose and leans back into his chair. "I apologize for keeping you waiting," he says as he rolls up the sleeves of his blue shirt, revealing his toned arms.

I wave my hand dismissively. "No prob-" I stop myself. Oops. I clear my throat and straighten myself. "It's all right, professor." I avoid looking at him. With a quick side glance, I catch him shaking his head, a corner of his mouth lifting the slightest before returning to his normal straight face.

It's not my fault he's young, and hard to remember he's our professor and not the TA.

Wright steeples his hands. I sense his eyes on me, but I keep my focus on the other chair across from me.

"Miss Stewart," he starts.

With a deep breath, I drag my gaze to him. His dark brown hair is neatly combed back. The natural light flowing in from behind him causes his complexion to appear darker. His wristwatch catches the sunlight for a moment. A five o'clock shadow beard covers his defined jawline. Even though his eyes are sharp as ever, the dark circles underneath tell another tale.

"Do you know why you're here?" His deep voice sends a chill down my spine.

It's like I'm thrown back to school, sitting in my principal's office for pulling off that grand prank. With Everly, Olivia, and Alex.

I inhale deeply. Don't think about them. Don't spare a thought on your past. I shake my head.

"When I got this post, at this semester's beginning, the first thing I did was ask the other faculty members about the undergraduates I'd be working with." He places his elbows on his overflowing desk. "Multiple professors, including Professor Morris, told me you're one of the strongest students. In fact, Morris insisted that you're the best he's had in the past decade."

I chew my bottom lip. I was aware Professor Morris liked me. After all, I was his class's best student. But I never realized I was his favorite. Pride swells in me, but dread claws its way up too. I can already tell where this discussion is heading.

"You understand what that means, right?"

I nod slowly. Professor Morris is one of the hardest people to impress. Everyone knows that. My leg bounces as I wait for him to continue.

"But I haven't seen a glimpse of that person Morris so proudly spoke of." He leans back into his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest, his brows furrowing as he presses his full lips into a thin line. "Do you have trouble understanding the subject? Or is it the form I'm teaching that's causing the problem?"

I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. "No, I understand perfectly."

"Really? Your midterm suggests something else." He sighs and takes off his glasses. "I asked you to come so I can find the root cause of you and the rest of the class failing."

I gape at him. "I'm failing?"

"You've already lost twenty-five percent of your final grade. The assignments you're submitting are not worth much either, so there goes another fifteen percent. Do you really expect to score the minimum grade of sixty you'll need for passing this course?"

I open and close my mouth multiple times before giving in. I hunch my shoulders and sink into my chair before shrugging.

"Then where is the problem, Miss Stewart. If it's not my method, then what do you think it is?"

Not knowing what to say, I fiddle with my fingers. Suddenly it clicks. My eyes snap to him. "The entire class is failing?"

"That's right."

I bite my lip to stop laughing, but it doesn't help as giggles bubble out of me.

"You find it funny?" he asks with incredulity.

I hang my head low and shake it, trying desperately to quiet down.

I know exactly why we're failing. It's not because of his style of teaching. Not that it's easy to keep up with him, but it has more to do with him as a person.

The handful of girls in the class are always busy ogling him. I would have shamelessly joined them if my life hadn't gone to shit. And being the faithful girlfriend that I was before Alex, the mega asshole, dumped me, I tried my hardest not to notice his physique.

As for the guys, Wright is too much in the classroom.

Men being men, they love to show off. God forbid one of them tries to pull that trick off in his class. Professor Wright will wreck and right that poor guy's entire being in the span of three minutes. For a lasting effect, he adds more topics to be read and solved 'to force our sealed brains to start working.' His words, not mine.

"As long as everyone's failing, I find nothing wrong with failing along with them," I finally say with a slight smile.

His eyebrows jump high. "If you choose to pursue mathematics for higher studies, that mindset needs to change," he snaps. His features turn glacial, and it instantly throws him back to the man that makes a classroom full of students tremble in fear and anxiety.

I gaze at my clasped hands resting on my lap. Long moments of silence tick by before a creaking sound draws my attention.

Professor Wright moves, unzips his satchel, and fishes out a yellow binder.

Oh. There are my class's grades.

"But if you don't find failing with your classmates pressing enough, how would you feel about having the lowest grade amongst them?"

"Impossible." It wasn't my best exam, but I'm sure it wasn't that bad.

He arches an eyebrow and places a sheet before me.

Without looking at the name Gracie Stewart scribbled on top with my messy handwriting, I know it's my midterm. I gather my courage and scan it. My eyes widen at the red lines drawn carelessly over every single answer.

I return the paper to its place and train my gaze on my dark blue jeans, following the lines of the threads.

"Any thoughts or explanations, Miss Stewart?"

I shake my head and rub my forehead.

I always used to think I can separate my private life from my studies. This is solid proof that I'm the worst at it.

Alex. That little fucker. I'll kill him if I get my hands on him. Asshole.

"Miss Stewart, did you study for my exam? And don't bother lying; we're trying to find a solution here." His eyes bore holes into the side of my skull.

With a sharp inhale, I face him. "No, sir."

"Why?" He holds my gaze. His dark blue eyes are stone cold. I resist the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.

"Personal issues." I press my lips into a thin line.

I didn't think it was possible, but his features harden even more. "What are your plans? Doctor Morris told me you're preparing your resume for applying to Harvard for graduate school... or was it MIT?" He furrows his brows and inclines forward.

"Any of the top ten universities," I correct him with a pointed index finger.

He nods. "And yet, you chose your personal issue over studying for a crucial exam," He mocks and arches an eyebrow. "If you want to be successful in mathematics, you must dedicate your entire life to it. If you wish to succeed, your priorities need re-evaluating."

I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something idiotic along the lines of: have your partner of three years dump you on the morning of this stupid exam and then talk about your fucking priorities. In a forced calm voice I answer, "I understand, but as I said, I had a personal issue."

He nods. "Well, I hope you will understand once I fail you," he retorts.

I fist my hand; my fingers dig into the skin of my palm as I glare at him.

"And how much it'll affect your GPA and your chances of getting into a good college," he adds.

A pang of longing shoots through my chest. I suck my lip between my teeth to hide its trembling.

A dream that I can no longer reach.

I stare blankly at the wall across from me.

"Miss Stewart." Professor Wright's voice snaps me out of my haze. "I'm not here to add more to your difficulties. If I would know what your plan is, I might give you a second chance to fix your grade. Do you want me to help you?"

His question catches me off-guard. I use my entire willpower not to gape at him. Or roll my eyes.

When was the last time someone helped me?

Right. Never.

No one offers anything without wanting something in return.

Before summer, everything was perfect.

After summer, the time that my family and I desperately needed help, everyone disappeared. Friends. Families. Anyone who was behind us back in the good days vanished the moment we hit rock bottom.

Help.

That word is a sick joke.

∞ ∞ ∞

WC: 1817

Total WC: 2461