The Professor

"Remember, Honey, we are so proud of you!" My mother exclaims gleefully from the passenger seat, the familiar hope growing in her blissful voice. She doesn't bother to turn around to face me. She only preserves her attention ahead of her on the road. I assume that if she even catches the slightest glimpse of me, she'll burst into tears while smearing her conservative application of makeup.

I grin warmly at the back of her blonde head and patiently repeat, "Thanks, mom."

She's only reminded me a hundred times that she is proud of me being accepted into a huge art school. Both my parents continue to brag about it to about every encountering we have with someone. One circumstance is clear, I explicitly will feel at loss of their glowing smiles and secure affection. The whole college idea is abnormal for my abundance. Taking into account of the thought about being absent from them will definitely be unusual. After all, the distance is only about a three hour drive, yet it doesn't change the fact that I won't be able to see them every day like I used to. It breaks my heart. I'm so emotionally attached to them, as they are to me.

In the same breath, I am so thrilled to attend this school. I've contrived the best of me for this moment and now it has all exceptionally paid off. I'm finally where I'm suppose to be.

The van slows to a stop and we all climb out. I step onto a freshly cut lawn and stare at the giant building that runs many yards away from me. It's breathtaking.

It must be about ten stories high. This campus is so large. There are so many buildings with a thousand windows on each. I'm afraid I will get lost.

"Honey, don't forget to grab your giraffe from the seat." My mother reminds me from the trunk of the car, breaking my gaze from the stunning view.

"Oh, yes!" I open the car door and fetch the miniature stuffed giraffe from the seat. Quickly, I meet my parents at the car rear to retrieve my luggages. I'm still amazed how I managed to fit all of my belongings into two suitcases, three backpacks, and two cardboard boxes. I thought maybe I would have to bring an extra vehicle.

It is very common for me to hear about how the bundle of clothing I posse is just too atrocious and dramatic, like as if I'm a Baribe with her capicous wardrobe.

In fact, I have even been related to a Barbie. Some say it's my petite body type, others claim that it is my 'natural beauty.' Do I agree? I'm not sure.

We begin walking. I carry the two suitcases while wearing a heavy backpack. My parents each carry a box with a backpack as well. They follow behind me. I keep attempting to match their pace, but I'm way too excited.

As we walk what feels like miles to my dorm, I begin to picture my four years here at this amazing school. I imagine staying up late, finishing a painting under a dim lamp light or reading a book in the library. I imagine all the techniques I will learn in my visual arts class and cluttering my dorm with paintings and projects. I imagine friends and late night parties and pizza at three AM. This is my life for the next four years. I'm way too thrilled.

The elevator stops on the fifth floor. I realize that my parents are quiet. I know that as much as they are proud, they are upset. Their only child is grown up and will only get to see them during holidays and random laundry days. I am capable of comprehending the tragedy it must be for them. It's difficult for me too. I'm going on nineteen years of age and I only wish to rewind back time to stay with them forever and play with Barbies. However, the time has arrived for me, pushing me out the door and onto my two-inch heels. My new journey is about to begin with the clues of it displaying my starting point here at a large campus and leading to where I am meant to be. I don't regret a single step of the way nor memory.

I release the two luggages from my hands to fetch the key from my pink lanyard around my neck. My fingers scramble through a handful of keys and a small stuffed giraffe with large eyes. Finally, I find the silver key and unlock the door to find a small, empty room. It has a large window that views the campus. There is a bed on each side of the room with a desk on the other end. Analysing the clean, abandoned capacity, it is evident that my roommate has not arrived prior to my appearance so far.

I stop in the center of my new room with my suitcases by my sides and hold my arms out as I say, "Well, this is it."

My parents smile at me, their brown eyes squinting from their cheeks. They appear prepared to cry.

"This is it." My father says calmly. "I think you will do just fine here."

It's very considerate of him to believe in me, along with my mother. They both have been so supportive throughout this journey. How will I be able to make it through today without crying?

I grin. "I think so too."

With a sudden mental reminder, I immediately pull my phone out from the side pocket of my pink suitcase and check the time: 2:21 PM. Checking out classrooms ends at 3:15 PM. I must hurry and assert my farewells. Certainly, I abmoniate this factor of similar situations as these. I strongly dislike goodbyes.

I inhale deeply and declare, "Well, I better say bye now so I can checkout my classrooms." My voice is dull and lifeless, it being distinguishable of my anguish. Consistently, I continue to remind myself that I will see them during thanksgiving.

"Oh, yes. Of course, Sweetie." My mother shakes her head as if she were lost in her own thoughts, as if she were considering on abducting me back home. Fairly, I wouldn't mind that at this point.

Despite the contrary, I really am delighted to be here. It is just unfortunate that it comes with the cost of my parents' absence. Surely though, I should be able to adapt to this new world and move on from it.

"Goodbye, Darling." She wraps her arms around me tightly. When she pulls away, her waterline below her eyes are red with tears.

My throat ties a knot, a lump remaining motionless as it grows in size. I attempt to swallow it so that I don't cry. "Bye, mom." My voice cracks, the lump expanding once in size. Now my eyes and nose sting.

My father then embraces me in his tight grip and asserts his goodbye. His eyes are glistening, but no tears have officially left. He's challenging himself to remain strong and brave, as he always does. I don't recall a moment ever that I have seen him cry. At one point, I questioned if he was physically capable of tearing up, or maybe that he was just insensitive. However, he is anything but insensitive, he's the friendliest man I know. It took me a few years to realize that by not presenting pity or emotion, it would promote his masculinity as a father-figure. Men.

"Don't forget to call if you need anything." My mother reminds me as she walks out the door. It's clear that she is hesitant on leaving her baby girl alone. She stops in the doorway and grins warmly at me, then guides herself out with my father.

"Definitely." I call out loud enough. "See you Thanksgiving!"

I fight my tears. The circumstance is surely passable, it will not cause me to bawl. Not a single dreadful tear. I'm way emotionally stronger than this. Remember, I will be able to see them this coming holiday of the turkey. The thought calms me more.

Everything is fine.

My feet stride me towards the mirror to check my image. My eyes aren't as red as I thought. I stare at my relaxed reflection and wonder if my outfit was an exceptional decision for today. I'm wearing my pink crop top with a black skirt and thigh-high socks. I fix my thin choker around my neck so that the chain is in the back behind my hair. My fingers crawl through my long, brown hair swiftly before I exit my room.

On my phone, I click on my schedule from my email. I smile when I notice that my art class is first. Now I just have to find it.

Oh boy.

I check the numbers on each door I pass, but they don't match up with the numbers on my screen.

Am I in the right hall?

Maybe I'm on the wrong floor. I spot an elevator and quickly hurry towards it before anyone else can, my boots clapping loudly against the tile. Once I'm in, I stare at the dozen buttons and press the first random one I see with my index finger, my rose-colored nail poking the button.

This has become a guessing game now.

I'm alone in the elevator with only a male student. He's built and has short brown hair. His face is slim and sculpted with pale skin and narrow eyes. I notice that he is wearing a short sleeve with with tan shorts that reach his knees.

Am I overdressed?

He's wearing casual clothes. Is what I'm attired in considered casual? I would hope so. It would be quite bewildering if I'm the only one who stands out in apparent clothing.

Although, I never was afflicted with what other people anticipated of my attire during high school. I regularly dressed myself up each day as if it were for a special occasion. It was the confidence that motivated me to do so and the passion that drove me when I paired clothes. I especially loved the compliments women would give me.

On the other hand, this isn't high school. What if students believe that this is too much. Shouldn't I be like the average female student and wear a large T-shirt that sponsors our school with shorts that are hidden beneath? It does seem comfortable, but it is just not me. Maybe I shouldn't deposit so much thought into this.

"Like what you see?" I hear his nasal voice ask. His brown eyes lower to mine as he smirks satisfyingly like a boy given an unlimited debit card to ToysRUs.

I'm too observant. This is exactly what it costs me. Was I seriously staring for that long? I must have dozed off without realizing.

"Oh, sorry, I-" I quickly cast my attention away, brushing my hair behind my right ear anxiously.

It's not that I find him attractive, which he actually doesn't appear that bad, but it's the fact that I'm embaressed he believes that I really was checking him out. Any time a man assumes I'm admiring his body, the situation always ends awkwardly, leaving me feeling uncomfortable and embaressed.

He smiles warmly with a relaxed expression and declares, "That's alright, Baby," the elevator slows to a stop. "You can watch me for as long as you would like." He whispers by my ear before he steps out of the elevator.

I roll my eyes. Oh yes, I want you bad. Cocky Bastard.

I seriously wish I had a dollar for every time I was catcalled or called 'Baby.'

It's almost as if men actually feel a win when they flirt with me creepily, as if they deserve a pat on the shoulder for being the world's biggest pervert. What is it with men competing against each other on trying to be as much of a creep as possible? Is there an award titled for "The Best Pervert" engraved in gold and surrounded by admiring men who claw eyes out just for it? Remember, men, women especially love it when one lacks morals and respect for a woman. So, keep calling us those offensive slut labels and continue to promote your masculine ego with your abominable pick up lines. Trust me, it really works.

My eyes roll from my raging thoughts. This is exactly why I've never been in any relationship.

The door opens on the fourth floor. This floor appears to have more hallways with a thousand doors.

I sigh devastatingly with an edge of dissapointment, knowing that the amount of time would not pair up with how much patience I contain right now. As a matter of fact, I've never had any patience to begin with. It's one of my many flaws.

After about ten minutes of entering and departing halls, I realize that I cannot possibly discover it on my own. With another exhausted and bitter sigh, I search for some kind of assistance. Any.

I look around for any stray professors or management around. None are to be found. How is it that no one is out here to assist on the day before many classes begin?

My luck.

A classroom door is open to my right. Maybe there's a professor in there who can help me.

I slowly enter the room. Across from me is a long, black desk with a man in a suit sitting behind it. He stares down at a paper, holding a pen to it. He looks so focused, I'd hate to disrupt him. Maybe I should look for someone else.

Quietly, I turn on my heel towards the doorway.

"Hey," I hear a low voice call from behind. Somehow, with only one word, this man can turn it business-like and already intimidating. I assume he's one of antaginism or even short-tempered. If that is the case, I'd really hate to allocute with him now.

Obediently, I immediately freeze and revolve around to face him. He rises from his seat and he becomes a lot taller than I expected. He faces me. His fit figure is darkened by the large window behind him. All I can make out is his statue-like silhoutte. In attempt, I squint at him slightlty as I approach him gradually.

"Can I help you with something?" His soft voice offers, but still hints discomposure, like as if I'm a disturbance who's distracted his desolate exertion.

I halt and stare at my black, ankle boots bashfully with the tempature rising in my cheeks, speculating on how to structure my question.

I disclose my mouth hesitantly for a split second. Courageously, I affirm, "I need help with finding my class."

He slowly walks towards his window as I object myself confidently. His back faces me now as he fetches the lever to the white blinds. "Which class?" He questions while closing them. The room becomes more dim. My eyes adjust to it quickly.

"It's just my-" I begin before he turns around.

In that moment, I am struck by his appearance. He has deep, narrow eyes that sparkle a slight blue. His dark hair is short and spikey to a point above his forehead. Above his soft lips is his pointed nose on his dark, glowing skin. My eyes draw down his tall, lean body as my insides scream desireably.

Oh my.

"I. . ." I gander back to his dark eyes after being caught off guard from his attractive impression. I don't even remember what the hell I was saying. Crap!

He raises an eyebrow impatiently. "What class do you need to find?" He folds his arms firmly, standing his ground vigorously like a tall statue that can't even be broken with kryptonite.

"Oh, yes, it's my art class, I can't find it," I breathlessly giggle with nerves tangling at my fingertips and beam at the ground while gripping my hair back behind my ear.

Oh my gosh, ground, swallow me now!

He chuckles softly, allowing his erotic impression to escape his tone while effectively charming me. With a grin, he sedately replies, "Which one? There are like a hundred of them here." He eyes me patiently while leaning his palm into the edge of his desk.

Duh! We're in an art school! Get it together, Rosie!

"Oh right," I shake my head and stare at my schedule on my small screen. "It's uh," I stare at the words as they generate into another language, momentarily losing my verbalization. As a result, I just decide to show him instead. "Here." I walk towards him and flash my phone screen for his vision.

He stares at the screen for a moment before smiling and declaring, "Ah. The visual arts class is on the third floor next to the graphic design class. You'll see it." He assures attentively with a balmy grin while folding his arms. Just like a light switch, his mood alternates from agressive to pleased, as if he suddenly won the lottery. I'm not sure to detect this signal as beneficial or threatening for my disposition. This man already seems so mystifying.

I huff. "I must have passed that like ten times." I utter to myself softly. My eyes meet his as I express my gratitude with, "Thank you." I watch him for a few, finding it difficult to remove my attention from his. How could anyone keep their eyes off such a sexy man? Naturally, I bite my lip while admiring him, like a woman in her forty's adoring the pool boy.

He narrows his hollow eyes at me as if I've insulted him just now. "No problem." He unlocks his arms before walking towards his desk. He leans up against it while watching me. "I noticed that you have me for your next class."

"I do?" My words spit out. My heart beats rapidly as I check my phone to assure myself if he is being serious. I glance back up and inquire, "Professor Collins? Algebra 102?"

"Correct." He grins satisfyingly and folds his arms again. He inspects my reaction like he's amused.

My mouth opens, but I am left speechless. My brain can't even assemble words into a sentence correctly. They just keep colliding together all at once.

Holy cow, I have a hot professor.

"Does that concern you?" He asks after a moment of silence, examining my expression with a puzzled feature. His head is tilted and his eyes are constricted with consideration and curiosity.

"No." I answer quickly. Too quickly. Was it obvious?

It just concerns my emotions and my distraction during class. That's all. You know, the usual.

"Good. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." He dips his chin as his eyes darken, as if threatening my presence til then. His thick eye brows straighten into a line after his jaw clenched.

I swallow hard and bite my lip, ignoring how attracted to him I am. Undoubtedly, avoiding my captivation for him is impossible, as it would be for anyone.

His eyes draw down to my lips. He then glances up at my eyes in the most intimidating way. It's like he's watching me like I'm his prey. Why? What does he want? Does he hate me already?

I hope not.

"Well," My quiet voice breaks the silence. "thanks again. . .Professor Collins. I'll see you tomorrow." I turn away and exhale shamefully, desiring for this encountering to be finished with before I say something ridiculous next.

How long was I holding my breath?

"With pleasure." I hear him state behind me.

I exit his room and lean up against the wall so that my body weight has support before I fall to the ground from my numb legs.

Whoa.