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.
My eyes 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. Several students 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.”
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-sided leather 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 rare but 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.