Chapter 6 #2
Amelie elbowed me. “Are you insane? Don’t look directly at him. He’ll bite your head off if he catches you.”
She was right. Despite going toe to toe with him and calling him hot behind his back, she wisely refrained from ogling him for good reason.
Rumor had it, Professor Maxwell had reported eight female students—and one colleague—for misconduct.
It was natural for the female demographic to become somewhat enamored with a hot, young professor in a sea of older ones.
But Professor Maxwell loathed the adolescent attention and demanded that the dean make an example out of them to discourage such inappropriate behavior in the future.
The dean was eager to bask in the glory of his star faculty member.
He feared the professor would terminate his contract on the grounds of sexual harassment and brought the students under strict disciplinary action.
Some were expelled. A prestigious university naturally brought in big donors and was worth more than the contributions from the students’ families.
Other than forcing student assistants onto him, the dean would go to any lengths to pacify Professor Maxwell, and the thing he hated the most was lovesick women at his workplace.
Even perceived transgression would result in getting kicked out of his class and facing expulsion.
I looked away from the professor, examining the vial between my fingers.
“She wasn’t looking at him like that ,” Matt said defensively. His blue eyes flitted between me and Professor Maxwell, unsurely. “Right, Rose?”
I quickly shook my head, and Amelie threw her head back, a cascade of curls falling over her shoulders as she chuckled, her soft laughter tinkling like wind chimes. “Every girl’s looking at him that way,” she said.
Sean groaned while my lips twisted into a reluctant smile, carefully wiping down the wet glassware.
Rookie mistake.
Amelie bumped shoulders with me, taking it as a sign that I was ready to come out of my shell. She often correctly deduced when I was comfortable speaking in a group, but, at times, missed the mark.
She turned her big brown eyes on me expectantly, hoping I would chime in with lighthearted banter. “Don’t let them think I’m some thirsty bitch. I can’t be the only one who made out his biceps under the lab coat,” she pressed.
A familiar panic fluttered in my chest when all eyes landed on me.
If only my voice could leap from my throat as fearlessly as hers.
Instead, it remained locked away, a prisoner of my own making.
So far, I got away with shrugs and noncommittal grunts within the group, but now, the focus was on me.
It made me feel like I was standing naked in a snowstorm.
I shrugged, a silent language spoken with my shoulders. With a timid smile, I focused on the residue stubbornly clinging to the glass. I sighed in relief when she took the hint and moved on. She turned her attention to the others, her attempt to include me fading with the buzz of the conversation.
Unlike Amelie, I preferred to navigate the world invisibly.
I was a shadow, flitting on the edges of interaction, seen but seldom heard.
The only time I was comfortable speaking in groups was after getting to know the members intimately or after several drinks.
That was why I steered clear of classes with tons of group work, but six science credits were too good an opportunity to pass up.
I regretted my decision when Professor Grump assigned our group another useless task—organizing the supply closet. Damon’s image flickered in my mind as my hands moved robotically to measure solvents.
How could twins be so different?
Damon was approachable, whereas Professor Maxwell was guarded; no one was good enough to live up to his impossible standards.
Damon had an easy smile, while his brother only wore cruel smirks.
Damon’s blue eyes were kind; Professor Maxwell’s looked like they belonged to the devil.
Damon wore his wavy hair loose while his brother slicked his back like a Disney villain.
If it weren’t for our families, I would have a beacon of hope in pursuing Damon. But after what happened to Rayyan, I feared our differences were irreconcilable.
My cousin, Rayyan, fell off a cliff a few months ago.
According to the autopsy results, he was high as a kite when he plummeted to his death, and though the news gutted me, I never questioned the legitimacy of the findings.
After all, Rayyan was impulsive with a debilitating drug addiction.
The rest of my family wasn’t so convinced and insisted Damon Maxwell was behind the accident.
Grief had a way of blinding people and making them deaf to logic.
If they found out I held a torch for Damon or I was taking his brother’s class, I would face consequences for going against them.
“Shit!” Amelie’s voice snapped me back to reality. “I think I fucked up.”
What?
I shook my head to break out of my haze and glanced at the tube in Amelie’s hands. My eyes rounded. It seemed she had plunged the dropper into the wrong solvent jar. I pried the dropper out of her fingers and held it up to inspect it. Just as I did so, another voice cut through the chatter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Professor Maxwell’s voice boomed from across the room.
My heart skipped a beat, then started beating erratically. Hope whispered its siren song in my quiet world, and I listened, daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t speaking to me.
To my dismay, he strode toward us purposefully. His footsteps sounded aggressively loud since everyone else had piped down, scared to breathe in case it redirected his wrath toward them instead. “Did you just mix PMU with methanol?” Icy blue eyes zeroed in on me—accusing, unforgiving.
Amelie opened her mouth to say it was her mistake, but I kicked her in the shin before she could admit to it. She was on a scholarship, one she would lose if she got kicked out of this class. Better me than her, though the knowledge didn’t make it any easier to shoulder Professor Maxwell’s wrath.
“Do you know how rare PMU is?” he barked. “It’s impossible to find.”
My mind came up with a flurry of excuses, but they remained caged behind lips that refused to part. Words were like butterflies inside me—beautiful but impossible to catch when needed. I murmured an apology in my head, the words catching in my throat.
Amelie opened her mouth again, and I pinched her under the table.
“Ow,” she hissed, rubbing her swollen side. This time, she looked pissed enough at the physical assault to let me take the fall.
I glared at her, too, silently telling her to keep her mouth shut. If she lost her scholarship, she wouldn’t be able to finish her senior year. Her family was relying on her future income, and she had a lot more to lose than me.
I caught a glimpse of Professor Maxwell, wondering if he could hear my heart drumming franticly. My palms were sweaty, and I felt faint.
He was furious. He slammed his hand on the counter before him, and the rest of the class jumped at the impact.
“You put us back by at least a week,” he shouted, then faced the rest of the class.
“This isn’t your daddy’s office, where you can play pretend and someone else will clean up your mess.
Your mistakes here matter.” Professor Maxwell returned his attention to me.
There was a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—before his expression settled into ire, and he roared, punishing everyone for my mistake.
“I’ve had enough of this charade. None of you is fit to be taught. Get out of my lab, all of you!”