It was June. A warm, gorgeous day in June. I can still recall every detail of that day. How it's gentle sunlight filled me with joy, or how the soft breeze whispered secrets to the trees on campus. It was clearly less crowded than usual, marking the beginning of summer break, but we were still there. We were the only ones, just for that short moment in time. And, for a second, I thought we would be alright. She and I were happy, and that was all I cared about.
She was all I cared about.
It all started four years ago. Trisha Sheng, the most celebrated professor in Harvard University, was teaching her first class at the time. She was already the center of the science world, and was claimed to be the Einstein of this generation. Heck, every famous scientist combined.
And...well, I was just a small fish in a big ocean. Just plain 'ole Spencer. I had no fancy title before my name, nor a clever middle name to follow it. Just "Spencer." Why was I stuck in the number one university in the nation? I haven't got a clue. I was a misfit in Harvard, though I don't like to use that word. I'd prefer to call myself a baby dragon. Full of potential, but just far too young and lazy to do anything. On a bright note, the Chinese believed baby dragons brought great fortune. Heh, at least that's what a...certain friend told me.
I was in her class one chilly September morning. Although Professor Sheng was only a couple months younger than me, I had just begun college; she was already my teacher. I paid no attention to her, of course. I was curled up around an amazing book. In my opinion, college did not compare to this novel. But to be quite honest, most teachers don't pay attention to me.Quite simply, no one gave a crap what I did my whole life, as long as I got good grades. Clearly, given the fact that my sorry ass made it to Harvard, I assume this system worked.
As I buried myself deeper into the words on the pages before me, all the students scribbled and scratched on their papers at the professor's every word. The sounds were nearly deafening. Her lecture echoed across the walls, and the frantic pens and pencils struggled to follow. It was like this studious symphony, and, based on her grin, it was clearly pleasing Sheng. But then she saw me, the one who ruined the harmony in the glorious ballad she created.
"Excuse me, sir?" Professor Sheng called out, her voice short with annoyance. The orchestra seized, and it's composer glared at the one misfit who dared to disrespect her. I look up from my book and simply replied with a "Hm."
Sheng was taken aback at this point, surprised with my answer. She expected a much more...obedient reply I suppose. I wasn't sure what she expected. She cleared her throat.
"Am I going too fast for you to take notes?" the professor asked tentatively. Her anger was now replaced with something much more human: anxiety. I had forgotten this was her first lecture.
"No."
"Then are you recording my lecture?"
"No," I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat as hundreds of eyes glued themselves on me. Professor Sheng's lips formed a tight, straight line.
"Then can you come to my desk later this afternoon for the notes?"
"No-."
"You'll be coming to my desk, like it or not," she commanded, reigniting her angry flame. Sheng cleared her throat once again, and returned to her class, her sanctuary. I just sat there, like a stupid, stunned asshole. Not one teacher had ever been so strict with me, especially when I acted so uninterested. Eventually, the teacher would give up on me, and I'd just perform my part and do my work.
But then again, no one was like Trisha.
In the end, I actually did show up that afternoon. I honestly don't know why I did, but it felt as though I had no choice. And hey, I wanted to see how a girl a foot shorter than myself could actually threaten me.
"Hello?" a called out, my voice dancing around the now empty classroom. I cursed silently, realizing that the little Asian I was searching for was nowhere to be found. I caught myself then, realizing how disappointed I was. Why had I even shown up? I assumed, at the time, that it was merely curiosity.
"Yes?" came the agitated reply. I snorted in amusement, seeing that the once big voice became oh-so-small. I made my way over to its source to find that the professor was practically buried under notes. Her face was scrunched in concentration, and her brown eyes flared with determination. It scared me at first, seeing someone that strong willed, but I came to admire it later on. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"
"I'm sorry, but you-."
"Good! You understand, now leave," she grunted, her eyes glued to her notes. I inhaled deeply, and ran my fingers through my short, auburn hair.
"I'm here because you asked me to?" I said tightly, the last word coming as a question while I tried to remain calm. This seemed to do the trick, and the professor abruptly stopped reading to look at me. This was when I first saw her. I mean, yeah, I was there earlier that day. But this was different; we were closer. I could clearly see, now, that she was extremely beautiful.
"Oh, well," she coughed, embarrassed about her previous behavior, "just take a seat on the, uh..." She began, gesturing to her desk. I looked over at the table, which was submerged in papers. Sighing, she took out an extra stool for me to settle on.
"So, why am I here again Professor?" I asked impatiently as she began digging through her Mt. Everest of notes. The professor paused suddenly upon hearing my question, and turned to glare at me. I braced myself for impact.
"Please, please, please call me Trisha," she groaned, "I mean, it's an honor to be in this position, but come on. Stereotypical chemistry professors are about a hundred years old." I had to laugh at that, especially with that hurt expression of hers. After several seconds, however, she also fell into a soft chuckle. It was a beautiful sound, coming from such a beautiful girl. It was a struggle just to avoid staring at her.
"Good point, I suppose," I grinned, wiping away my tears. Trisha smiled back before returning to her frantic search. After a few minutes, she returned with the papers she was looking for.
"Here you are," Trisha said quietly, handing me the notes. I took it, startled that she actually was giving me what she promised. Usually, teachers asking a student to come by for paperwork was code for 'you're screwed.' Seeing my expression, she quickly began to explain. "See, I know this subject we are beginning on is difficult and I just though you might-."
"You know, most professors don't do this right?" I said softly, my green eyes meeting hers. She bites her lip as a result and looked away, flustered. "Most professors don't care about students who struggle-."
"Well I care!" Trisha said quickly, taking my hand. My fingers tingled as our skin met one another, and I could practically see my reddened cheeks. Trisha, surprisingly, was oblivious to this. "I... I want everyone to love chemistry as much as I do, honestly! It's so under appreciated and... I... That's why..."
"I get it," I smirked, my blush slowly disappearing as I realized she had reacted on the passion of her subject, not of-. No, I refused to think of such thoughts. I gave Trisha's hand a reassuring squeeze, and she responded with a shy smile.
"So if you ever struggle on something, let me know," she continued, slowly letting go of my hand. I nod, and pick up both the paper and my pack before getting up to leave.
"Wait!" Trisha calls out just as I grab the doorknob. "What's your name?"
I chuckle at myself for thinking she would say something else as well.
"Spencer, just Spencer."
