Lecture Me, Please

Olivia’s POV ——— I failed another course. Failed. Again. I get lost in my head for a moment while the campus buzzes around me with the familiar chaos of the first day of a new semester. Vendors shout over each other near the cafeteria. Somewhere nearby a group of freshmen laugh too loudly at something that probably isn’t even funny. Friends are catching each other up on everything that happened during the break. Couples are reuniting. A lot is going on. Meanwhile, my life is quietly falling apart. I sigh and lock my screen. At this point, I feel cursed. I have successfully managed to fail one course every semester of my college years since I began. Which is embarrassing, because I’m not stupid. Though right now, I can’t help but feel like I am. I used to be the girl teachers pointed at when they wanted an example of discipline and brilliance back in high school. Now I’m the girl barely holding her degree together with last-minute reading and pure luck. Not because I can’t understand the material. Because I don’t care enough until it’s almost too late. I read two nights before exams. Sometimes the night before. Every semester I promise myself things will change, that I’ll start studying earlier, that I’ll finally become the serious student my parents believe I already am. But motivation has always felt like something that belongs to other people. People who know exactly why they’re here. I’m here because my parents wanted it. A degree first, they said. Passion later. And I love them enough to obey. So here I am. My mother still tells relatives I’m one of the brightest students in my department. If she ever saw my transcript, she might faint. But I’ll fix it. Eventually. It’s the first day of my third year in college—my fifth semester—and I already dread the months ahead. I can’t even say, “I can’t afford to fail a course this semester” again because that’s what I always say. And yet, here we are. I reach the door of Lecture Hall B just as a small crowd of students begins filing inside. Someone behind me complains loudly about the chill while another guy argues with his friend about football results from last night. Normal university life. Except today my chest feels heavier than usual. I glance up at the course title written on the notice board beside the door. MTH 307 — Advanced Calculus Great. Math has never been my enemy, but calculus has always felt like a language I almost understand but not quite. The kind of subject that punishes procrastination. Which means it punishes me. We had an introduction to calculus back in high school and—oh—did I hate it. I enter the lecture hall and immediately head for the middle rows. Not too close to the front where lecturers tend to notice you. Not too far at the back where the serial noise-makers gather.The safe zone. My friend Lily waves when she sees me and shifts her bag so I can sit beside her. More students flood into the hall—some familiar course mates and some new faces. The air slowly fills with the smell of perfume, sweat, and the faint chalky scent that seems permanently trapped inside every classroom . We barely manage to catch up before the lecturer appears. I look at my watch. Exactly 8 a.m. Amazed is an understatement. I would have bet my car the lecture would start late because the lecturer would be late. But I guess I was wrong. The noise dies instantly. Lecturers have that effect. But this one more than most. He walks in without looking at anyone. Tall. Imposing. Every movement precise in a way that makes the entire hall instinctively quiet. I can’t help but do a double take. He is beautiful. So beautiful I could have him decorate my kitchen. If you knew me at all, you’d understand how serious that is, because nothing unimportant or bland enters my kitchen. He introduces himself and begins the class. Dr. Dante Nethans. I’ve heard the name before, even though this is my first class with him. Everyone in the department knows who he is. PhD holder in cloud security. The youngest professor ever hired by the university, and also rumored to be the most terrifying. The heavens really must want to punish me at this point. Now not only do I have to work harder, but the lecturer is also a ridiculously fine man who apparently scares everyone. “Welcome to Advanced Calculus.” “This course,” he continues, writing the word CALCULUS on the board in a clean, precise handwriting, “is not difficult.” He pauses slightly. “It is merely unforgiving. If you study consistently, you will pass.” Another pause. “If you study the night before exams…” He turns to face us fully. “You will fail.” Lily slowly turns her head toward me. I can’t help but smile. Dr. Nethans continues speaking, outlining the course structure, assignments, and expectations. Since it’s the first class, he mainly refreshes our minds on differentiation and integration after explaining the course outline. By the time the lecture ends, the board is filled with equations and my notebook contains every example he solved. Progress. Students begin packing their bags, the room immediately filling with chatter again. “Okay,” Lily says, standing up. “That man is going to destroy people this semester.” I close my notebook slowly. She’s definitely right. At the front of the room, Dr. Nethans gathers his files with the same quiet precision he had when he walked in. For a brief moment, his gaze sweeps across the hall again just observing. Those sharp eyes pause in our direction. We make eye contact for a moment, and I immediately feel my ovaries melt. Then he turns and walks out. Lecture over. New semester officially begun. And I have the strange feeling that Advanced Calculus might become a much bigger problem in my life than just another course.