Princess & The Professor

1: Sweetest Sixteen

CLARA's POV:

*Buzz Buzz* *Buzz Buzz*

"Hello..?" I lazily took my vibrating phone from its place on my nightstand and answered the call, bringing my weak arm to my ear.

“Hey, baby sis! Happy early birthday!” I suddenly heard my older brother Knox’s voice on the other end of the line. His southern accent was so loud and choppy that my ear could even attest to falling off at any given moment.

“Thanks doofus, but do you know what time it is here in Massachusetts?”

“Cake and present time?” He annunciated playfully.

“No.”

“A little strawberry and lime marg with a sugar rim?”

“No.”

“To find out that you finally got into the National English Honors Society?”

“Ha, funny. I wish but no.”

“Then you lost me at all the cake and margarita talk,” Knox chuckled and sighed together.

“Argh! Three! Three in the morning, Knox!”

“Hey, in my defense when I turned sixteen, you rolled my favorite superhero figurine with ashes from the fireplace and mom had to throw it away because of the smell. It took me about three weeks from Gilly to figure out it was you who did it. Consider this payback, sleepyhead.”

“Who still plays around with toys at sixteen, Knox?”

“Who still slept with her favorite dolly till about fourteen?”

“Good point,” I laughed and he followed.

My birthday wasn’t even until tomorrow, December 1st and here I was just trying to convince my eighteen year old brother that I was severely jet lagged and completely exhausted from my solo roundtrips to Finland and Denmark. As soon as I came back to my little minimalist college apartment in Boston less than a week ago, sleeping, writing and extending my French Vanilla coffee addiction was all that I could wrap my head around. That is up until the Fall semester would end. The truth being that even though I was a little ways away from my hometown in Tennessee, living in Boston for an early college program before graduating was well worth my life savings spent.

I was happy and a single pringle with no roommate and most importantly: no stupid boys.

“You know Clary, dad still doesn’t like that you left for Boston given your age. He still thinks that there are a lot of people out there who will criticize you for being so young.”

“Knox, dad can say all that he wants about me as much as the rest of the world. I’m happy with my life in Boston and every day I learn more and more how to take care of myself as if I was an adult like you.” I say confidently, though my raspy voice was evident.

“Mom believed in me,”

“Yes she did. She believed in both of us. Besides is Boston becoming your dream school?”

“More than anything, I believe I belong here. The more I write, the more I’m happy.”

“That’s great Clary, I plan to come visit you soon.”

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Knox and I didn’t stay on the phone for long after that. As clear as it came from the sound of my voice he knew that he was keeping me up at a time where I deserved rest.

As I was about to switch my phone off again and set it back down on the nightstand, flashbacks of my last day being with my family came back.

Knox was heading off to the state of New York to finish his qualifying financial graduate program and baseball contract in Cooperstown while I was having ambitions for Boston in order to kickstart an early college program in English, leaving our dad to an empty house with two of our coonhounds.

Mom had shortly passed away before Knox’s seventeenth birthday a year prior. It was a difficult time for all of us and still is.

Hence why I choose not to talk much about experiences of the past. I’m here and so should my life be as well.

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F I V E H O U R S L A T E R..

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I wake up to the small muffled sound of my deranged alarm and quite the inquisitive view of crisp autumn skies and vibrant red sunlight.

It’s now close to nine in the morning with temperatures as low as thirty degrees.

Winter is approaching fast.

Slowly I attempt to jerk myself out of the warm mattress and blankets and have both of my bare feet land on the cold carpet. Assuming that I should probably take a hot shower and get into some bundle clothing would make me feel more comfortable in my own pale, ice cold skin.

As soon I did all of those natural feminine things and features of accessories, I mouthed a blueberry bagel, grabbed my carryon pack with my books and laptop as well as an ice coffee and rushed out the apartment door for my first class in the campus library.

Plenty of students were already within the process of shifting from their home rooms to general education classes within the campus grounds. Most students I’ve encountered so far have always taken a liking to courses that involve behavioral science and psychology for some reason. Not to discredit anyone but that it’s only rather interesting to me.

I would also say getting to walk through the outdoor eastern corridors across the football field is where I would gain potential pertussis for the fact that more than half of the boys on the team would try to make smirking gestures and flirty eye contact with me as I pass along and they being well within in practice.

However, as soon as I would reach the library, my usual spot would be on a mini sofa just next to the hall door where the class would be held, and before my teacher himself would arrive.

Except today was different, a no-show of Mr. Branson had occurred. Mostly everyone in the class was present except a few of the football jocks and cheerleaders, as well as ‘Sleepy Sheba’ who was always missing classes for that reason alone.

We all probably assumed that Mr. Branson had forgotten to send out another notice for a doctor's appointment, or that something personal with family happened.

But all of these shocking turns of events had forever promoted why November 30th would soon become the worst day of the entire year for me.

Not only were we decreasing in size of a class, but we were also being introduced to a brand-new instructor at the end of the freaking semester!

“So, as you all may have not been aware or have noticed, most of the original classmen of this course have dropped out to fulfill more gaps in physical education and competitive sports, which is sadly why Mr. Branson resigned from the institution,” said Mrs. Mikel, a coordinate librarian.

“To make use of the junction time you all have left before the holiday break approaches in two weeks, the school board has elected and brought in a newly trained, sophisticated, and a bright young, adjunct professor to fulfill the posts of our Poetry and Excellence Studies of Literary Writing programs for the remainder.

I swear my brain was going up and down and almost hyperventilated as soon as I heard the word that would now make my ears burn: young. Young..Young?!

“With that being said, I would like to personally introduce to all of you — Professor Tate Elliott, a recent graduate and doctrine student of English and Language Arts from Columbia University.”

“Hoo man that’s a big beautiful title..” my brain narcissistically spat out.

Suddenly, the door had opened, revealing a lean but muscular young man coming into the room as if he had just gotten out of a business meeting.

My heart had skipped hundreds to thousands of beats per second to where I hoped on the Lord’s gracious name that I didn’t just stop breathing.

Looking at him and taking in his figure all at once felt so much like I hit adrenaline in the face. Professor Elliott was gorgeous beyond flickering measure! And I had never felt this kind of emotion mixed with both passion and pangs in the tummy before.

What in the flipping flapjacks is happening to me?!

But in the course of everything happening bit by bit, I felt as though karma had a big neon sign thrown to conk me over the forehead with the engraved words: “Happy Sweet Sixteen you b***h, here’s your present!”

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T O B E C O N T I N U E D..

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