TheDividingLine
742 Words
The laughter felt like physical blows. I stood there, frozen. My soaked clothes were heavy and cold against my skin. I wanted to turn around and run back to my dorm, but the Professor’s voice cut through the noise.
"Quiet!" Professor Whitelock barked.
The laughter died down into a nervous murmur. She looked at the boy in the middle row with a deep frown. "What is your name, young man?"
"Ethan," he answered. His voice was dripping with boredom.
"Mr. Ethan," she continued, her eyes narrowing. "If you find your own jokes that amusing, perhaps you’d like to finish this lecture for me?"
Ethan didn't look embarrassed. He just shrugged with a lazy, arrogant tilt of his head. "Just making an observation, Professor."
"Henceforth," she said firmly, "you will contact me thirty minutes before every single class to remind me of the schedule for the rest of the semester. If you fail once, you fail the course. Do you understand?"
Ethan muttered a "Yes," but the damage was done. He had been put in his place, yet he still looked like he didn't care.
Sit down, Miss," the Professor said to me, pointing toward the rows. "Now."
I scanned the room, and my heart sank. Because I was late, the hall was packed. There was only one empty seat left in the entire room. It was directly next to him.
I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs. Every step I took made a squelching sound in my wet sneakers. I could feel Ethan’s eyes on me, watching my every move with a bored, half-smile.
I slid into the seat, keeping as much distance between us as possible. I pulled my notebook out of my bag, but the edges were damp from the puddle water.
"Careful, Drip Queen," Ethan whispered, leaning closer. I caught the scent of expensive wood smoke and peppermint. "You’re getting your sad-girl energy all over my desk."
"Shut up," I hissed, not looking at him. My hands were shaking as I tried to grip my pen.
"Is that the best you can do?" He let out a soft laugh. "I expected more fire from a redhead."
"I am here to learn, not to talk to a jerk who thinks he owns the room," I snapped.
"I don't think I own it," he replied, spinning a silver pen between his fingers. "I know I do. There's a difference."
Before I could come up with a comeback, Professor Whitelock cleared her throat. She tapped a rhythm on the podium.
"Since this is your first day, we will be starting with a partner project," she announced. A collective groan went up from the students. "This project will account for 30% of your final grade. To make sure you get to know your peers, you will be working with the person sitting directly to your right."
The world seemed to stop.
I slowly turned my head. To my right, Ethan was already looking at me. His smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of pure annoyance.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
"Believe me," I said, my voice as cold as the water dripping from my hair. "The feeling is mutual." Professor!" Ethan called out, raising his hand. "I think there's been a mistake" I can't work with... this." He gestured rudely at my wet clothes and messy hair.
Professor Whitelock didn't even look up. "Decisions are final, Mr. Ethan. I suggest you and the young lady find a way to cooperate, or you can both fail my course together."
Ethan turned back to me. He leaned in so close I could see the dark rings around his pupils. He cast a quick glance at my name tag.
"Listen to me, Audrey," he said, using my name for the first time. It sounded like a threat. "I don't do partners. You stay out of my way, I’ll write the paper, and you can just sit there and look pretty—or at least, try to look dry. Deal?"
I looked at his face, then back at his arrogant eyes. "Not a chance, Ethan. I’m on a scholarship. I’m not letting a bully like you ruin my grades. We do this together, or I’ll tell the Professor you’re refusing to work."
His jaw tightened. For a second, the playfulness in his eyes died, replaced by something dark and intense.
"Fine," he growled. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
- Writer
