Teacher's Toy (Loftry University Playthings 1)

Chapter 4

Melody

It’s now or never.So close to the midterm, I have to find out where I stand. I don’t want to look, but I need to. Maybe there will be a miracle for me. It’s happened before. With trembling fingers, I pull up the student portal. I’ve been working super hard in all my classes, but it still doesn’t seem to be enough. How did someone like me go from straight A’s to C’s at best? It’s just so frustrating. I was always top of my class.

Hell, it’s the one thing my parents always bragged about. At first, I thought maybe I was taking too many classes, but my advisor assured me this was on the lighter end of normal. If this was light, how was I ever going to survive the advanced classes? If only I didn’t have to keep my scholarship. That’s what’s stressing me out the most. I could make myself okay with mediocrity if it meant still being okay, but that’s not the case.

A stab of envy fills my heart for a few moments as I think about my classmates. Most of them are rich kids with trust funds all set up for them. They could fail every class, and it would be okay. I know for a fact that several of them drifted about from major to major without even a second thought. No doubt their parents didn’t care as long as it meant continued vacations in the Hamptons alone or some shit.

I didn’t even look at this school. It was the guidance counselor who applied on my behalf. Once she showed me the cost of tuition, I’m fairly sure I blacked out. My parents wouldn't even make that in a year, and they wanted that per semester. I never considered my family poor, but ever since I started here, I’ve been rethinking my position in life. Just like most of these students, my mom didn’t work; however, unlike most of them, my father didn’t make millions.

Scrolling through the classes, I glance at my current grades. So far, everything is looking decent. A B is what allows me to keep my scholarship. As much as not getting an A pains me, I’m willing to swallow my pride if it means staying in school. It’s worth a little humiliation to experience this amount of freedom. If I don’t make it here, it’s back home under my exacting father’s rule.

Suppressing my shudder, I make it to the end of the list. History. Blood drains from my face as the D stares back at me, mocking me. I thought I was doing better in that class! I knew I didn’t do so hot on my last few essays, but that shouldn’t have resulted in a D!

Clicking on the links, I scroll through the lists of assignments as well as tests and quizzes. Homework seems to be okay, but where I’m taking the biggest hit are the tests and quizzes. Groaning, I close my laptop and lean back into my chair. His tests are impossible. No one can even finish one. Maybe he’ll grade this one on a curve? Ha. Fat chance. When has he ever been anything other than grueling?

I pull my lower lip into my mouth and suck on it for a moment, trying to figure out how to get myself out of this mess. Nausea fills my stomach. I can’t go back home. I can’t. But with this midterm looming, it’s looking like a done deal. If I don’t pass, that’s it. There’s no way I can pass this class.

Lifting up the lid to my laptop, I quickly fire off an email. Most schools have probationary periods, right? Maybe this semester won’t affect me too badly! Relief wars with the panic threatening to choke me. It will be okay. It has to be okay. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself; it doesn’t completely stop the panic. At best, it dulls it a touch.

With that out of the way, I pull up Professor Richards’ schedule. Even if I don’t do well on this test, maybe I can convince him to let me do extra credit. Or, at the very least, maybe I can get some tutoring. Shame burns through me for a moment. I never needed tutoring before. Especially not in a class like history. Usually, it’s just rote memorization of facts. You learn it for the test, then dump it. Professor Richards is nothing like that. Not only do you have the facts, but you also have to have the impetus behind the facts.

Skimming over the welcome note, I try hard to not linger on his photo. Even in his picture, he looks demanding and imposing. As I near the bottom, I see the times available. If I hurry, I’ll be able to meet with him before my next class. I pack everything up and race out of the dorm.

* * *

Well,I hope to make it in time. The line stretches from his door and into the hall. Is everyone worried about this midterm? Scanning the faces, I frown as I realize that I don’t recognize any of these people. They must be from different classes of his. That makes me feel a bit better. It’s not just my class that he’s a tyrant in. After an agonizing amount of time and at least twenty phone checks for the time, the door finally opens. A slim beauty slips out from the door, every inch of her perfection. Not a wrinkle in place. The only thing amiss is the tracks of mascara streaming down her face.

I swallow hard. What the hell happened in there? My heart thumps so loud I’m sure everyone around me can hear it. As if he didn’t have anything to do with that display, Professor Richards saunters out the door after her and leans on the doorframe to watch her leave. As his eyes travel after her, they shift slightly and connect with mine. It’s like a moth to a flame. I cannot look away no matter how hard I try. There’s an intensity in his gaze, and I squirm beneath its heat.

He must sense it because his lips inch up into a predatory smile. Wading through the other students, he pushes past them and heads over to me. His eyes never leave mine.

“Well then, what brings you to my office?” He looks down at his watch then back up to me. “I’ve got about ten minutes. Shall we?” He motions towards his doors and starts to walk back in that direction.

“But what about the other students?”

He pauses and turns a touch. “They’re not here for me. You’re in the wrong line,” he says, peering at the nameplate on the other side of the hall. “Unless you’re taking advanced calculus or other non-entry level math.” I scrunch my face up in disgust, eliciting a chuckle out of him. “I’ll take that as a resounding no then. All for the best, I suppose. He can be such a taskmaster. Or so I’ve heard.”

His lips quirk up again in an undefinable smile. Like he’s in on some joke that I have no clue about. We make our way past the throng, and I once again thank my stars that I’ve never shown an aptitude for math. Though math is required, it seems those classes will not be in my future.

Professor Richards’ office is a decent size. Bigger than what you see on TV. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but room enough for a large desk, armoire, filing cabinet, and a bathroom, wasn’t it. Everything is neat and tidy. Not a thing is out of place. Thinking of my dorm room, I feel a bit disheveled in comparison.

“Now then, let me grab your file. Please have a seat.”

I sit down in a leather chair just across from the barest desk I’ve ever seen. Where were his papers? His desk ornaments? He doesn’t even have pictures anywhere. Does he have a family? The wood gleams up at me, perfectly polished. It reveals nothing, yet it seems to hold all his secrets. Perhaps if I stare long enough, it can share them with me. At this point, I’m willing to look to anything for help. Pulling my gaze away, I look up at him, expecting him to walk over to the filing cabinet. Instead, he sits down on the opposite side of me and reaches into a drawer below the desk.

“You have a file on me?”

The click of the drawer closing sounds ominous in the quiet room. “I have a file on all my problem students.” His smile and wink belie the harshness of his words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was a problem.”