Teacher's Pet

"What?" My thoughts struggled back into linear fashion. "Dad! There you are," I called. My father joined us and automatically shook hands with Thomas. "Dad, this is Thomas; he's a fellow journalism major. Thomas, this is my dad, Dean Dunkirk."

"Nice to meet you, Thomas. I like getting to know my daughter's classmates." My father noticed Thomas's nervous sheen of sweat, so he asked an easy question to put him at ease. "How'd you chose journalism?"

"I tried advertising and copywriting, but my advisor helped me realize I'm more analytical than creative. Journalism seemed like the best fit," Thomas said.

My father nodded. "It's good to try things out before you decide what's really right. I keep trying to tell Clarity that, but she won't listen. She's got everything mapped out, always has."

"There is nothing wrong with having a career path," I said.

My father patted my shoulder. "Only if you keep it so narrow that you don't see any of the other possibilities."

"What, like painting?" I snapped.

Thomas shuffled his big feet, but my father took the outburst in stride. "My daughter knows I have a passion for art. There's nothing wrong with wanting a creative pursuit. Not everything has to be practical down to the last detail."

"There's nothing wrong with focus and ambition," I said. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I have to check on the other guests."

Thomas's big eyes beseeched me to stay, but I turned and wove my way through to the porch. Jasmine and Lexi were teamed up against two guys from the physics department. A few smiles and poses, and the ping pong ball seemed to defy the laws of gravity so the girls could win. They giggled, and the guys didn't look sad at all as they got conciliatory hugs.

I stood on the top step but could not walk down and join them. I hung suspended between a room of cheering college friends and an interesting discussion on education funding. The conversations among the faculty were far more interesting, as they all came from diverse and distinguished careers.

I would never fit in with them if I didn't concentrate on my own career path. Yes, declaring my journalism major as a freshman had narrowed my areas of study immediately, but it kept me focused. There was no way I could be accused of being flighty or free-spirited like my absent mother. She never held a job or relationship that kept her in one place, and the consequential loneliness of that choice drove me in the opposite direction. The straight and narrow was just fine.

And that made it no less exciting for me. I turned back to the house and imagined a correspondents’ dinner. I'd get the scoop, I'd capture the perfect quote, and Ford would congratulate me on my keen observations again. No, scratch that. I kicked Professor Bauer out of my daydream.

I couldn't wait to go to press conferences and listen intently to the hidden truths behind the spin. The idea of arguing over interpretations with Ford sent a zip of anticipation up my back. No, again, he was a professor at Landsman College, and I was a student. Not only a student, but the Dean of Students’ daughter. I couldn't be daydreaming about him no matter how those metal-gray eyes sparked something inside me.

I pushed the handsome stranger out of my head. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough, and I could still get to know him. Then it would be easier to think of him as a stuffy, probably strict teacher.

"Clarity, there you are. Professor Bauer, I'd like you to meet my prized assistant and the arranger of this successful party," my father said.

Ford's lethal smile hit me full force. "Nice to meet you, Clarity. Dean Dunkirk has been telling me all about how indispensable you are to him."

He didn't realize I was the dean's daughter; his smile was too warm, and he held my outstretched hand a beat too long.

My father didn't notice the caress or the misunderstanding. "Clarity is indispensable, but that doesn't stop me from wishing she would break out, see a little more of the world, get inspired. Perhaps you can help convince her that it's actually better to bounce around a little and try things out before settling down."

Ford's smiled took my temperature up another five degrees. "She needs someone to bring her out of her shell?"

"Exactly," my father said. "Someone to show her it's okay to bend the rules now and then."

"Dean Dunkirk, should you really be talking about bending rules?" I asked.

My father laughed. "Ah, Clarity. She's my voice of reason. I just want you to feel some passion. What kind of person plans so carefully?"

"The person in charge of the desserts table. Please excuse me; there's an empty cookie tray I need to refill." I spun away from my father and Ford. I wasn't ready to see his gray eyes cool when he realized I was a student.

Professor Bauer, I reminded myself as I ignored the empty cookie tray and slipped out the back door of the kitchen. I edged along the sidewalk underneath the kitchen windows. Risking being seen for a second, I dodged into the shadows of the small fruit trees that separated the house from the vegetable garden. The sounds and pressures of the party faded behind me.

One of the few pieces of advice I remembered from my estranged mother echoed in my head. "You wanna know what love really feels like?" she had asked me when I had my first crush. "Imagine you're an outlet and your special someone is a plug. They come along, you realize how you fit together, and ding! The whole room lights up."

It was an odd memory to surface as I hid in the shadowed garden. I was glad for the cool breeze. Now that the temperature was dropping, it was actually starting to feel like fall. A good time to be wrapped up in a blanket in front of a crackling fire, my cheek resting against a strong, steady heartbeat and my hair caught in the rasping caress of a stubbled chin.

What was I doing? I paced around the four raised garden beds. A few stray plants hung on despite the coming frost, but even they could not keep Ford out of my head.

Professor Bauer.

I had to escape the party. Not only had my father neglected to introduce me as his daughter, but he had gone on and on about wanting me to do something reckless and passionate. Ford had listened politely, but the wolfish curve of his lips told me he approved of my father's out-of-character advice. I wondered how many glasses of Scotch my father had drank. Maybe I should have dragged him outside to clear his head too.