More and more, I find myself questioning my own methods. One of my students—a tiny little slip of a girl who hides in the back of the lecture hall and never raises her hand despite the fact that I know she can answer every question I pose—is incredibly talented. The kind of talent that comes around once in a lifetime. She had stars in her eyes when she took her seat that first day. I don't see the same there now. I see…doubt. Dejection. Defeat.
Rejection and betrayal didn't put that look there. I did. Her voice could change the world. I thought I was helping make her strong enough to let it. Perhaps, instead, I'm the one who's managed to silence it. The last story she turned in was riddled with errors she's never made before now.
A flash of red in the distance catches my attention. I snap my head up, homing in on the far side of the quad. Anticipation coils in my stomach…and then disappointment saps it right back out. The redhead rushing to class with the wind blowing her hair all around her isn't my princess.
She isn't Caroline.
Anxiety and obsession plague me, churning, churning, churning.
Where is my girl? Is she safe?
I stomp toward my classroom, out of sorts. Frustrated. My skin feels too tight, prickling.
Have I already ruined any chance I might have had with my princess?
Jesus, the thought alone is painful.
My last freshman-level workshop of the day is already trickling in, their heads down and their steps dragging. The evidence of a night of excess clings to them, hovering like little labels above their heads. Too much alcohol for the blonde in the front row who is pale around the lips. Too much dancing for the brunette grimacing and favoring her ankle. Not enough sleep for the basketball player nodding off three rows back.
"Professor King?"
I glance away from the row of chairs to the girl standing beside the podium, wide-eyed and nervous. She fidgets from foot to foot, her gaze stuck on my chest. Kennedy Thorne. My star student. The one too traumatized by my caustic methods to even look me in the eyes.
My Caroline would be horrified if she knew how hard I've pushed this girl with a soft heart, big dreams, and the talent to conquer every last corner of the world. She would be horrified…with me.
There's something about Kennedy that reminds me a little of Caroline, though I can't place exactly what it is. They're complete opposites. My dick has been hard for Caroline since I met her. I feel no attraction to Kennedy. Perhaps the resemblance is simply that they're both young and petite, with trusting eyes and an air of innocence about them.
This girl is barely old enough to be out in the world by herself. Caroline isn't much older.
Jesus. I really am an asshole. No wonder she didn't show up this morning. If my sweet baby has found out who I am, she's probably horrified she gave herself to someone like me.
"Miss Thorne," I murmur, my voice quiet, grave with regret. "How can I help you?"
"Um, I finished my revisions." She reaches inside her bag and pulls out a bright pink folder. A blush stains her cheeks a rosy red as she hands it over to me. "Sorry about the color. I ran out and had to borrow one."
"It's fine, Miss Thorne," I assure her, setting the folder on the podium in front of me.
"I also uploaded it."
"Thank you. I'll have it graded and back to you by the end of the week."
"Thank you." She takes a step backward, preparing to move away.
"Miss Thorne."
She pauses in mid-step.
"The deadline for the Braxton Literary Prize is coming up soon," I say. "Have you considered entering?"
She looks at me this time, her eyes so wide it's almost comical.
"You should consider it." I rub a hand across my head, smoothing my windswept hair…not that it'll do much good. "You're an incredibly talented writer. I think you have a real shot of winning. I'd be happy to write your recommendation if you'd like."
Her mouth pops open. She reminds me of my little sister so much that I chuckle. Jocelyn isn't much older than this girl, though she's outspoken and sarcastic enough for the both of them.
"You'd do that?"
"Of course."
"I…thank you," she whispers, still staring at me in complete shock.
I roll my shoulders, uncomfortable. I don't tell her that the recommendation is already written. It doesn't seem relevant. "Why don't you think it over? I can send it over to you next week if you decide to enter."
"Thank you, Professor King," she says, stumbling toward her seat.
The blonde in the front row says something to her which makes her smile, but then she peeks over her shoulder at me and her smile slips. For once, she doesn't hide all the way in the back though. She chooses a seat in the middle row.
Caroline would be proud.
I touch the pair of panties in my pocket again, remember the feel of her in my arms.
I can change, sweet baby. For you, I will change.