Redemption

Chapter Two

*Re-Edited July 13, 2024*

Layla POV

"Layla Ray?"

Mr. Smith was a bald 40 something year old literature, teacher. He had garnered his love for writings from the likes of William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. He was a Star Wars loving nerd to the core and had small trinkets that decorated the walls behind the desk planted in the corner of the room.

"Yes?" I shifted my weight, moving the empty papers in front of me. Hoping they would provide the necessary answer he was searching for. How long had I been daydreaming? Crap, what did he ask? Opening my mouth, it was stamped shut with a sound shooting from behind his lanky frame. The glasses perched on his nose struggled to stay put.

Suddenly, the door opened. Letting out a small creak, echoing in the room, all eyes trained on the mysterious figure walking into the room. After a brief hushed conversation between him and Mr. Smith, he turned to survey the coliseum-like room surrounding him. His hazel eyes scanned the crowd until they collided with mine. A heat crept up my neck and cheeks. He quickly hands Mr. Smith a few papers, then easily climbs the stairs two at a time until he stood next to me.

"Is this seat taken?" His eyes twinkled with mischief. The overhead lights outlining his body, making it hard to see him clearly.

I followed up his frame, noticing how tall he was, or maybe how short I was. He easily stood over six foot tall and was wearing a white band tee with black pants, converse and a denim jacket cuffed to his elbows. There was a hint of a tattoo on his forearm but I couldn't make it out. His chestnut hair fell in a boyish style over his forehead and thick eyebrows that perfectly framed his square face and jawline. He was well built, doting an athletic presence that screamed strength and agility. A far cry from my more than curvy frame. He was good looking and he knew it. His grin deepened as if reading my mind.

He repeated his question before leaning down and whispering just above my head, "might want to hurry, everyone's staring."

Searching the room, noticing the many vacant seats before this one. My mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton balls.  I muster a nod. I silently kick myself. What is wrong with me?

"Thanks." He plopped down in the seat, spreading his books and papers before popping the cap off of a pen and settling against the chair. The musty room suddenly smelling of musk, cedar wood and a bar of soap I recognized but couldn't put my thumb on. It created a welcoming warmth  that spread over my senses.

His elbow lightly brushed my hip and for a moment I freeze, wishing in that moment my 'birthing hips' as they liked to call them, would magically disappear. Self consciously I shifted to the side out of embarrassment, reminded of how much room I take up.

"Layla!" Growing impatient, the professor called again crossing his arms over his well worn sweater vest. Switching his weight to his opposite leg showing his annoyance of having to repeat his question once again.

"Yes, what was the question again?" I nervously shifted in my seat. I hated being called on. It was my favorite class so far other than art but I quickly realized my brain turned to mush. Pushing my sweating hands down my thighs I clear my throat.

"What is your view on Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare. It is said that dickens was on the same level as Shakespeare, would you agree or disagree and why?"

"Uhhh..." taking a deep breath. "Although Shakespeare was extraordinary regarding his writings and accomplishments that came, I believe dickens was on another level, and spoke more to our generation than Shakespeare."

A deep voice cut through the thickness that wafted in the room. My gaze connected with the man next to me. His penetrating gaze made my ears hum. His thick eyebrows lifted when he spoke. "Dickens built many of his plot and characters based on Shakespeare. How could you say that someone piggy-backing is more profound than the greatest writer of the early modern period."