「 The Professor & I 」VOLUME II

(345) Enrolled

Lynn's POV

Keenly, James gestured for the shy girl who timidly wandered in from her rooted spot by the aperture.

She was a beautiful young lady, sharing her mother's eyes and her father's lips. It was unknown from whom she had inherited that head of ginger but it was alluring nonetheless.

Suddenly, Logan gripped my right shoulder and deliberately raised his brows as he dropped a thin paper folder into my hand—and an obvious hint I absolutely neglected to grasp.

"Please, have a seat," I appealed in a hurried manner, guilty for wholly losing track of all my bearings as a proper host.

While the two obliged and settled themselves into the opposite chairs, I inhaled a deep breath, strenuously gathering some composure, before I elected to speak again.

"What is the matter, exactly?" I investigated calmly, but curiously.

"I understand that enrollment is over for the semester but we just discovered..." James explained, wearing a wretched face, as he wrapped his arm around the uneasy one.

"You're a mutant," I deduced in delight that unambiguously contrasted the troubles perplexing the pair perched on the other side of my desk and I quickly restrained that exploding surge of ecstasy, mustering a collected front, as I discreetly cleared my throat.

"Welcome to the school for the gifted," I greeted warmly.

"Doesn't exactly feel like a gift," she scoffed bitterly.

"That is not how you behave in public, Miss McAvoy," James chastised in a stern tone.

"It's alright. It never does, at first," I consoled with compassion.

"Would you care to show me your powers?" I suggested with a kind smile and the child looked to her parent who consented with an encouraging nod.

Although still irradiating with a doubtful aura, the obedient girl dragged herself to her feet and the tensed muscles in her cheeks ostensibly evidenced the extent her jaw had been tightly clenched in that moment of anxiety.

Without warning, I was surrounded by a rush of air and the piercing reverberation of multiple crashes. As the unexpected—but characteristic—gust ceased within the second, I slowly scanned the room, noticing a smashed vase toppled by my perturbed bookcase and a mounted picture fallen with its glass shattered just a couple of inches off the edge of my table.

The peculiar spectacle evoked just one conjecture in my head and I glanced up, grinning naturally as my theory was readily affirmed, though it baffled me she was so unappreciative of her exceptional abilities.

Panting heavily, like she had just completed a hundred-metre dash, the skittish girl was utterly mortified by the shambles she accidentally created as she stood, shivering, in her original position. Rigidly, she clutched onto the hardcover-bound version of my PhD dissertation that was definitely not within her reach if she had not possessed the incredible talents of super speed.

I smacked my lips, still reveling in amazement, and though it were sentimental pieces that had been destroyed in her amateur demonstration, thoroughly dazzled chuckles still slipped through my teeth.