Caught between the urge to flee and the curiosity about the girl's intense stare, I stand frozen in the lobby. Should I hide behind my briefcase, or face the unknown head-on?
The professor comes out of of his office scolding at the girl again.
When the professor hands her a paper, she shoots me one last glance before leaving. But before I can dwell on it further, my thoughts are interrupted by Dr. Doughall's voice. It is time for me to face my first class. With a nervous nod to Mr. Sage, I followed Dr. Doughall, my heart pounding in my chest.
The hallway feels like a maze, each door leading to a different class, each step bringing me closer to the inevitable confrontation with my fears.
"Are you okay, Mr. Poland?" Dr. Doughall's question snaps me out of my thoughts.
I force a shaky nod, swallow the lump in my throat. "Yes, I am."
As we approach the classroom marked "Mathematics class, room 103", the buzz of student chatter grows louder, resonating within the confines of my mind like a cacophony of uncertainties. My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage.
Dr. Doughall's smile is encouraging, but I can't shake the feeling of dread gnawing at me. "Are you ready?" he asks, oblivious to the turmoil inside me.
I wanted to say no, to run far away from this moment. But something inside me urged me forward. With a forced smile masking my inner turmoil, I nodded hesitantly.
I take a deep breath as Dr. Doughall opens the classroom doors. The sudden hush that fell over the classroom is deafening, every eye fixed on us as we entered.
The only sound I can hear is the thunderous rhythm of my own heartbeat like drum-rolls.
This is it. The moment, and there is no turning back.
As Dr. Doughall greets the class, I can't help but notice the diverse mix of students filling the room. Some look my age, while others appear much older, sporting beards.
My gaze sweeps over the rows of small wooden desks with attached chairs crammed together, each one occupied by a student eager to start the day. But amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stands out. The girl from earlier catches my eye. She is sitting with her legs propped up on a nearby table, arms crossed. And then I notice it—a guy with curly blonde hair, his arm casually draped around the shoulders of the girl. The way they lean into each other suggests a closeness that goes beyond mere friendship.
Are they...together?
Before I can dwell on the thought, Dr Doughall greets the class a good morning.
But it's the voice of a guy with curly blonde hair that catches my attention next. His tone is low and chilling. He speaks up in a way that commands attention.
"New student, huh?" he remarks, his words dripping with curiosity and something else I can't quite place.
As the class erupts into cheers, mistaking me for a student, I can't shake the feeling that things are about to get a lot more complicated.
I quickly avert my eyes, focusing instead on the worn floor tiles beneath me. I can't afford to let my nerves get the best of me, not when all eyes are on me as the supposed new student.
"Not a student, Sawyer!" Dr. Doughall's voice slices through the rising chatter, his authoritative tone demanding attention. I shift uncomfortably, my fingers tightening around the handle of my briefcase.
"Professor Dickson's out, and you're all clued in on that," Dr. Doughall announces.
"Yeah, we know. But where's our replacement?" The guy with the British accent demands impatiently.
YOU ARE READING
Eighteen With A Chalkboard
Teen FictionKnown before as "The Unexpected Mathematician" ---- Since he was two years old, Jonathan Poland's world has revolved around numbers. He skipped grades at school, outpaced his teachers, and soon found himself home-schooled by the legendary mathemati...
