Escapade » z.m

36. My Favourite Professor Hurt My Ego

Professor Redon Prescott has an aura, a charm that Zayn never fails to be diminished by. He keeps his head bowed, eyes downcast. He always tries to not give in to the noise in the back of his head, nagging him with a periodic don't you dare confront him, don't you dare disrespect him any teeny tiny way, but in the end he listens to it. Obliges, more like.

Professor Prescott always wear an unreadable expression, on his face and also in his stance. Zayn can never know whether he has impressed him but an iota bit, or just simply not at all. In his heart though, he wishes to. He deeply longs for that glance of Professor Redon, that acknowledges him for being a student he's proud of.

For now, he has to settle being an idiotic student amongst other idiotic bunch of students.

The breeze isn't gentle, and Zayn has to tape his arms to his sides to prevent the wind from entering the loose sleeves of Lucas' jumper. He can't cross them, no matter how desperately he wants to, because doing so would exude disrespect towards his teacher. He keeps his head down, then, occasionally lifting his eyes when professor says something out of the blue.

"I saw most of the papers." He is saying. Zayn nibbles on the inner side of his cheek, bracing himself for what's coming next. He never thought he would cross paths with Professor Redon on a late sunday morning like this. He never thought he would wish to be somewhere else when the literature teacher himself would want to have a chat with him. "Professor Starla said she quite liked your answers."

Zayn lifts his head in surprise, eyes wide as they stare into Professor Redon's. He quickly averts his gaze, tucking away a sheepish smile.

"She didn't think history was your strong point." Zayn nods slightly, acknowledging the fact that he, in fact, had introspected that about himself. "Your language professor were happy too."

He licks his lips, stifling a comment he's sure is bound to slip out. The language professor, Mr. Oblivious as he and Lucas like to call him, is cursed to be happy with everyone's work, apparently. Zayn doesn't think of his praises as praises at all.

"I was looking forward to your answer script, Zayn." At the mention of his name, he looks up, unable to keep his eyes down because Professor is staring at him now. His stare is accusatory. Zayn must have done some crime. "I am disappointed, of course."

"I'm sorry, Professor." He replies faster than he thought was possible.

"Sorry doesn't help here." Zayn nods quietly. "Your answers were meaningful, but they were vague. I could easily tell you hadn't studied many of the chapters."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Professor Redon scoffs. "Oh." Zayn bites down, lowering his head instead of shaking it at himself. Something he very much wants to do at this moment. "You're coming in the staff room in the recess tomorrow. I want to discuss some answers with you."

"Okay."

Professor Redon stare at him for a while longer, a frown creasing his forehead. Zayn questions his entire existence in those interminable seconds. "You did blunders in Sociology." He says matter of factly, after he's done scrutinising Zayn. "You're barely passing."

I know, Zayn wants to say, but chooses to lower his head further down, hands clammy behind his back where they entangle in each other.

"Drop the subject." Zayn hears Professor say, and jerks his head at him, eyes wide.

"What?"

"I said, drop sociology." Professor Redon repeats curtly.

Zayn's shoulder slump visibly. He knows he hadn't put any effort in this subject this time. He had so much on his plate already, that he hadn't really bothered about it. Giving up the subject was a different thing entirely. It almost hurt his ego, that Professor would think he didn't have what it took to study Sociology, that there wasn't another option than to drop it. "I can do better." He hears himself say, before he can stop it. It sounded smug to his own ears, like Zayn was throwing an open challenge.