Good Guy

Part Twenty-one

To say that she felt guilty was an understatement.

It wasn't that she didn't want to go with Scotch—she just wasn't sure if she should. After hearing so many more things from the other students and witnessing his tension-filled encounter with Jackson for a second time, Cleo was positive that she wanted to know what was going on first. The problem was that Scotch still didn't seem to want to open up.

Cleo deflated in her seat, stumped about her decision to decline him. She knew going with him had been her chance to ask about the rumors, but she wasn't nearly brave enough to do so. Eating waffles at the park without bringing up the subject would only have given him the wrong idea, not to mention fool them both into thinking that everything was fine.

Bottom line, she didn't want to start anything with him unless things were absolutely good, because she probably wouldn't be able to take it if their romance went south and broke even their friendship.

"Miss Hilard?" Professor Claravera's voice cut through Cleo's depressed thoughts. "Miss Hilard. I've called your name three times now."

Cleo immediately perked up, embarrassed that her mind had wandered elsewhere. The professor stood before her, face austere and rotund body blocking most of her view of the aisle. His bushy brows and thick mustache, both graying, would have looked comical if not for the serious set of his mouth and glass-framed eyes. She could feel her other classmates looking curiously at her, and the sensation painted her cheeks red. This was the first time she'd been caught listlessly staring at the wall, and it was a bit embarrassing. "Sorry, Professor. What was it?"

"I was asking about your homework," the professor said, one of his brows raised.

A sigh escaped her lips, relieved that the old man hadn't been asking her about their lesson. She'd been blanked out for most of his lecture, all because her mind remained on one particular Scotch Wilkins. However, it was odd that Claravera would bring up things like past homework during a time when he was most focused on teaching them a new topic. "Was there anything wrong with it, Sir?"

"You're assuming that I managed to receive your essay along with the rest of the class'," he stated sternly. "Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find it among the pile."

"But I did pass it, Professor. Yesterday afternoon at your office. You weren't there, so I slid it into the ingoing shelf on your desk," Cleo argued, recounting the events of that day and feeling her cheeks grow warmer as she did so.

"This isn't the first time a student has given me that excuse, Miss Hilard." Professor Claravera barely flinched.

"I honestly don't know where my homework could've gone," she replied, aware that sweat was starting to bead on her brow. While she didn't always have the most stellar scores when it came to schoolwork, she was constantly the most diligent at them. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, not even in high school. "I assure you, Sir, I did it in advance and submitted it like I usually do. I wrote that essay in this very lecture hall."

The professor considered her statement, ever impartial when it came to his students but giving them a chance all the same. "Were any of your classmates present to attest that they saw you writing it?"

Maggie had been there, but she'd been nowhere near close enough to peek at the essay. She would never be able to confirm that Cleo had done it in advance. However, there was one other student who would be able to say so. "N-no, but there's this one student from your former class. His name is Scotch Wilkins, and he caught me just as I finished dropping off my homework."

That got quite a reaction from the rest of the class, with most responses being playful, teasing hums. If possible, her cheeks burned even hotter. Her only saving grace was that Professor Claravera cared little for whatever pairing his students came up with, always remaining oblivious to who was being shipped with whom.