Page 19 of Until We Meet Again

"I might just forget about fashion. I could happily become an influencer and take my ass offto Dubai."

"Just don't become one ofthoseinfluencers." My eyes widen, and she laughs out loud, cackling in amusement as we reach the entrance.

When we enter the building, we part ways, and I head to my first class—English literature—somethingI can talk aboutwith Zane when I meet him later tonight.

The large doors to the classroom swing open, and as I make my way to my usual spot, I notice Shauna has already sat in the chair next to mine. As I walk towards her, she looks up and greets me with a warm smile. Her auburn hair, cut short, falls on her shoulders, framing her naturally pretty face. We aren't the closest friends, but we've always gotten along well.

I sit down next to her and place my bag on the floor. I take out my notepad and penand hear Ashlee’s voice without glancing up, desperately trying to tune her out, but it’s impossible.

Ashlee and I aren’t friends. Never have been and never will be. She's like Regina fucking George, always talking down topeople and believing she's better than everyone else just because her family has money. I can't stand her, and I'm pretty sure the feeling's mutual.

"Where's Whitaker?" I ask, scanning the room for our teacher's face, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"The dude's MIA. Garret said he isn't coming back." I turn around to face Jason, who's sitting behind me and hovering over my shoulder.

"What do you mean he isn't coming back? What happened?"

"I'm not really sure. I just heard Whitaker moved back to Ohio because of some family shit or something."

"Who's the teacher for this class now? Oh my god, if I came all the way here for nothing, I'm going to be so pissed." The sound of Ashlee's voice pierces through me like a sharp blade.

"We're in our final semester. There isn't enough time for someone fresh to come in and find out how we work." I can hear the tension in my voice. For the past four years, I've worked incredibly hard and built a strong relationship with my professor, who fully understands how I write and my capabilities. Now, I'll have to finish this course with someone I don't know or have any connection with.

I immediately reach into my bag formy phone and message Jen.

T: Whitaker bailed and isn't coming back!

She replies instantly.

J: What the hell happened?

As I tap away on my phone, trying to reply to Jen, the opening of the classroom door catches my attention. I hear footsteps echoing through the room, and suddenly, a voice shatters the silence, causing the hair on my arms to stand on end and adrenaline to rush through my veins.

"Good morning, everyone."

That voice.

His voice.

Even though my vision has long since clouded, I can't tear my eyes away from my phone. I refuse to look up. I can't look at his face and acknowledge the truth of the situation.

All around me, the air is filled with soft murmurs, bouncing off the walls and reaching my ears from every direction. I keep my head down, afraid to lift my gaze, but eventually, curiosity gets the better of me. I slowly raise my eyes, only for my worst fear to unfold right before me.

I take a glance around the room before returning my attention to my phone, and only one word is typed before I hit send.

T: Zane.

I tuck my phone back into my bag and drop down in my chair, desperately hoping that whichever god is listening will grant me the superpower of invisibility for the next hour.

"My name is Professor Calloway, but I'm happy for you guys to call me Zane if you'd prefer."

He doesn't show the same level of intensity as he has when he's been with me. Instead, he emanates a more relaxed side of himself. His energy is calmer but no less appealing, drawing me in the same way as every other time I've been around him.

"OMG, have you ever seen a teacher who looks like that?" Ashlee's loud whispers are enough to drive me crazy, making me wish the ground would give way and bury me—or her.

He's my teacher—my fucking teacher.

I pull on the sleeves of my sweater, feeling its soft fabric slip between my fingers as I sink even deeper into my seat. My emotions are getting the best of me, and I can't stop fidgeting with the rings on my fingers as I attempt to calm myself down.

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