Page 18 of Run For Me
Yep, it’s definitely a student, and feeling better about this situation is strange, but knowing it’s not a teacher does in fact make me feel better.
With that settled, I take a breath, let it out, and move back into the swarm of people heading into the building for classes.
But every person I pass is guilty in my mind.
My grip tightens on the strap across my chest, and I keep my head ducked as I dart toward my class. There are quite a few people inside when I get there, but the back row is open, so I make my way up the steps and slide into the seat on the end and busy myself with getting everything ready.
I get lost in the professor’s speech as he goes into detail about why he does what he does. He tells us he’s only thirty-two and enjoys teaching, but in a more personal way than most. He admits he doesn’t do much outside of work, which is why he haslong office hours, and takes time to help students however they need it.
He goes into his history, explaining how he grew up in foster homes and struggled until he found one teacher who changed his life—the exact reason he chose to teach.
I find the entire thing moving, and I hang on every word he says, completely intrigued.
I take in the way he looks, noting that not a single thing about him would give away how he grew up. Yes, I know that’s stereotyping and not fair. Some people have hard childhoods, and it shows until the day they die. This man? He looks like he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. His clothing is expensive, fitted slacks and a button-down shirt. His thick, black-framed glasses make him look like a total nerd, but the haircut says otherwise. It’s styled well, short on the sides, long and purposefully messy on top.
“That is all the time we have for today, guys.” He turns to his desk and picks up a stack of papers. “Please be sure to grab one on your way out. It has my contact info, along with the syllabus.”
I take my time gathering my things and am one of the last students in line to grab a paper from him.
He smiles as I reach him, and his eyes narrow slightly. “You…” he says, pointing at me knowingly. My heart stops and I sputter, terrified he’s the journal thief. “Do you have a minute?”
“Uh…” It’s all I can get out before he’s stepping around me and handing the last few students a sheet. He places the extras on his desk and leans back on it, his hands gripping the edges and I can’t help but look at the way the muscles in his forearms tighten at his grip.
“I saw you sitting in the back.”
“Y-you did?” I adjust the strap on my backpack, my nerves making me fidget.
He nods. “I pay attention to all my students, which is why I couldn’t help but notice how interested you were in what I had to say. It’s rare, you know. Most students find my speech boring.”
“Boring?” I question, my brain still misfiring and not comprehending what is happening here.
Is he the journal thief?
“I’ve known a lot of students like you. Hell, I was a student like you. A taste for learning, but something inside,” he places his hand on his chest, “is stopping you from going all in. Maybe nerves?”
Wait, what is happening?
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand…”
He huffs out a laugh and looks me over for a long moment. “Next class, sit in the front. You don’t want to miss anything.” He taps the desk and pushes off to move to his chair, pulling it out to take a seat.
“You want me to sit in the front row? In this room?” I point to the floor and glance back at all the seats.
“I promise it’s not as bad as it seems. Besides, if you were that interested in my first day speech, the rest of what I have to say will have you so intrigued you won’t know where you are.”
My god, does that sound good…
“O-okay,” I say, clearing my throat. I give a small, awkward smile. “Thank you.” I walk away, and he calls out after me.
“Remind me of your name?”
I turn to face him. “Sailor Whitman.”
He nods. “Now that I’ll remember.”
I bite my bottom lip and make my way to check out the lost and found boxes again, my head a fuzzy mess over that very normal conversation that I somehow made into so much more than it is.
Could it be him?
