Page 40 of Unapologetic Obsession
I reached up to tug my ears, convinced I had heard him incorrectly. The man who didn’t want us anywhere near his lab just a couple of weeks ago was now providing us with an all-access pass.If pigs could fly.
“This paper will determine fifty percent of your grade. The rest will be based on pop quizzes, attendance, and lab participation. If you have any questions?—”
Several hands shot up in the air because it was the first time he had welcomed an interaction.
His icy blue eyes were unmoved as he said, “If you have any questions, don’t bother me. Figure it out. You’re adults.”
With that, he assigned our tasks for the lab portion of the day. I was astonished that the work sounded real.
Before I could collaborate with my group to divvy up our responsibilities, Miles beckoned me over to tell me I would be Professor Maxwell’s assistant again. My teammates wore an uneasy look as I walked away, and the other students picked up on the extra attention I was receiving.
Perhaps someone braver would have relished being favored by the aloof teacher. But the weight of his staff’s judgmental eyes as I passed them was nothing to envy. I didn’t want this, and they didn’t want me here, although none of us voiced our desires. After all, we were all here at Professor Maxwell’s mercy and hanging on by a thread.
I carefully placed my tote bag beside the professor’s workstation and pulled out my notebook to write down his instructions. As I did so, a figure cast a shadow over me. Glancing up, I found Professor Maxwell towering over me.His eyes were on my open notebook. The page was scribbled with my feeble attempt at taking notes.
“You took terrible notes today.” He didn’t state the sentence as an opinion, but rather a fact of life, and I knew he wanted an explanation for my poor skills.
My mind blanked. I couldn’t admit that his attention made me too nervous to focus. When no other excuse came to me, I shook out my right hand, and whispered, “My hand cramped up, and laptops aren’t allowed, so…” I trailed off when I saw Miles subtly shaking his head. Admitting I couldn’t keep up with his demanding lecture was a terrible idea. He already thought we were too incompetent for this advanced course.
The brunette from yesterday wore a smug smile. The other research assistants seemingly held their breaths, waiting for the professor to lay it on me thick. Everyone had hounded him to teach, and now that he was doing his job, I hadn’t held up my end as a student.
To my surprise, there was no anger in his voice as he called out for his teaching assistant. “Miles.”
“Yes,” Miles replied like a well-trained soldier.
“Send an email to the class. They can use their laptops from now on.”
The thermometer Miles was holding slipped from between his fingers. “Sure thing,” he said slowly before his gaze fleeted to me.
The people around us went completely still, waiting for the punch line. There were also some stunned whispers.
“Dr. Maxwell just said he would allow laptops in class.”
“But he hates the clicking sound of keyboards.”
“I don’t get it.”
Professor Maxwell didn’t react to the background noise as he handed me a task sheet. “Today’s assignment. Measure and separate the formulas in the labeled vials. The quantity specifications are noted for each item.”
I quickly read through the instructions. It was a straightforward job.
“So, you like to bake.”
I stopped breathing. I had hoped he wouldn’t bring up last night, but that was wishful thinking.The other research assistants were pretending not to eavesdrop, but I could feel their eyes on us. Their gazes might as well burn a Scarlet Letter Aonto my forehead.My anxiety started to spike but it disappeared when I saw Professor Maxwell’s easy grin.
“I look forward to your next homemade creation.” He was smiling, and the sight was too enticing.
I covered my eyes with my hand, then slowly lowered it. Why was he entertaining me and accepting my gestures when he had shunned anyone else to try, including his own twin? Professor Maxwell was an anomaly.
When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket and checked the screen. Raising the phone to his ear, he turned toward his office. He stopped midway, as if remembering something important, and spoke over his shoulder. “By the way, my favorite flavor’s red velvet.”
I didn’t know what type of cake you liked.
I had made the comment in passing, never expecting Professor Maxwell to share anything personal about himself.
I wasn’t the only one taken aback by this unusual behavior, his staff was equally bewildered. Throughout the lab, I caught snippets of their hushed conversations and various theories for the sudden personality transplant.
At least it dissuaded their resentment toward me. Professor Maxwell was the law around here, and his team implicitly trusted his judgment. If he endorsed my late-night cake delivery service, they would, too. If he deemed my efforts appropriate, so would they.
