Chapter 2

Chapter Two

W alt didn't linger after he helped set up my room. Books, both for pleasure and for lectures, were neatly stacked on their shelves and my laptop perched in its new home on the desk surrounded by folders and notebooks. It was stuffy in the room but opening the window did little good until the sun finally set.

Chatter died down at some point as the other students situated themselves and I spent the evening alone, reading Romeo & Juliet for my Shakespeare class Monday morning. Highlighter in hand, I devoured the first act as the crickets chirped below my window, cool night air tossing my hair over my cheek.

I'd fallen asleep during Act II, dreaming of Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo and swirls of color brought the Capulet party to life. Music was heavy, throbbing and pulsing inside my veins as his fingers brushed over my skin. I was alight with need, a need I hadn't fulfilled but with my own fingers. A need that his blue eyes, which pierced my very soul, said they could satiate. I was enraptured in his boyishness like some sick teenage obsession .

Until he lie before me, poison in hand, the party turned to a candle lit cathedral and I…I screamed.

I sprang forward from the dream, gasping for air as my highlighter and book tumbled to the floor with a thump. The bright morning sun burned my skin and birds chirped wildly to each other through the open window.

It was quickly becoming hot.

"Okay, so we aren't going to be reading Shakespeare before bed anymore." I shut the windows before pulling my hair from its very undone ponytail and gathering it in a tangle at the nape of my neck. I was sticky and in desperate need of a shower.

Toiletries and towel in hand, I scoured the second floor for the bathroom. It was down the hall, opposite the stairs, and not a soul could be seen as far as I knew. Everyone was likely enjoying the weather while they could. Autumn came on fast in the Northeast.

The bathroom was as old as the rest of the building, perhaps having been updated in the nineties from the looks of it. There were two toilet closets, tight and confined, with their sinks and mirrors adjacent. Beside those were two shower closets. The window on the back wall had been opened, allowing the room to breathe better than the dorm itself had.

I made for one of the shower stalls, tucking myself inside and relishing the lukewarm water over my skin. It wasn't perfect by any measure, but it refreshed me beautifully. By the time I'd made it back to my dorm room, dripping and covered only in my towel, I saw that Walt had texted about meeting for lunch.

I donned a flowy, white linen dress with periwinkle flowers, leaving my hair to curl around my shoulders and slipped my feet into some Birkenstocks before skipping down the stairs and out into the late morning sun.

Rich, emerald leaves were mottled with gold and birds flitted to and fro through their branches, carefree and happy. The expanse of campus yawned before me and I stood momentarily stunned to see it like this.

Like home.

The breeze kicked up the hem of my dress, tossing it around my thighs in gentle swipes.

Walt said he'd pick me up but he was nowhere to be found. Curiosity wound its fingers around my middle, practically yanking me down the walk as I began to meander. Mature trees and lampposts dotted the sides of the brick walk symmetrically as it would inevitably lead to the main quad and branch out toward the different lecture halls. I hiked my purse strap onto my shoulder and took in the sights, the soles of my shoes echoing in the space around me. It was peaceful out here, almost isolating.

Propriety oozed itself from the very earth.

As I neared the main quad after several minutes of contemplative silence, I pulled my phone from my purse to let Walt know where I'd be. There were more students now, some in sports gear, others in their finest blazers with parents in tow. Here was the center of the hive.

The main staff office sat at the head of the quad to my left, a large and intimidating building erected sometime in the early 1700s no doubt. To my right were two matching lecture halls, one for chemistry and the other, mathematics. The last side of the square was the gate with a welcoming sign, "OAKWOOD UNIVERISTY, FOUNDED 1701" and flags of various kinds—American, Vermont, Oakwood University—flapping in the late summer breeze.

In the center of the brick laden square was a fountain, and near the edges were lush greenery and well established trees. I took it all in with a sense of awe, never having come into it from this side before. Only ever the gate.

The change in perspective was fascinating. I followed the walk behind the main building, back toward where our gym, libraries, resident, lecture, and dining halls were sprinkled over the many acres. It was magical, students bustled about, some with boxes for moving in and others with books perhaps heading to the library for early studying.

I paused as I approached the library, my phone buzzing noisily in my purse.

I'm in front of the gate, cmon.

I spun around on my heels, slamming into a wall, the skin of my chest and stomach suddenly on fire.

"What the?—"

"Shit!" came a rasping voice. I stepped back, tearing at the burning of my chest, sputtering in pain as the smell of coffee hit me and I realized the wall had in fact been a person.

And I was covered in fresh, steaming hot coffee.

My eyes scaled the chest of who'd bumped into me, the fabric of their own shirt stained the very same color as mine, clinging to well defined planes. He picked the soaked linen from his skin with a thumb and forefinger, the handle of his black coffee mug hung on the former.

An actual coffee mug.

It dripped its last drop as if to mock me.

By the time my eyes reached his—stormy gray irises behind large, thin rimmed glasses—the scowl he donned could kill.

"Are you in need of corrective lenses?" he asked, his voice reverberated through my body. It took me a moment to put together what he was insinuating as I simply gaped at his strong, stubbled jawline, so sharp it could cut glass.

Any attempts I would have made at apologies died on my tongue. "Excuse me?" My expression screwed up in indignation. He wasn't serious, there was no way .

The man met my stare, intense and soul sucking. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe properly as he pinned me where I was.

Those churning storm cloud eyes fell to the phone in my hand and his lovely full mouth twisted in an unamused smirk.

Wait, why was I noticing his lovely full mouth?

"Was I so hard to see over your phone?"

"I—I—" My cheeks burned hot as anger bubbled in my chest. I was merely turning around, I hadn't a clue someone was so close behind me. And yet, as the argument swirled inside, it struggled to form on my tongue.

Tears stung my eyes as much as his coffee had the skin of my chest and I took a sharp, rattling breath.

But the man scoffed, bumping my shoulder roughly as he walked past. "Next time, stay out of your phone."

I bristled, whirling around with a retort loaded and ready but my phone buzzed again.

"Hello?" I answered through gritted teeth. The asshole didn't even turn around.

"Uh…are you okay? Where are you?" Walt's voice came through my phone.

Shit.

"I'm coming. Some asshole just ran into me and drenched us both in hot coffee!" I threw my hands in the air, walking briskly toward the open quad. Though the coffee itself had cooled, my skin was still tingled with burns.

"What? Are you serious?" Walt's voice raised an octave and I could hear him shuffling around in the car. "Do you know who it was? Are you alright?"

"Some pompous ass in glasses. I'm fine, but can we stop by the dorm real quick so I can get a change of clothes?"

"Sure. I didn't think you'd start collecting enemies your first day here, but I alas, I forget just how cruel you can be sometimes, Viv." The smile was so obvious in his voice I'd like to have punched him. Instead, I shook my head, curls tumbling over my shoulders.

"Now you're the ass." I muttered, spotting his black SUV in front of the entrance to the quad.

"Don't be sour. Hurry up, I see you. You look a mess and I'm starving."

I smashed the "end" button, picking up the pace as I grumbled to myself.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, I had completely forgotten about the jerk who spilled coffee on me even if my skin scarcely forgot the incident. It continued to burn bright red, tender and puffy in the shape of splattered liquid.

Sunday night, Walt orchestrated a bit of studying in the library with me and a few of his school buddies—lacrosse jocks I couldn't remember their names, but it was something along the lines of Brian, Brandon, and/or Brody. The entire populace seemed to be gearing up with nervous energy for the start of the semester.

Gray light leaked into my dorm and rain pattered against the glass as I dressed. It was significantly chillier this morning than yesterday, so I donned a pair of black tights and a plaid skirt to keep my legs warm. Over my black blouse I tossed a tweed blazer and dark trench coat. My hair was better left tucked tightly in a bun, tangled and wild from the moisture.

As I peered into the full body mirror, it wasn't lost on me how utterly I'd fit in with them all and I wasn't sure how I felt about it in the slightest.

I packed my books and laptop for class in a brown leather messenger bag, pens and highlighters slipped into their little pouches. Students in the house were knocking about noisily, the smell of burnt toast drifted through the air when I opened my door to make my way to my first lecture.

A young woman in a crimson Oakwood sweatshirt, her hood pulled over her hair and khaki trousers rolled up to her ankles exposing worn high tops, turned to me with wide brown eyes.

"Please tell me you have an umbrella!" she begged, clutching my arms. "I didn't bring one and it's pouring! I've got to be on the other side of campus in fifteen minutes!"

My jaw went slack as I realized that, I, too, had not brought an umbrella. My black umbrella, I knew, was in Gene's car, under the front seat.

"I didn't bring mine either," I said, sullen.

The woman cursed, chewing on her lip.

"Which class are you headed to?" I asked, fingers curled around the banister.

"Shakespeare!"

I smiled. "With Dr. Wilder?"

"Yes!"

"We're in luck. If you don't mind the company, we can trudge through the storm together." I offered her my hand. "My name is Vivian."

"Sam." She gave me a sheepish grin. "We better hurry then. At least we won't be drenched alone."

"I'm going to order us both umbrellas as soon as we get to class." I flipped the collar of my trench.

We tromped down the stairs and out into the storm, which had kicked up nicely. Sam started at a run, her hood pulled tightly around her face and her bag slapping against her back with the rhythm of her steps. I followed, a bit slower, my loafers filling with water before we even reached the main quad.

The building we sought was on the northeast side of campus, probably a twenty minute walk if we hadn't been running. The iron colored sky bled relentlessly, rumbles of thunder echoed through the walkways amongst the rustling leaves. And oh , did it smell amazing.

Students called to us, some laughed as they made their way to their own classes, tucked under their wide umbrellas boasting how dry they were. But Sam and I trudged still. She was soaked to the bone by the time we reached the old building and squelched inside, and though my trench had saved much of me from the rain, my hair was sopping.

"Do you...know which classroom…it is?" Sam asked through panting breath, her hands on her wet knees. Before I could take in the space, I fumbled with my bag to pull the class schedule out from its folder.

"Room 304?"

We were off again, squeaking and slipping against the tile floor as we bounded stairs and passed very confused onlookers until we finally reached the right door.

Whatever luck we lacked in the rain, we made up for when we realized the professor hadn't come in yet. Sam smirked, high fiving me awkwardly once we filed into the surprisingly small space. Old wooden tables which sat two were all set in rows of three. The wall of windows let in the breeze, chilling straight to the bone as I pulled my coat from my shoulders and set it on the back of my chair in the front row.

Sam sat beside me, peeling her sweatshirt off to expose a white blouse underneath. A white blouse which barely hid the outline of a black bra. In fact, her poor garment was practically translucent from the rain. "Think anyone will notice?" she whispered.

"Here." I shed my tweed blazer and offered it to her. "This ought to help until you're dry."

"Oh my god, thank you! I wasn't trying to seduce the professor on our first day." She laughed, pulling my blazer on and buttoning it to hide her undergarments. It was a touch oversized on her slim frame but it would work.

I waved off her thanks, retrieving Romeo & Juliet and my laptop to set up for class. Thankfully, they had remained dry.

"Did you read it yet?" Sam asked, her own space much less tidy and the pages of her notebook as wet as her blouse.

"A bit. It's one of my favorites, though, so I can't say I wasn't a little excited to analyze it again."

"I don't know how I would survive without the modern translations they print on the side of some copies. My brain just can't seem to wrap itself around Middle English."

"I think the trick is in reading it aloud?—"

The classroom door snicked shut and a hush fell over the room.

Everyone's attention came to the professor at the same moment.

And my heart slammed into my chest. Heat crawled up my neck as I realized who exactly Professor Ambrose Wilder was.

It wasn't the sixty-something president of the university as I had originally assumed when I received my course log.

This Dr. Ambrose Wilder's full lips smirked as those stormy eyes found mine, almost the exact color of the sky outside. His dark hair was tousled from the storm, stray pieces falling over his forehead. He set a leather satchel on an equally antique desk situated in front of a black chalkboard.

His wet umbrella was discarded beside a bookshelf whose shelves bowed under the weight of the tightly packed novels. Dr. Wilder donned a fitted black sweater and forest green trousers, all of which were impeccably dry. And in his damned hand he held the same black mug from Sunday.

My jaw locked .

"Ladies." He nodded in our direction. "And gentlemen. My name is Dr. Ambrose Wilder. You may address me as Doctor or Professor Wilder. Allow me to welcome you to Literature 300: Shakespeare."