Not Another Timeless Classic

I was late.

And if there was one thing I desperately tried not to be, it was late.

I pictured my mother, who was really only a few cities away, astounded that the daughter that was nearly opposite her was late for something. By now, even Sarah knew that if she told us she'd be there by a certain time, naturally she'd be there at least half an hour after that.

"Have you seen my keys?!"

I was struggling to pull my other leg through my jeans, reaching for my bag that was on the back of the couch Sarah was sitting on. She had just woken up, still obviously hungover from the night before. She was grinning at me and I didn't know why until a half naked man walked out of our bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

"God, Sarah," I muttered, covering my face with my hands sheepishly, avoiding looking anywhere but the floor.

She threw them at me lazily, waving the guy into her room lazily as she turned to me, "You know, I think you'd lose your head if it wasn't attached."

"No," I spoke carefully, pointing an accusing finger at her. "I would have been fine this morning if I could have gotten the sound of someone's kinky sex-capade out of my head."

"I warned you, babe."

"I thought you were lying," I laughed, feeling my face turn a few shades darker at the memory of one of her exes coming out of her room with a whip in his hand. "Seriously, I felt like I was going to die right there."

"Derek was actually pretty vanilla compared to--."

"See you later! Don't have too much fun while I'm gone!"

I shook my head as I heard her yell a reply, shutting the door and racing down the stairs of the complex. As soon as I looked at my phone, I decided against driving when I realized that walking would probably end up being a lot faster. Trying to maneuver around other college students that were late and having to stop every five seconds to let them cross would only make a five minute drive drag on to nearly fifteen and that was time I decided I didn't have. Gartner Hall was only a ten minute walk away from the dorms, and I could turn that into a five minute walk if I hurried.

Why did professors decide to have weird time slots, anyway? 10:25 was an abnormal time for a class on its own, let alone a writing class. Then again, English professors were some of the most interesting people, or so I heard. Sarah had told me the same thing about Math professors, too, but she held an insane amount of disdain for the subject because she swore it wasn't necessary to know.

I squinted at the paper in my hands, taking a second to check the numbers and letter on the marble, grey building in front of me. When I was sure I was in the right place, I bounded up the stairs, slipping in through the glass door before it shut behind the girls in front of me. My heart was beating loudly in my chest and my throat was constricting at the thought of the door being shut and locked. Having to knock and silently beg for entry on the first day wasn't the impression I was hoping to leave on the professor that could make or break my career at the university.

Then, I doubted that he had knowledge of that, but it was the thought alone. I counted the numbers above the doors, two hundred and ten seeming farther away the more I looked. I groaned when I reached the end of the hallway, two classroom doors opposite each other and both shut. The door on the left was the one I needed to be in, and it didn't look like there was another way to get in the room like the one across from it.

Swallowing my nerves, I raised a hand tentatively, meeting a pair of eyes through the glass above the knob. My heart dropped to my stomach as footsteps stopped right outside the door. I shoved the piece of paper and my phone in my pocket, gripping the straps of my bag tighter once the door opened. I couldn't bring myself to meet the man's gaze, ducking my head and muttering a small thanks when I was let inside.

Much to my horror, the only seat not occupied was one in the front row, closest to the door. I took it quietly, setting my bag on the floor and pulling out a spiral notebook to start taking notes.

"Name, please?"

"Charlotte Hemmings," I answered quickly, keeping my head down. "I go by Charlie, though."

"Charlotte is fine," the man answered, prompting me look up.

I felt my chest tighten at the realization that the man standing in front of the classroom was the man that was standing outside last night. I averted my gaze, focusing on my breathing as I stared intently at the papers that were set on my desk.

His name was across the top along with his contact information and office hours and I was cursing myself for not looking at my schedule before this to see if the names matched. It was a course outline and included what was expected of us. To my astonishment, he made no effort to bring up my tardiness or the aftermath of last night and focused solely on the syllabus, answering questions when he was prompted.

The room had gone silent and I found myself looking around, until my attention was brought towards the desk at the front. My professor had written his last name across the board, along with a word underneath it. Identity.

He took a step forward, looking from the left side of the classroom to the right, resting his gaze on me. "I want you to explore this. Who are you? What defines you? I find that we're different people under different circumstances and that we change with every passing day. Surely, you're not the same person you were yesterday and even the person you'll be tomorrow. I want to know what makes you...you. The sides you only reveal to loved ones or strangers. This is a personal assignment, but I want to evaluate who you are outside of being writers. I want to learn your style and what makes you different from each other. I'm expecting a presentation of this by next class."

At that, a feeling of anxiety settled in. I considered myself a shy person, sure, but the idea of giving a presentation made my heart race and palms sweat. My mother contributed it to being a nervous tick or issue of mine, but I knew it was more than that.

Mr. Padalecki, I learned, was a man of nervous ticks. He'd announced this when he was explaining why everything was entirely planned out in the syllabus, but as I was watching him now, I noticed he kept tucking his hair behind his ears. Another thing that was unusual, as most professors were warned against longer hair. Still, it suited him, and I made myself believe it was just an observation. His stare never faltered from the intense one he kept and it was difficult to pinpoint what color they were, exactly.

You could tell a lot about a person from their eyes, my mom would tell me when I was younger, and I couldn't find that to be more true. His eyes, currently a forest green, were hard and cold and I had a feeling it reflected who he was. He inched off of the desk, still grasping the piece of chalk in his hand, rolling down the sleeves on his dress shirt. "That's all for today. Next class, be sure that you can tell me who each of you are beneath the surface. I want four pages, at the least. See you all next class."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, patiently waiting behind my desk as others rushed out of the room, clearly feeling the way I had the entire lesson.

"Miss Hemmings?" Mr. Padalecki called out, a smirk on his lips as he turned to look at me. "If you're late again, there will be consequences. I do not take lightly to tardiness, is that understood?"

I nodded, not completely trusting that my voice wouldn't shake if I spoke. He nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk. As I went to walk out of the classroom, he stopped me again, and I found myself holding my breath.

"And maybe you wouldn't have been late had you not been out all night. Just a thought. Have a good day, Miss Hemmings."