My hands are tied in this matter. Next semester, if you'd like to enroll in a semester course, you'll be able to use the link provided.
Best,
Prof. Adams
Megs staredat the screen and ground her teeth. Not a semester course? Stupid.So stupid.She was taking the class on campus and she'd paid her tuition for the certification through her student portal.
My hands are tied in this matter?Were they, though?How hard would it be for him to let her record a ten-minute audition when no students were using the recording studio anyway?
Megs slammed her laptop closed, cleaned up her peanut butter and apple core, then stomped to her bedroom.
The next evening,Megs strode purposefully toward the arts building, her curls bouncing around her face with every step. The autumn leaves crunched underfoot as Megs mentally rehearsed everything she’d learned after going down a narration rabbit hole on the internet last night.
Consistent distance from the mic and pacing. Sound conversational, maintain even volume. Knowing wasn’t the same as doing, and though she’d practiced the audition sides multiple times, her heart still stuttered as she opened the door and strode down the hall.
Her heart tapped a staccato rhythm as she scanned the area. This tiny act of rebellion, wanting something she knew she shouldn’t and acting on it, woke her up in ways that both thrilled and frightened her. It was like she’d been viewing the world through dirty windows, and someone had come and washed them clean.
But that crystal clarity came at a cost. When her bid to the universe didn’t work out because it never did, she’d have to walk back behind that filmy glass. Revert to living in a world of grayscale.
Megs shook her head. There wasn’t an information desk here like in the main building, and she hadn’t thought to look up a map. A student strode past with pants hanging so low on his hips she was sure they’d drop to his knees at any second.
“Excuse me.” Megs put out a hand, and he pulled the earbud from his right ear. “Do you know where Professor Adams’s office is?”
He pointed down the hall. “Just past the bathrooms.”
“Thank you.” She continued down the hall, searching the placards as soon as she passed the bathroom doors.
Prof. Gideon Adams.
Megs faced the door and clenched her hands into fists, then raised her arm and knocked. For a moment, she wondered if his office was empty. It was only a quarter to five, but maybe the first slot had been filled in the time it’d taken her to walk here from the parking lot. Maybe he didn’t arrive early, or maybe he wouldn’t come at all since his last appointment wasn’t booked.
She was about to turn when the door swung open. Megs’ breath caught. Standing there in front of her, his hair mussed, his tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose was the hot guy from the coffee shop.
Five
“Professor Adams?”The barista from the coffee shop in Sugar Creek said his name. Gideon blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening. Why was she standing here at his door? On campus?
“Yes.” He pushed the door open and propped it, willing his brain to stop short-circuiting. She wore faded jeans and a loose sweater that hung lopsided on her shoulders. Her auburn curls brushed her skin. Should he say something?Did she even recognize him?“I thought you were done with classes at Champlain?”
Her cheeks flushed as she followed him into his office. “I am. Was.” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting . . . you.”
Warmth bloomed in his chest.She did remember.It quickly cooled when he realized her shock meant she hadn’t shown up here for him. He put out a hand. “Gideon Adams.”
She straightened her shoulders and took it. “Megs.”
The name rang a bell, but he was too distracted by her emerald eyes to interrogate the thought further. He cleared his throat. “What brings you to campus? I know it isn’t the coffee.”
She breathed a laugh. “No, definitely not. I actually sent you an email last night—I didn’t know I was emailingyou, but—”
“The recording studio.” Her name clicked into place. The student looking for a recording slot. The one who wasn’t currently enrolled. He thought back through his emails, wishing he’d known who he was corresponding with. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help with that.”
She sat in the chair across from his desk and set her bag on the floor, then teased her teeth over her lower lip. “I was kind of hoping you still could.” Before he could protest, she continued in a rush. “I know I’m not technically an enrolled student, but I only need the studio for ten minutes or so. There’s this audition for an audiobook narration—”
“Calloway?”
Her eyes lit up. “You’ve heard about it?”
Gideon nodded as his shoulders tensed.Oh, he’d heard about it.Randall, another friend from his college performing days, had texted him every day since Matt announced the competition giving him new reasons why he should submit.We could hang out at the fall festival like old times, G. He’d laughed at that. They’d played a gig atafall festival once but hadn’t ever ‘hung out’ there. And they’d never willingly spent time in a small town like Sugar Creek.
