Ms. Hollywood was his nickname for me. Deondre started calling me that after I showed up to work in a long trench coat and boots that made a statement in week two of class. He claimed I looked like a woman who had walked off a movie set and straight into his dreams.
“Boy, you brought chaos,” I shot back, smirking.
He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice like it was about to get romantic. “Let me get your number. You know… just in case I need a little life advice or a study partner?”
“Deondre, it’shundredsof girls on this campus ready to risk it all over a nice haircut and a charming boy like you. So why areyou in here shooting your shot at your professor like you ran out of options?”
Unbothered, Deondre grinned wider, platinum grill shining, confidence undeniable. “I need me a mature lady,” he admitted, licking his lips just enough to be silly, not slick. “Girls my age be arguing over who liked whose pic or why she ain’t get posted. I need somebody who can cook—and not just Rotel—read books with no pictures, light candles for good mood, and know how to fold a fitted sheet without cussin’ it out. You feel me?"
I laughed.. “You do know it’s a lot of grown women who don’t do, or can’t do, none of what you just mentioned, right?”
Deondre smirked cockily. “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout any woman, though; I’m talkin’ ‘bout you. You look like the type to keep a man in check and a house in order.” His eyes dropped to my hand, then climbed back up slow. “Yo’ man is lucky,” he added. “If you even got one. But if you do, tell ‘em don’t fumble. We up next.”
“We?” I repeated, puzzled, arching a brow.
“YNs… young niggas,” Deondre clarified proudly, treating the term as an exclusive brotherhood. “So he better make sure he tucking you in every night and running you a hot bubble bath with them lil’ flower petals y’all women like. You deserve luxury, Ms. Hollywood.”
I smiled. “Well, thank you, Deondre… even though you can’t be the one to give it to me.”
“Wishful thinking,” he shrugged. “Well, next semester, if you ever feel like grading papers with company, I got a king-size bed and no boundaries. Happy Holidays, Ms. Hollywood.” He tapped my desk twice, smooth as ever, and swaggered out the door.
I just stood there blinking, then shook my head with a low chuckle.
Lord, I pray for the woman he decides to take serious—whoever or whenever that may be. Bless her heart, she gon’ be dodging old flings, have to fight at least three jealous females, and block seven more just to secure the position. Ain’t no peace dating a handsome hoe.
Deondre was too smooth and way too friendly. Damn near everyone on campus knew it, Instagram knew it, and probably his mama, too. Despite how handsome he was—and he was in that charming, reckless, “every girl on campus found him attractive” kind of way, with his fresh cut, name-brand everything, cologne that lingered, flashy jewelry, and that damn platinum grill that lit up with every smirk—I would’ve never crossed that line with a student, or even former one… no matter how grown they thought they were. I saw most of them as my little brothers and sisters who desperately needed more structure, hydration, and a full night’s sleep. Most importantly, I loved my job too much to fumble the bag over temporary temptation and end up on a viral thread titled: “She gave me an A, her number, then some fye ass pussy”. So, when Deondre flirted, I kept it professional, classy, and moving.
Next in line was Tynesha, a petite firecracker with a head full of colorful braids, dramatic lashes that fluttered with every blink, and lip gloss permanently set on ten. She bounced up to my desk with urgent energy and her backpack still zipped shut with the tags from August.
“So, Ms. Hollis,” she paused, popping her gum with purpose, “Be honest with me. Did I pass or nah?”
Before I could answer.
“Wait—before you say it, let me say this, ‘cause I’m in my healing era.” Tynesha leaned on the desk dramatically. “I had a lot going on this semester—emotionally, spiritually,andromantically. But if I failed, I’ma just cry in the car real quick, then re-enroll, ‘cause I like how you teach. You don’t sugarcoatnothing. You lowkey remind me of my auntie who be cussin’ people out at family functions. She mean as hell, but she got wisdom.”
“Tynesha, your final paper was titled ‘I Know I Ain’t Read the Chapter, But Here’s What I Think.’”
“And didn’t I drop some gems?” she clapped back, grinning and flashing her rhinestone nails. “A lil’ sprinkle of nonsense, a lil’ sprinkle of faith. Boom! Passing grade! That’s how I live.” She gave a proud shrug, then strutted off, hips switching like the semester owed her nothing.
Then cameZion, aka The Hype TikTok Kid, phone already in hand, energy on one thousand as he live-streamed.
“Yooo! What’s good, fam?” he cheesed, swinging his camera around the class. “Y’all already know the vibes! It’s Zion the Don, and y’all know who that is.”
He flipped the camera to me. “The most beautiful, chillest, and realist professor on campus.”
My lips twitched into a small smile. I casually threw up two peace signs.
“Gang!” Zion shouted dramatically to the camera. “Y’all see what I mean?! Ain’t no other professor here doing it like this!”
He stopped the stream and tucked his phone away. For the first time all semester, his tone mellowed… just a little.
“I wish you had clones,” he said honestly, his hands still animated. “If every teacher here was like you? Man… college would be lit! We’d all be showing up early with donuts, highlighters, good energy, and not a single clue what we doing… but we’d be happy as hell.”
“Sounds like a wellness retreat, not a university.” I chuckled, then leaned forward and whispered, “But as long as you bring me the donuts first, I’ll allow the shenanigans.”
“Fa sho!’” He laughed, then calmed again. “But nah, for real. I appreciate you, Ms. Hollis. Like, you actually taught withoutacting like you were better than us. You laughed at our jokes. And when we acted dumb, you told us straight up… but with love.”
I tilted my head a bit, touched.
