I quickly glance down at my class schedule to see the name C. Spence listed as the professor. Thoughts on what the C stands for rush through my brain. He looks more like someone who rowed for the crew team rather than someone who played football, so I don’t picture him being Charlie, Chris or anything more traditional like that. The way his thin, dark frame glasses sit perfectly on his face give him this indie, cool-guy look, so he could be a Conner or Christian.
There’s something unique about the way he walks into the room with his dark eyes taking in every face as he strolls up to the desk. He doesn’t carry a briefcase or side satchel. Instead, he props his black backpack up with a huge Vans patch stitched to the top of it.
I bite my lower lip. He’s definitely an unexpected surprise, and if we were in any other situation, I’d be making it a point to go home with him tonight.
He places two hands on the desk and looks out into the audience. Starting at the far back, he studies every single person in the room like he’s trying to read them, chapter by chapter, deciding what this class’ book is all about. It’s not until the very end that his eyes reach mine, and I swear I see a slight pull to his lips before he turns around to write something on the board.
I check out his lean arm as he moves swiftly across the white wall spelling outHow well can you read people?before turning around and clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.
He doesn’t say hello or introduce himself. He simply states, “Let’s play a game, shall we?”
Every student looks around, silently questioning their teacher’s words.
No one responds, so he continues, “I have here a class list with everyone’s name on it. I bet I can guess each of your names by matching them to this list.”
I hear a few laughs from people under their breaths until one student speaks up. “That’s impossible.”
“Really? Why do you say that?” he responds with a tilt to his head as he slowly approaches the student sitting about ten rows back and to the right of me.
After only taking a few steps forward, seemingly to get a better look, he turns around and walks back to his desk.
My eyes instantly roam the full length of his body as he leans back against the edge of the desk and crosses his left leg over his right while his arms are folded in front of his body.
The dark jeans he has on tug in all the right places, and I’d be a fool not to notice the bulge staring me in the face. When my eyes move up his torso and further to his jaw, I notice he’s staring directly at me. Only this time, the smirk stays on his face before he turns his attention back to the student.
“There’s got to be fifty students in the class. That’s statistically impossible,” the male student adds.
“So, then tell me, Adam, how did I know that was you?”
The student laughs is disbelief. “No way.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. How did you know my name?”
“Because I did my research, I paid attention, and in the end, I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.”
The other students laugh before another female sits up in her chair. “Okay, me next.”
He studies her slightly, turning to grab his class list before looking down and up at her again. “Tell me first, why do you want to be a lawyer?”
“Because I want to help those who truly need me and put the bastards who deserve to be locked away there for good.”
“Ah, you’re Kelli.” He snaps his fingers before pointing it at her.
She lets out a little yelp in surprise. “How did you do that? How did my answer get you there?”
“It wasn’t your answer. It was your voice, or more importantly, your accent. You see, I did research on every single one of you. I searched out your social media accounts—which by the way, some of you”—he stops and shakes his head in a questionable manner, sucking in a breath—“should really be careful about what you put out there. I’m shocked, to say the least.” That gets another laugh out of everyone. “All, but a very slim few of you, I was able to access your accounts, obtain your whereabouts, who you went to school with, who you hung out with, and more importantly, where you grew up. Your accent, my dear, gave you away. Clearly from Chicago. That instantly told me you were Kelli.”
“If you accessed our social media accounts then you saw our pictures, too, so you aren’t that sneaky,” another student argues.
Professor Spence nods his head. “Ah, yes, very true, but yet you see, not everyone’s profile is set up the same. Some had privacy settings, so I couldn’t access your photos, only the ones you were tagged in. So if I’m looking at a picture of five females, it’s hard to say which one is you. I had to narrow down the options, learn as much as I could, and then in the end”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“take a gamble and hope like shit I’m right.”
The class laughs again, and I love that our teacher is freaking badass. Yes, it’s been years since I sat in a classroom, and I’ve never taken a college course, so maybe this is just the way things are done, but so far, I think I’m going to like this class.
“So keep going, see if you can name us all,” a guy from two rows back shouts.
“Okay, stand up,” he says. “And…” He looks around the room as if he’s searching for someone in particular. “You, all the way in the back, stand up and walk down here. Grab your stuff too, come down and join us, stay awhile,” he jokes.
