step outside right as Jamie shuts the door behind him, immediately regretting not checking the weather before I left. A gust of cold wind slaps me in the face and sends my hair flying in every direction. Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed on my first day trying to prove I’m not some imposter pretending to be a professor.
The campus is still quiet this early, only a few students walking toward the arts building, backpacks slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, half-asleep. My stomach twists. I used to be one of them and now I’m supposed to lead them?
My shoes crunch against the gravel as I cut across the quad, the smell of damp leaves and cold airfilling my lungs. Ellington has always been beautiful this time of year. Fall in Connecticut is one of my favorite things. It may be chilly, but the vibrant colors and falling leaves make up for it. The town of Seabrooke is small. There’re two gas stations, a liquor store, a small grocery store, and the college. Ellington is known for its beauty and old architecture. It feels different now, walking through it as a faculty member. Everything feels…bigger.
I’m halfway to the theatre building when my phone vibrates in my hand. Lainey’s contact name pops up on the screen.
Main Bitch
Main Bitch:Have you killed him yet?
Me:No, but I came close.
Main Bitch:Well, if you do, don’t get caught.
Rolling my eyes, I shove the phone into my coat pocket and hurry down the steps toward the side door reserved for faculty.
My chest tightens as I swipe myself inside. The familiar scent of sawdust and paint hits me immediately, but that calming feeling it usually brings me is lost. The hallways feel narrower. The bulletin boards on the walls seem more cluttered, and every footstep echoes as if announcing, ‘You don’t belong here.’ I swallow hard.
Walking into the rehearsal studio, I watch as students take their seats, and I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong I nearly choke. I don’t know how Igot here, but if I stand here any longer, these people are going to think I’m mute.
Stepping up onto the stage, I clear my throat and wait for their attention. When they all turn and stare, heat rushes to my cheeks.
Pushing through the panic that has taken over my body, I say, “Good morning,” but it comes out so quiet I can barely hear myself.
I try again, clearing my throat once more.
“I’m Ellie Monroe. I’ll be taking over for Professor Littman this semester.” A ripple of whispers takes over the room. I see some nods, and a few confused faces. They’re probably freshmen wondering if I’m a senior covering a student-led meeting.
“I… I know this might be a surprise to some of you,” I continue, “but this is going to be a great semester. I’m excited to get started.”
A girl with purple hair and glasses raises her hand.
“Yes?”
“Are you even old enough to be teaching a college class?” she asks, her nose scrunching in disgust. Seriously? That’s how we’re going to start off? My stomach lurches as I try to think of how to respond.
“Um, yes. I am.”
Another student in the back of the room, a guy with a beanie and long hair raises his hand before asking, “Are you like, famous?”
I chuckle. At least his question wasn’t so rude.
“No, I’m not. But I do perform in New York City.”
A few students exchange impressed looks. Purple Hair sits up straighter. Maybe she’ll accept me now. Something in my chest loosens, just slightly.
Before I can continue, the door opens from behind me. I turn, expecting a late student or something, but what I see instead is Jamie striding into the room like he owns it. Why does he have to be so… him?
He’s sweaty from practice. He pushes his hair out of his eyes, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips as a handful of hockey players trail behind him like puppies, laughing too loudly, joking, bumping shoulders. Why the hell is he here? In my space? Why does the universe hate me?
Jamie stops when he sees me, smirk already forming. “Hi, Sweetheart.”
Twenty heads swivel toward me.
“I told you not to call me that,” I grit through my teeth. I step toward him, whispering sharply.
“Get out.”
