“I’m Atticus Slade, and I’ll be your Music Theory instructor. Blaise Rousseau is my teaching assistant. She’s sitting in the front here.”
A pretty redhead with a wild mane of curls swiveled in her seat, offering a quick wave.
Slade cleared his throat, scanning the room through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “You or your parents are paying good money for me to teach you, so if I find that you’re slowing us down for even half of a note, I won’t hesitate to drop you from this course. It’s very possible—and even more likely—there will be ten empty seats in this room by midterms. Don’t let one of them be yours.”
Apparently, coffee was unnecessary, because that woke me right up.
“Pens and paper at the ready. Our lecture will begin following attendance,” he said before uncapping a pen and glancing down at the podium. “Zamora, Brennan?”
Pens and paper at the ready.
“Crap.” I scrambled for my bookbag and dug through every available pocket to verify I really was stupid enough to not restock my pens after the summer courses. Nothing. “Double crap.”
After a quick glance to the right confirmed the girl beside me had one pencil that was on its last leg, I nibbled on my lower lip and scoped out Mr. Blazer’s impressive roster of writing utensils while he was already distracted writing on a piece of paper. There were at least five pens lying there in a straight line. Surely, he wouldn’t miss justone?
I attempted to clear my throat in a hey-you-look-over-here kind of way, but maybe it sounded like I had a tickle, because his attention remained firmly on his paper as Professor Slade read the next few names.
So, I tried again. But then a tickle actually did catch in my throat, and I coughed hard enough that my eyes watered. I tried swallowing, but the coughing wouldn’t stop. Before I knew it, I was smacking a hand against my chest and hacking up half a lung—not to mention dying of mortification.
“Miss, we would appreciate it if you could move to the hallway as opposed to disrupting roll call,” Professor Slade said from the front.
Great first impression, Emma.
Blinking back the moisture clouding my vision, I scooped up my now-favorite cup of coffee I’d swiped from the teacher’s lounge and swigged back a mouthful.
“I’m okay!” I stumbled to assure our professor before my stubborn body coughed once more just to discredit me. With another clearing of my throat, I was good to go. “Really, I’m all right to stay. Sorry for the interruption.”
With one more look—to make sure I wasn’t going to die or interrupt him again—Professor Slade returned to his list.
Time for Plan B.
“Hey,” I whispered. I slid my pink-Keds-clad foot across the linoleum until I could nudge my new neighbor’s chair leg. “Hey, you. Excuse me.”
Still nothing.
“Milton, Maura.”
I sighed, smoothing down my skirt. While keeping my eyes on Professor Slade, I scooted my chair the tiniest bit toward my target—wincing when a shrillsqueakechoed around the room.
“Kincaid, Noah,” the professor’s booming voice called, not looking up from the roster.
Mr. Blazer’s voice was deep and sure beside me as he answered. “Present.”
I paused in my approach. Noah Kincaid. Noah.No-ah. From the way his dark brown hair brushed away from striking features, and how his lips pinched together as he wrote in his notebook, I decided the name fit.
I leaned closer, banking on his peripheral vision being up to par.
Leaning in had its own advantages. Noah smelled… fantastic. Like the air after a rainstorm.
“Noah,” I whispered, then watched as his purposeful hand froze midstroke. “Noah?”
It was only a momentary lapse in his concentration, though, because his pen continued flying across the paper a heartbeat later.
I raised my voice, showing him I meant business. I’d already disrupted the class once, after all. “Noah Kincaid.”
“Yes?” he asked, voice low and steady, with eyes focused on the paper before him.
“Could I borrow a pen, please?” I purposely kept my tone completely platonic. Knowing how attractive he was, the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was trying to get an opening to flirt with him.
