“This assignment requires more than putting ‘canned’ internet information down on paper. You are required to interview a person from your side. The people acting as the bullies will need to find a bully to interview. The people acting as the victims will need to find a victim to interview. If you have trouble finding the type of person you need, I will give you extra time to complete your project. You’re dismissed for today so you may begin planning your project. My office hours are always posted if you need help.” Moving around the podium, his voice softens, “Tensanne, may I see you in my office please?”
Nodding my head, I rise from my chair at a turtle’s pace and beg my legs to carry me down the aisle to his office while the other students begin to file out of the room. Once I’m inside, Dr. Parker points toward one of the two blue padded chairs in front of his desk. “Here, Tensanne, please have a seat.” Easing my body into one of the chairs, Dr. P situates himself on the edge of his desk in front of me, his hands clasped together in his lap.
Dr. P is handsome, for an older man. He first came to me when I was getting ready to graduate from high school, trying to recruit me for JSU, I may have developed a small crush on him. He’s about forty-five years old with shaggy, sandy blonde hair that hangs in his eye on one side with just a little bit of gray peppered throughout, a healthy muscular build that shows he takes care of this body and wonderful chocolate brown eyes. Forty looks good on Dr. P.
He’s the reason I’m at this school, he’s my advisor and most times my biggest supporter. He’s the top in his field, the department head of the Cognitive Psychology and Brain Science Department. Looking at me now, his age is starting to show. His lips form a tight thin line, his pretty eyes stare hard into mine. Opening his mouth to give me the ass chewing I know he is about to dish out, I blurt, “I’m sorry,” while the big tears that have been building in my eyes since the beginning of class, trek down my cheeks.
“Look at me, Ten,” he orders. Placing his hand on my shoulder, I lift my head meeting his eyes, his warm hand provides minimal comfort. “How? How could someone so smart be so naïve?” he probes, sympathy and anger pools in his brown depths. “Who took the picture?” he demands.
“I-I did, Sir,” I mumble, feeling my ears start to burn.
“You did?” he bellows. “Who did you send it to?”
“I’d rather not say, Sir. I would like if the whole situation was forgotten.”
Standing, he stomps around to the other side of his desk, plopping down in his office chair, he slams his hands down on the desk causing me to jump.
“Damn it, Tensanne,” he curses with his face etched in frustration. “I can’t help you if you won’t open up to me. A photo like this could ruin you in the psychology world and could get you kicked out of the college.”
Wringing my hands in my lap, my leg bounces out my nerves. “I don’t want any more attention. I made a mistake, a huge mistake. I put trust in someone that couldn’t be trusted. I just want to be invisible again. For once, I acted my age. I acted on my impulses. Hopefully, it will help me later in life, when one of my patients experiences something similar.” Forcing my head to rise, I meet his eyes, “Thank you for your help, for demanding the photo disappear. I promise I won’t get fooled like that again. May I go now?”
Slumping back in his chair, he sighs, “You have a very bright future in Cognitive Psychology, Ten. I pulled a lot of strings to get you here on campus. Convincing the student housing board you are mature enough to live in the dorm with the help of a fellow student guardian. You are a beautiful, smart, young woman. I know being so young in this environment is hard but I need you to use your head first and your heart last. I have smoothed this situation over with the Dean but if anything like this happens again I’m not sure I will be able to help. Stick with the students you know, the ones you can trust. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to contact me. I want to see you succeed while you’re here. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir. I understand. Thank you.”
“You may go now,” he states rubbing the spot between his eyes.
My body sags in relief when I step out of his office and almost everyone has already left the classroom knowing I won’t have to deal with them anymore today. Shuffling back to my seat to collect my things and return to the safety of my room, halting when I notice someone standing by my seat, his dark head looking down, his finger moving fast on the screen of his phone.
Recognizing the silky dark hair and strong jaw, fear crawls along my spine.
Kohl Black. The Ian Somerhalder of JSU. Six-foot seven inches of tanned, tattooed, basketball player. Legs that go on for days, toned and defined from years of running up and down the basketball court. Jet black hair cropped close to his head in a military style fade, eyes a bright blue-green, sunken deep, surrounded by long black eyelashes and full dark eyebrows. Arms defined and strong, covered in ink, designed for making three-point shots and they seem to be made
