What did you do, Isadora?
POV: Isadora
I could barely keep my eyes open. He’d be here any minute, and there I was, dozing off. But it was his fault. Because of him, I’d pulled an all-nighter. Damn Professor Anderson.
I’d been in his class for a month now, and each class had been worse than the last. Calling him strict was a massive understatement; he was an arrogant, presumptuous tyrant. As attractive as he was, he was just as much of an ass.
I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel so stupid for not knowing the answers to his questions. I hated that superior look of his, which diminished me and made me feel like a functional illiterate, making me wonder what the hell I was even doing at Harvard Law School.
I know law was far from my life’s dream, if I even had a dream in life, but just because I didn’t love it didn’t mean it had to be this bad. No, it wasn’t law’s fault; it was his. He made it bad.
He could make our lives easier if he wanted to, but why make it easy when his fetish was tormenting us? Making us stay up all night reading some damn 20-year-old homicide case.
“Good afternoon.”, he walked in quickly, and my heart raced. At least the sleepiness was gone.
“Did you read the case?”, he looked at the class; some nodded. I stayed quiet because all I wanted to do was curse him out.
“And what do you have to tell me?”, the class fell silent. “Does anyone want to bring up a point?”
“Or would you prefer I pick someone to start?”, he asked, and his eyes landed on mine, making me freeze.
He was going to pick me, for sure. That psychopath could smell fear and nervousness, and that’s all I was exuding at that moment.
“Professor Anderson!”, Brenda called out. “Can I start?”
“Please.”, he turned to her, and I’d never loved Brenda as much as I did in that moment.
Yes, I had read the damn case. I’d spent the entire night awake, reading and rereading. But as soon as he looked at me with those cold eyes, I’d forget even my own name.
But apparently, I was the only one who had amnesia attacks because of the professor. Brenda managed to explain the case very well and pointed out things I hadn’t even noticed. After her, others also started talking, and in the end, I didn’t say anything. Great. All-nighter for nothing.
“Very well.”, the professor said. “Since there are only a few minutes left until the end of class, we’ll conclude our discussions here.”
“But I want to emphasize that participation in case discussions counts towards your grade!”
“So, I believe it would be beneficial, especially for students who aren’t doing so well in the subject, to participate more.”
I avoided looking at him when he said that, just in case he was looking at me, considering that was exactly my situation. I put my things in my backpack and looked at my phone for the first time that day. I had a few messages from Ryan, who hadn’t come to class today, others from my mom, and an Instagram notification.
I opened the notification and froze. “Henry__Anderson accepted your follow request.” Henry? Anderson? That was the professor. I looked ahead, but he had already left the room. When did I ask to follow him on Instagram? And then I remembered. Friday night, after my sister’s wedding anniversary, I was drunk and furious at him for giving me an F on the last assignment. Damn it. What did you do, Isadora?
I opened the account profile and wasn’t surprised to see “Anne Simmons” instead of my name, with a picture of a woman with brown hair and blue eyes. I had created a fake account to trick the professor, asked to follow him, and even messaged him. And the worst part was, by all indications, he had fallen for it.
