Page 81 of She’s Worth the Risk

I smile. “Sounds good.”

She squeezes my arm, softening, and for one awful moment I think she knows. That she’s going to ask about Nick and me. Instead, she motions to the front door.

“Go on. You don’t want to be late for your first day.”

My gut ripples nervously as I step onto campus. It’s only been two and a half weeks since I was last here, but it feels like a lifetime. As I enter the Silver Center for class, a strange sensation moves through me. Warm, familiar and somehow unfamiliar at once.

Like I… like I belong here.

The feeling is so strong that I can’t help but smile, knowing I made the right choice to stick around. And as I enter the lecture hall, my mind strays to Iris’s words about passion. To Gran’s offer to pay for me to study here full-time.

To what my life could look like—really look like—if I didn’t leave the city.

The lecture hall is buzzing when I enter. It’s the same room where Nick’s classes were held, but the tiered seating is much fuller than summer school, and I manage to find a spot in the front row, anticipation fizzling in my chest.

I pull out my laptop and textbooks, excited to begin, when a familiar, confident voice beside me casually says, “Hey.”

Dammit.

Fixing a smile on my face, I glance at Cole. “Hi.” It never occurred to me he might be in this class, and I can’t say I’m delighted.

Especially not when he flashes me a wide grin, saying, “Didn’t know you’d be in here. We can be study buddies.”

“Maybe,” I say, laughing awkwardly. I have nothing against the guy, really, but Cole’s idea of studying is flirting with me in the library, while mine is, well, studying. This class matters to me, and I don’t want to miss anything because I’m too busy fighting off Cole’s advances.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but the lights dim as class begins, and I could not be more relieved.

I give him a What can you do? look, turning to the front of the room. A young woman with strawberry-blond hair stands at the podium, and I blink in surprise. This is Dr. Webber? I was expecting someone old and stuffy, not someone only a few years older than me.

She welcomes the class, goes over the course outline and expectations, and I listen in wonder. That someone close to my age is up there teaching. It makes me think… could I do something like that? Not now, not even anytime soon, but… one day?

“In this class, we’re going to explore how power shapes art,” Professor Webber says. “You’ll learn that art wasn’t only about beauty, it was about who had the power to decide what beauty meant.”

Her words remind me of Nick, of our conversation about Botticelli, and I scramble to copy them down.

“Today, we tend to think of art as an act of self-expression,” she continues, pacing in front of the podium, “but in Renaissance times, art was shaped by those who commissioned it.”

I nod along, typing quickly. We touched on this in Nick’s class, and I’ve been eager to learn more ever since.

“Every commission was a negotiation of power, reputation, and risk.”

A thrill moves through me at her words. God, this is fascinating. I want to know everything about not only the works themselves, but the forces that shaped them.

“To create was to collaborate with power,” Professor Webber tells us. “Or, to defy it.”

She brings up the first slide, and I lose myself as the class unfolds, trying to capture every word she says. It’s a shock when class wraps up, and I blink as the lights come back on, surprised by how quickly the two hours passed.

I avoid Cole as I stuff my laptop into my bag and gather my textbooks, heading straight to the podium, desperate for a quick word with Professor Webber.

“Hi,” I say, smiling as I approach. “I’m Zinnia. That was fantastic.”

It’s weird that my professor is practically my age, and I half expect her to look down her nose at me, but her face breaks into a wide smile.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’m still finding my feet here.”

“Well, I loved it. And I wanted to ask if you had any additional texts you could recommend on the topics we covered today?” I motion to the assigned textbooks in my arms. “I’ve got these, but would love some deeper reading.”

Her green eyes shimmer. “Absolutely. I love your enthusiasm. I’d recommend—” She frowns, glancing down at her pocket. “Sorry,” she says, tugging her phone out to silence it, but as she catches sight of the number on the screen, her frown deepens. “Can you give me a minute?”