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“He’s alright,” I agree after a long pause.

“Alright?” she questions. “He’s more than alright; he’s fine,” she sighs, and the row in front of ours turns to discover who is making all the noise.

“Keep your inside voice inside, girl,” I plead, desperate to get a handle on the situation.

“Oh, he can be inside me any day he wants,” she sings back, her hands doing a little shimmy dance of their own. “And you want to know the best part?”

I look up and into his fixed stare again. Molten is an apt description for the way the chocolate of his irises seems almost liquid now. The man’s scent and taste, subtle sugar maple and a hint of cedar and cloves, are imprinted on my psyche forever. Yet the beauty of a one-night stand is exactly that. It’s one night. There is nothing in the handbook when you find out your skilled lover is your teacher for two subjects this semester. One night is now three classes a week. Ugh. “There’s a best part?”

“As you’re aware, we’re together for Plant Physio and again for Systematics, so we have Hot Doc multiple times a week.”

Please don’t say multiple and Doc in the same sentence, Tali. Please.

“Told you,” she says, seeing my expression change from disbelief to one of abject shock. No, it’s more horror, but I don't bother to correct her.

The room fills just as the class is scheduled to commence. At the last moment, a guy skids to a stop, lurches inside, and makes his way to the back row under the glare of Dr. Bonner. He takes the vacant seat next to Tali, greets her with a dip of his chin, and unpacks his bag just as that velvety rich voice addresses the congregation.

“Good morning, class,” he says, each word rich and dripping off his tongue without caution. “And you, Lukaz. Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence.”

The guy next to Tali salutes and then points the same fingers toward the doctor. “All good, Doc B. Carry on.”

Jackson fights to cover the corners of his mouth tipping up. Lukaz isn’t late. He snuck in with seconds to spare. And Jay from the bar didn’t strike me as the kind of guy to get hung up on close calls. Not one of those “Unless you are ten minutes early, you’re late” kind of pompous assholes in business.

“Thank you, Mr. Vaskari. Too kind,” he muses. “Before I provide you with an introduction to Plant Systematics, I will let you in on a little secret. Those of you who did not pay attention last year in Ecology and Biodiversity will have problems completing this class. Looking at the sea of faces before me, I am aware that some of you still struggle to distinguish cordate from cuneate shaped leaves, and pinnate compound from palmate compound. It pains me to say this, but guys, what the fuck? This is basic, fundamental botany. I am easygoing until it comes to required learning. I understand it, and sadly, some of you do not, and will not. That is not on me, but on you, or more specifically, your lack of attention to studies and research. Stop drinking, partying, and whatever else you are doing when you should be working on your papers.”

A feeling of unease drifts across the room like fog. Feet slide across the polished floor, while others fidget with their sleeves or rearrange their hair. Jay is right; this is level one, fundamental biology. I understood compound leaf patterns when I was five, thanks to both parents working in the field. My father, Arthur, was a professor at CSU and took on a guest role at this very establishment I’m enrolled in now, albeit the campus in Anchorage. My mother was one of his CSU students. I know that my knowledge isn’t typical. I devoured field journals while other children hunted Pokémon and rewatched Disney.

“Okay, that’s enough squirming, everybody. You know how passionate I am about this syllabus, and contrary to popular belief, I want you all to excel. If you put the work in, you will be rewarded with the same love of nature. Ah, I see we have a couple of unfamiliar faces. How about we learn a little more from them before you fill their heads with lies about how strict I am.”

The room explode with grunts and scoffing. Lukaz sniggers and Tali swats his arm. Only then does he realize I am one of the fresh faces referred to. He reaches behind Tali and offers me his hand. “Lukaz Vaskari,” he says. “Don’t believe anything out of Doc’s mouth. He’s one of the best teachers here. Down to earth and easy going. The bravado is a front.”

“I’m Pen,” I answer, digesting his description of the doctor. Before I can linger on his explanation, Tali elbows me in the side—hard. She hisses as my head rotates forward, toward an expectant room.

“We’re waiting, Ms. Aldereyne, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” I gulp. “Waiting for…”

“You to tell us a little about yourself. Where you transferred in from, and what your knowledge of first year Bot. Science taught you, if anything.”

Deep breath in and hold; deep breath out. He has unknowingly just hung a target on my back by hollering my surname to the class. None of them pay it much mind, except for a girl in the front row near the door. Her eyes narrow with suspicion.

Any further delays will only make this more uncomfortable, so I fight every instinct roaring to the surface and calculate what to share and what to keep hidden.

“I’m Aspen, but most people call me Pen. I studied at CSU before transferring up to Wyldan for second year.”

“Keep going,” he encouraged, winding a hand forward.

“Um. How exactly?” My cheeks suffuse with a creeping rash I’m sure will only add to any embarrassment. All eyes are on me.

“Pinnate and palmate? Cordate and cuneate?”

A pop quiz? That’s so much easier than the “tell us about yourself for five minutes” prompt I was dreading. The reason I avoided orientation day activities and the student mass in general. “Cordate is heart-shaped, while cuneate refers to wedge-shaped leaves. Pinnate compound refers to leaflets arranged in pairs from the central axis, and palmate is where the leaflets spread out from the central point like fingers on a hand—hence its name.”

“Excellent,” he says, taking a seat behind the desk. “Either CSU has employed a higher caliber of teaching staff since I graced those hallowed halls, or you actually listen.”

Whoa. What? I listened, and what I just heard has me reeling. He went to CSU? What are the chances? Just because he’s Wyldan faculty now doesn’t mean he was raised here. And a higher caliber of teaching? My dad taught at CSU, although he did gripe about some of his colleagues, so I guess that is a fair point.

“And where is Ryan Fuerdler?”