My cheeks heat.

Sex?

How do you even teach that? Oh my God. Horror slams into meat the thought of him actually showing us. I widen my eyes at the sheets in front of me. What if that nice barista walks in and they... show us?

I place my hands on my cheeks, wanting to hide the redness of them. Laughter booms through the large room, but it's not coming from other students. 

I glance at my left and yes, it's the boys who are laughing at me. The 'Hockey Four', as sir Whitlock called them.

And it's not just some chuckles or grins, it's stomach-gripping-and-on-the-floor-rolling-laughter. I look away, my shame taking over. This wasn't supposed to happen first lecture of the first day.

"Guys. Guys! Enough!" sir Whitlock calls. He seems utterly annoyed by them. They hiccup. "Did you see her face? Ah gosh, my day's made," one laughs.

I swallow. These boys are obviously the school's jerks. You can hear them coming from a mile far and they seem to like the attention—positive or negative.

Said jerks continue laughing while sir Whitlock rolls his eyes. "Larson, I think we've got it. Go easy one the freshmans this year, alright? I've got supervision."

One boy—Larson?—chuckles. "Bro, they're just too easy to mess with it."

Sir Whitlock's face hardens. "I'm not your bro, Larson. As much as I enjoy your cocky selves, I still expect your respect towards me and other students."

The Larson boy rolls his eyes and turns in his seat to talk to one of the others. I slump in mine, hiding from students' amused looks at me.

"Alright. Here's how this year will go; Monday morning and Friday afternoon is business class and the rest is biology." He glances at me, briefly, but I've seen it.

Thank God it's Monday.

Groans fill the room and a few students stand up to leave. I frown at the disrespect. They signed up for this, what the hell?

Sir Whitlock grins at them. "See ya tomorrow." He turns back to us, eyes roaming over the seats. I notice lots of students whispering to each other, not paying attention at all. 

He doesn't care, though, and starts teaching about how to run a business. I lean closer to listen intently, but the students' whispers are too loud.

Frowning, not too happy about this, I gather my stuff and stand up from my seat. Sir Whitlock's eyebrows raise, surprised. I believe he thinks I'm leaving.

I start to descend the stairs to sit on the first row and concentrate better when I trip. I let out a small scream and of course—of course—everyone's attention is turned to me. I close my eyes and rub the painful spot on my chin, which was crushed against the stairs.

I'm too dazed to stand up immediately, but I do register laughter from besides me. I lift my head and see the Hockey Four laughing their asses off. Gosh, I hate those guys already.

I huff and stand up, sticking my chin in the air with as much confidence I can find. Ergo, none. I hurry downstairs and sink in a seat on the first row while I'm trying to figure out how to die as soon as possible.

Sir Whitlock is glaring at the guys, but I don't even pay attention to it. I pretend to be adding notes to my sheets and ignore the laughs behind me.

God, this is such an awful day.

But perhaps this was needed to fall off my cloud nine. I think I was too amazed by college and the fantastic stories of my parents, which were probably made better anyway.

When the lecture ends, I release a breath of relief and collect my things again. I very pointedly keep my gaze locked at the ground when I exit the seat, half to avoid amused gazes and half to look out for legs.

But a body stops me from walking further than sir Whitlock's desk. With trembling hands, I look up. Yep, it's him.

Now he's stopped me, he leans against his desk, just not sitting at it. His arms are crossed over his chest, his gaze serious and focused on me.

"Miss Huxley, I get a feeling you're not entirely happy with my class." He gives me a pointed look. I avert my gaze and stare at the ground, swallowing until I have enough confidence to say something.

"It's not that I'm ungrateful, sir. I just don't think learning about sex is going to get me anywhere in life," I honestly say. He nods, eyes narrowing a little as they roar over my face. I swallow again, nervous. Is he kicking me out of his class?

"But you're not leaving?" An amused layer is under his tone, making me wince at myself. "No, sir. I heard your business class were the best of this campus, although I'm starting to doubt the people who wrote those reviews now."

He lets out a chuckle, his gaze going over the—now empty—classroom before focusing back at my face. "I appreciate your bravery to flat out say that, miss Huxley. You're serious about your classes, huh? Now that's a first," he grins.

I keep staring at the ground. "Yes, sir. I was hoping I'd actually learn how to run a business," I admit. He nods, thoughtful. "Well, I can always stay after school to do a one-on-one session?"

I swallow. "Of—of the business management?" He laughs. "Of course. Not the biology, I've got my girl for that."

His eyes widen as he says that. He mumbles something, pulling his phone out. "Is it a problem if my girlfriend meets us for the session tonight? I think it'd calm both of you." He gives me a grin. I nod, indeed feeling better. At least he's not hitting on me.

"I'm surprised you're so intrigued by running a business, miss Huxley. But I must say, I appreciate your effort. That's the only reason I'm doing this." He gives me a meaningful look, as if to say 'and not why you're thinking'.

I release a small sigh. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate this a lot." He nods and dismisses me, sitting down behind his desk.

When I'm at the door, his voice halts me again. "Oh, miss Huxley? Next time you order coffee at the shop, make sure it's black." Then, he chuckles. I frown, he can't see me anyway. Black coffee? This guy is so weird.

I exit the doors and am relieved when I see a lot of students are gone already. I head for the corner, wanting to go to the library before my next lecture starts. 

"Well, miss Huxley," a voice snickers behind me. My back stiffens. This isn't the professional voice of sir Whitlock—it's much younger, much more teasing. Slowly, I turn around.

And I'm met with the Frozen Four.

I blink up, intimidated. They're huge. Tall and broad with lots of muscles.  Obviously, because they play hockey. 

"How can I help you?" I keep my voice steady, which is a lot of effort. I wish I still had my coffee, so I could hide my trembling lips, but I finished it half an hour ago.

One grins. "Help us? Yeah, well, I have a question about business." He says business with mocking tone and a high pitched voice, as if it's mine.

"I do not sound like that." I narrow my eyes, but won't do anything else. These guys are individually three times bigger than me... so that makes twelve against one. Technically.

"Say you open a... I don't know, shop?" He raises an eyebrow. I nod, frowning. I don't think this will be a normal question.

"And say the business is running good, how many interest do you need to kick someone out of class?" I frown even more. "What?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm saying that you should leave Whitlock's class. You're ruining our fun." He flashes a grin at the others. "Although seeing you falling down the stairs was pretty much fun too. Or the red tint of your cheeks. Or the way you still don't know you've had a coffee mustache for about an hour now."

I almost squeal out loud and quickly wipe it away. He chuckles, his eyes narrowing at my face.

"Oh, I think we're going to have fun this year."