She sat down in the center of the fourth row and I spent the rest of class pretending she didn't exist. Clarity kept her eyes on her notebook and scribbled diligently. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail by a slim, black ribbon. The bright focus in her emerald eyes separated her from the rest of the groggy and slouching students.
After running through the syllabus, explaining the large writing component of the course, and completing my first lecture, I gathered up my things as quickly as I could. By the time I had unplugged my laptop, most of the students had made a beeline out the door towards the cafeteria for coffee and breakfast. A few stragglers asked questions, and the then echoing lecture hall was quiet.
"Professor Bauer?"
I looked up at the pair of smiling students. "Yes?"
"I'm Mindy, and this is my friend, Tonya. We just wanted to say that we're really looking forward to your course this semester. It's great to have a professor that's willing to teach us outside the classroom," Mindy batted her eyelashes.
"Well, you can't practice proper journalism in a vacuum. I have to help you get out to community events so you can start digging up real leads," I said.
"We're looking forward to it." Mindy giggled and posed in front of me until her friend dragged her to the door.
"Professor Bauer?"
I swore under my breath. It bothered me that Clarity had seen the other students flirting with me. "Yes, Ms. Dunkirk, is it?"
She frowned and shifted from one foot to the other. "I need to apologize for not explaining I was one of your students. I just, I, I enjoyed talking to you like a regular adult," Clarity said. She squeezed her notebook to her chest.
I slammed my leather messenger bag closed and gritted my teeth. "No problem, Ms. Dunkirk. I don't mind being reduced to some silly school girl fantasy just so you can pretend to be mature."
I held my breath and looked up, expecting tears. Instead I was met with a sharp, jewel-hard glint in her eyes. Clarity batted back a few loose tendrils of her dark red hair and straightened her shoulders.
"I'm not a girl and I'm not immature, Professor Bauer. I was simply playing the good hostess for my father and did not want to make you feel ill at ease," she snapped.
My whole body leapt to engage in a good argument. I had a feeling Clarity, whose stance was anything but meek, would make a great sparring partner. Before I could think better of it, I walked around the desk and stepped close to her.
Clarity tipped her chin up to keep her hard glare on my eyes. She was about 5'7", judging from where her the top of her head reached my chin. She didn't step back, and her slender, athletic body was rigid with defiance.
"Ms. Dunkirk, I understand being the daughter of the Dean of Students could give you a disproportioned sense of entitlement, but in this classroom, there are strict boundaries. I am the professor and you are a student. And, in no possible scenario, am I interested in my students outside of Multimedia Production & Storytelling."
She stepped back, but only to give me a scathing glance from head to toe. "I'm sorry you got the wrong idea about me, Professor Bauer. It must be embarrassing to have a student discover how rusty your journalistic inquiry skills have become."
Clarity marched around me and headed for the door. I admired her sharp tongue even as the insult stung. She was fearless, and for a minute, I remembered her father urging her to break out of her shell. That would be a sight to see. The idea of helping Clarity find her passion was a hot match against the fuse of my already smoldering attraction. I couldn't help myself and called out.
"Clarity." She turned with a dagger-throwing glare. "Next time, don't bury the lead."
Her sudden smile checked my heart and it stumbled off balance as I gathered the rest of my things. I knew I needed to do something right away or that smile was going to stick with me all afternoon.
I grabbed my phone. "Jackson? It's me. Remember that blind date you mentioned? How fast can you and Alice set it up?"
"Yes! I knew you'd come around," Jackson crowed. "I'll text Alice right away."
Before I reached the end of the hallway, my phone buzzed. The message read, "Date set for tomorrow night. Campus art opening."
I took a deep breath and congratulated myself on avoiding another disaster. Clarity pulled at me like a dangerous undertow, but this time I'd keep my head above water.
"Professor Bauer, please look where you are going."
I raised my head and narrowly missed running into my department head, Florence Macken. In her chunky heels, the older woman was almost at eye level and her expression was disdainful. She did not know the details of my first year slip up, but Florence still treated me like a rookie teacher. Her department was a feather in the Landsman College cap, and she had decided almost immediately that I did not fit her School of Journalism mold. No matter what I did, I felt her pale blue eyes watching and hoping I would slip up so she could hire someone more suitable.
"I'm sorry, Professor Macken. I'm on my way to the first meeting of the student newspaper. Would you like to come along and observe? I think you'll find I've come a long way, with your guidance, of course," I said.
Florence frowned. "I forgot you were editing the school paper."
I forced a smile over gritted teeth. "Readership is up 80% since we added the social media aspects. The Signpost is well on its way to being a full-fledged success."
"In my experience bragging covers a lack of confidence, wouldn't you say, Professor Bauer?" Florence stepped around me and continued her heavy-heeled march down the hallway.
She knew I was the most effective editor-in-chief The Signpost had had in the last decade and it bothered her considerably. Nothing could have cheered me up faster. I strode into the smaller classroom and greeted my newspaper staff.
Clarity looked up, her notebook at the ready, and I sighed. It was going to be a long year.
#
"Your assignment is two-fold," I told The Signpost staff as we stood outside the art department gallery. "Number one, I expect you to find a human interest story. Something that will get our readers interested in visiting the art gallery. And, number two, you will need to write a full and vivid description of one piece of art. You cannot depend on photographs to show the reader, and, more importantly, you want to inspire the readers to come see for themselves. Got it?"
The small group of students nodded and Clarity was the first one through the doors. I followed more slowly, hoping it would be a while before I found my blind date. I ambled into the maze of well-lit white walls and watched my students fan out.
Clarity was already embroiled in a conversation with a very pleased first-year art student. The young man's glasses practically steamed up every time she smiled at him. I couldn't blame the poor kid; she was vision. A long, bright scarf wrapped tight around her tiny waist saved the black dress from being boring. Not that the plunging V-neck or exposed curves could be called boring.
I checked myself by biting my tongue. Clarity was a student and strictly off-limits.
Instead of watching her circulate on bright-red heels, I forced myself to look for my blind date. Jackson had informed me his wife's work colleague, Tara, would meet me there and I was supposed to recognize her by a black flower pin.