Gracey and Her Professor.

The first day of college started out like any other. Grace sat through class after class, receiving syllabis from her teachers as she introduced herself to her classmates. She was excited though. This was her chance to make a new start, throw aways the past and become someone she wanted to be. The only thing her new fellow classmates would know about her was that she was from Texas and her age was 19. In high school, Grace had been the wild child. In was a front that she had put on, and her fake reputation had made her life hell. She had made good grades, graduated the top of her class, but no one would ever see her as anything other than the class slut, the party girl. Truth was, that wasn’t her at all. She hated parties, had only slept with one person in her whole life, and no one in her small hometown had ever met him. A random, but handsome guy while on a random trip to Georgia. Her life back home was one made up of harsh rumors. Here, at college, she could finally become the person she had always been; the quiet, studious bookworm. Of course, other cards had been dealt to Grace. She just didn’t know it yet.

Grace was beautiful. Five feet, four inches with creamy skin with an equally creamy complexion and long, wavy brown hair. A pert nose, dark bedroom eyes, and full pink lips gave her a face that most people paid to have nowadays. Her body was like a valley, curves leading the eyes every which way. Her breasts were full, firm, and high; her waist small, but her hips wide. Her generous thighs would make a priest forget his vows. She had decided to buy a new wardrobe after moving out here to California, choosing to wear her yellow summer dress and sandals for the first day of school. She smiled as she walked across the campus to her last class of the week. She had been looking forward to Creative Writing all week. She loved to write, and hoped to do something with it one day. Her sandals clapped the stairs as she hurried up them to the front doors. Looking around, she tried to find her room number, finally getting help from an upperclassmen named Jake. He’d been able to do nothing but check her out, something she had failed to notice. According to Grace, she was here to learn, and learn only.

Finally finding her class, Grace opened the door and found a seat in the front row. No one else had shown up yet. The only sign that there was even a class in the lecture room that days was the fact that the teacher’s things were all over the desk. She noticed Shakespeare and Whitman lying on the desk, and seeing that there really was on one else in the room, she decided to take a peak. Leaning her hip against the desk, she cracked open a book called “Leaves of Grass.” She hoped it was something they’d read over in class. As she became lost in the words, she failed to hear someone coming in through the door, and the footsteps that came closer and closer to the desk.

Professor Benjamin Jackson opened the door, immediately noticing the girl standing by his desk. He couldn’t see her front, but the back sure was nice. She seemed to be reading one of his personal books, something that would have usually bothered him. Yet, it seemed that she wasn’t reading it out of nosiness, but out of fascinated interest. She didn’t even look up and he shut the door behind him. He was hoping that he finally had a student that was genuinely interesting in this course. “Hey there,” He said, seeing her body jump at the sound of his voice.

Grace jumped a mile high, slamming the book close as if she were a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She turned her head, seeing a man just slightly older than she standing before her. He had to be the teacher. He looked too smart, too worldly to be another student. He commanded attention with his almost broody look. He had black, curly hair, honest eyes, a straight aristocratic nose, and lips made for sin. He was tall, built, and his very nature was the definition of assertion. She swallowed, knowing that he would be the only thing to ruin her plans here at college. If any one on this campus took her mind away from her studies, it would be this man. Oh, Lord was she in trouble. “H-hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy. I just saw the name Whitman. The name is familiar, but I’d never had the pleasure of reading his works. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

He smiled. She was a timid thing, but she was also honest. “No worries. I’m just glad you gave into your curiosity. A desire to learn in this classroom is rare and very…very appreciated.” He watch her lips form into a smile. Her teeth were straight, perfect, and white; her lips deserved a poem. She set the book down and turn to her desk. He was happy to see she would be in the front row.

Just then, students began to file in, all of them trying to claim a seat in the top row. At least he had the mysterious girl in the front. She’d be the only thing to keep him from losing his sanity in this class. Walking to the board he picked up the chalk and wrote his name on the board. The class became quiet as the clock ticked to five o’clock p.m. Four more hours to go, he thought, just four more hours. He turned from the chalk board and walked to his desk, facing the 28 students he had for this class.

“I’m Ben Jackson. I’ll ask you to call me Professor Jackson as I will not respond to anything else. If you don’t know, this is Creative Writing. I hope you did not take this class thinking it’d be easy because I assure you, I won’t be. This is college, and I expect you to read at a college level, speak at a college level, write at a college level, and act like it. There are no make-ups, and Midterms are in two months. A paper, evaluating three works from a list of writers and poets that I have prepared.” Ben walked to Mystery Girl and handed her the stack of the lists. “Pass the papers around, and good luck. Pick whoever, library is down the hall, and good luck.”

Grace passed the papers to a boy behind her, quickly putting her attention to the list. Most of the names were unfamiliar to her: Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sylvia Plath, Dorothy Parker. One stood out to her–Walt Whitman. She quickly grabbed her things and walked for the door. Ben studied her as she had read the list, seeing her smile as she settled on a name. He was curious as to who she chose. He was also pleased at her genuine eagerness to get started.

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The next week Grace was once again the first student to class. She looked at the clock seeing that she was fifteen minutes early. She took the same seat in the front, laying her books and backpack onto the desk. She took out her notebook that she had started for this class. Over the past week she had made meticulous notes on each of the four books of works of Whitman.