Author's Note- Edited.

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Professor Souza

I had never really been that girl that would get distracted and perform poorly all because of a guy. Of course, I've had a few boyfriends, experienced my fair share of betrayals and broken a couple hearts of my own. But, I had never allowed that to deter me from my ambitions and goals. Even at a young age, I had always known what I wanted and never faltered to strive for it.

I sought after becoming the youngest, female film director to step out of New York State. My dreams were to have even the greatest critics praise my work and to have my face printed on MovieMaker Magazine for the entire country to see. Aside from the romanticized fame of it all, I wanted to share my ideas with the world. I desired to create something that someone would see and think, Wow, what an incredibly portrayed story. And for that, I wanted to attend Juilliard.

I wasn't exactly going to be able to major in the department of my choice by attending Juilliard, but it was definitely the shrewdest step to get my foot into the door of the cinematic universe. Unfortunately, Dad never really agreed to my aspirations. He had always wanted me to attend New York University and major in some sort of business degree like he and Mom had done decades ago. It wasn't that he was unsupportive of my goals. He just simply feared that I wouldn't be able to make a living out of it.

Mom would have been different. She had gotten in a wreck when I was six years old and would never be able to express her opinion on my decision to attend Juilliard. But, deep down, I just knew that she would have pushed me to strive for what I wanted, whether she thought it was best for my financial future or not. She wouldn't have wanted me to stop dreaming.

Due to a 4.0 grade point average and an Outstanding Achievement in the Arts award, I was granted an amazing scholarship my senior year of high school worth two whole years of tuition to any school of my choice. Dad and I sat down and had an unnecessarily long discussion on how to responsibly use the money, him in favor of his business degree and myself rooting for the arts major. Finally, we compromised. The deal was that I was to attend NYU for my first two years- at his expense- and get my general courses for a degree out of the way. In that time, I would be able to work on my audition piece to get into Juilliard, where I would use the scholarship for the remainder of my four years. If I wasn't accepted, then I would finish out at NYU.

NYU was a good backup plan and the idea of it kept Dad occupied for the time being. However, I had my sights set and I was going to do whatever it took to get myself accepted. I had been working on a particular scene from a play I had developed back in high school. The very play that won me the Outstanding Achievement in the Arts award. Since then, I had been tweaking the part here and there to meet my growing and developing writing style, determined to create something so attention grabbing that Juilliard wouldn't be able to pass me up.

Of course, all the talent scouts and school directors really cared about was how I would perform the piece. But, that was why my plan was full proof. As much as I hated it, I constantly thanked the heavens for Mom starting me in acting when I was just four years old, as I would not only be writing and directing the scene, but starring in it as well.

I wasn't the only one riding on this plan to catch their big break, though. Nate Bozian, my best and closest friend since the ninth grade, was also helping me with the audition piece. We both shared a common goal, though, he was more attracted to the acting spotlight of cinema and was using the opportunity to co-star in my scene as his own audition into Juilliard. He was, by far, a way better actor than I could ever hope to be and we often joked that, in the future, I would star him in my movies as much as Tim Burton starred Johnny Depp.

After nearly two years of perfecting a mere five minute scene, auditions were just a couple months away and everything seemed to be falling through without a hitch.

That is, until I decided at the beginning of my first term as a sophomore to take just one more math credit- for good measure- and walked into the calculus class that threatened on a daily basis to make or break my future.

And I completely and bitterly blamed him.

Professor Souza nodded in agreement to my answer and continued on to the next student, silently returning everyone's midterms as gasps of either elation or defection followed. By the sounds that continuously filled the room, I found that there were more who passed than failed.

I glowered in frustration, my eyes glued on Professor Souza's back. His sleek, strictly defined, muscular back. It just wasn't fair. How was any girl supposed to work around the fact that the math teacher was a gorgeous, young, extremely attractive, quiet and self-secluded, teenage dream boat? It was the ultimate high school cliché personified.

He was near 6'5" and he was rugged. His stature was that of which puberty paid him kindly. Big. Not overweight, as his teasingly tight, dark wash jeans and white, button-down dress shirt so blatantly advertised. Muscular. Lean, drool-worthy muscle protruded from every bone on his body, taunting the female population as well as any wannabe bodybuilder. His facial features were those to marvel, with a clean cut jaw line- clad in a shadow of stubble as if he had forgotten to shave that morning- high cheek bones and a slight pout to the cupid's bow of his pink upper lip. His nose was slightly crooked and the many rumors that surrounded Professor Souza hinted that it was broken in one of many fights he was caught in- that or he started it himself- during his teenage years. His ebony hair was luscious and full, a disarray as pieces flew here and there in an almost purposefully messy manner. The length teased his slender brows and tickled his sharp cheeks, making him look twenty-one instead of his late twenties that I suspected him to be.

And then there were his eyes. Striking, sharp, barred of emotion and jewel-like green. The color of pine after a summer's evening rain. I remembered so vividly catching them for the first time and knowing that, if I hadn't met those beautiful jade orbs first, I wouldn't be stuck in the current predicament I had dragged myself into.

Crushing on my college, calculus Professor.

Thinking about that first day brought heat to my cheeks and fueled my current animosity towards said heartthrob. It was something that I desperately wished I could just forget as I moved on with my life, Professor Souza left behind as a distant yet, admittedly pleasant memory.

Starting my sophomore year wasn't a great feat nor that big of a deal to me. If anything, it just showed me that my time limit to finish writing my audition piece was wearing thin and I was entirely too focused on it to be deemed healthy. I wasn't worried about anything else but the play in the works because, judging by the grades of my freshman year, I would do just fine in keeping my grades high whilst keeping a grip on my scholarship that depended greatly on my performance.

So, when I walked into calculus the first day of term, I was oblivious to just about the entirety of the world, concentration solely set on the script in my hands. I maneuvered my way to the back of the class and fell into my seat, eyes trimming through edits and possibilities of both what was already written and what had yet to be done.

I didn't pay any mind to the rest of the student body clambering into class or even notice that Nate took the seat next to mine. I allowed the low, baritone voice that called the class to order and started lecturing on about reviewing most of what we should have been taught in high school to become a distant buzzing noise in the back of my head. I was lost in my own world, the parts Nate and I constantly performed together running through my memory like a film loop as I picked apart each word, each movement and stage position.

It had to take Nate roughly elbowing me in the ribs to be drawn back to Earth and hear that my name was being called.

"Chloe Saunders."

My eyes bounced up to the front of the class, following the deep, annoyed rumble of the voice that called me. Only, instead of finding an irritated, middle-aged Professor- something I expected only because it was just so typical- I was met by nothing but a sea of emerald framed by a mess of onyx, rendering me speechless and awe-struck.

"The answer please, Ms. Saunders."

"Green," I whispered without my own consent to speak. I instantly wished I could take the word back as it escaped my lips, a light laughter filling the classroom as it did so. I could feel my cheeks and neck grow hot as I blinked in embarrassment, brain jump-starting and assessing what had just come out of my mouth. Unfortunately, no longer focused on his bright orbs, I was then struck with the reality that, not only were my teacher's eyes beautiful, but he was beautiful.

"Art is being taught in one of the other campuses, Chloe. If you're in the wrong classroom, you should have spoken up at the beginning of class," Professor Souza stated monotonously, his sharp, crisp orbs holding mine at his mercy. Irritated, he lifted a clipboard from his desktop for me to see and continued.

"However, you're on my roster. So I'd prefer you to pay attention to my class and discuss the colors of the rainbow with Professor Banks another time."

Several more laughs erupted from the surrounding students, but, surprisingly, I didn't care. I was too busy drinking in the sight of the man that was Professor Souza as he waited expectantly for my reply. I watched, hypnotized by his large hands, as he lowered the clipboard and the edge clicked impatiently against his desk, snapping me out of my trance.

I took in a shuddering breath and glanced at the chalkboard, where SOHCAHTOA was scribbled above a right triangle in which Professor Souza was questioning how to find the Sin of angel A.

"T-the answer is o-opposite over hypotenuse," I mumbled, anxious under his hard gaze. His stare was so intense, I felt as if he were looking right through me instead of demanding an answer to a trigonometry question I had learned in the 11th grade. Finally, he sighed, closing his eyes in clear annoyance before turning his back to me and writing my response on the board.

"Correct. Let's have the right answer the first time, Ms. Saunders, if you truly know what you're doing."

Turns out, as I inspected my midterm, the first question was that of which he had asked me to answer that very day. And it was one of the few that I had gotten right.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I laid the test flat on my desk again and drummed my fingers against the cheap wood in aggravation. How was I going to makeup enough work to keep this from affecting the hold on my scholarship?

Of course, that should have been the most important question running through my mind and not whether Professor Souza thought if I was not only a complete ditz, but now an utter failure as well.

A low whistle sounded to my left and I glanced up towards Nate who was wearing a small, sympathetic smile. The gesture brought out the softer features of his face, giving him that little boy look I had grown accustomed to since I had met him our freshman year.

However, Nate had all but entirely grown out of his baby face. Under a mess of ginger hair and a crop of mischievous freckles, Nate had matured into his sharp features and deep, blue eyes. He was tall and lean and had notably become more and more popular with the girls after his puberty smack down. It was surprising to me, really, that he didn't have more serious girlfriends other than a few first dates or the friends he had taken to all our high school dances. Whenever I chastised him about it, he would blush, laugh and mumble something about waiting for the right girl.

"Tough break, Chloe." He whispered, not wanting to be heard by or interrupt Professor Souza who was now writing the newest lesson on the board. "I thought for sure you'd at least get a D since you don't do too bad on your homework."

"Some friend you are," I muttered, shoving at his arm as he snickered at me. "Where's the support or the false, You'll do better next time speech?"

"Let's face it. You've always sucked at math. It's a miracle you were able to climb your way out of high school with all those A's." Nate smirked. I frowned and made to throw back my own remark before Professor Souza interrupted.

"Mr. Bozian. Perhaps you want to take some responsibility for Chloe's poor performance on her midterm as it's clear that whatever you have to say is more important than the fact that she should be studying free of distraction."

"No, Professor." Nate muttered through clenched teeth, his blue eyes flashing angrily while Professor Souza met him with a scowl.

"Then pay attention. You're grade could use an improvement of its own."

"Asshole," Nate mumbled under his breath when Professor Souza returned to the chalkboard. I simply gave him a shrug and turned away, a slight smile touching my lips as a thought occurred to me.

In less than thirty minutes, I would be alone with Professor Souza for the first time since term started. For that, I felt slightly jubilated. Opposite of what I should have been feeling, which was to start preparing for the onslaught of a disappointed lecture.

I pushed aside the miniscule nagging in the back of my mind suggesting that I was slowly losing sight of my priorities and began to copy down Professor Souza's small, messy script into my notebook for later study material.