83. You're a Great Teacher

Rose's POV:

As the bell rang, signaling the start of class, the scattered murmurs and rustling of papers faded as students hurried to find their seats.

Right on cue, Mr. Aspen strode through the doors, his usual composed demeanor in place.

A few latecomers scurried in behind him, their frantic expressions betraying their desperation to settle in before he could single them out.

He made his way up the small platform at the front of the hall, setting up his lecture slides on the multimedia screen while the rest of us begrudgingly readied our pens and notebooks.

As he moved, I found myself studying him with keen interest. If the rumors about him getting into a brawl with another professor were true, there had to be some evidence—a bruise, a limp, something.

But to my disappointment, or perhaps relief, I found no black eye, no split lip, not even the faintest trace of a scuffle.

So much for that theory.

With my brief Sherlock Holmes moment dismissed, I forced myself to actually focus on the lesson.

The class itself went by smoothly, and to everyone's delight, Mr. Aspen assigned a relatively light workload for the weekend—a stark contrast to last week's mountain of assignments.

A wave of collective relief swept through the room, and as soon as the bell rang, bringing with it the sweet freedom of "time's up, no more homework from you, sucker," a lively chatter broke out among the students.

I was riding the high of that small victory—until my gaze accidentally locked with Mr. Aspen's just as I was about to step out of the hall.

Shit.

I should have kept my eyes down, acted busy, pretended I didn't exist—anything but this. Eye contact meant engagement. Eye contact meant he could call me back.

And just like that, he did.

I exhaled slowly, trying not to let my irritation show as I turned to Aria. "I'll catch you later," I muttered before making my way back up the steps toward his desk.

He was already shuffling through a stack of papers, not bothering to look up as I approached.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, "Yes, sir? Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

His voice was calm but carried that ever-present authority. "Yes. How are your studies coming along? More specifically, how are you finding this course so far?"

I blinked. That was… unexpected.

Clearing my throat, I forced a polite smile. "It's going great so far. And as for this course, I'm working on it. You're a good teacher, Mr. Aspen. I don't have any issues with your teaching."

It was half true. A little sugar-coated, sure, but still true.

The reality? I was struggling.

I had missed the first few lectures due to my late admission, and since he hadn't gone over those topics again, I was constantly playing catch-up.

Half the things he discussed sailed right over my head, and I was still trying to grasp the basics of microbiology while everyone else had already moved on to more complex stuff.

I mean, seriously—what the hell is a Gram-positive and a Gram-negative? And why do they sound like secret cult factions of good guys vs bad guys?

I had done my best to borrow notes from classmates, but let's be honest—it was as hard to decipher someone else's notes as it was to understand what the hell goes on in Kanye's head.

Since I couldn't exactly admit that I was struggling, I resorted to the ever-reliable "You're a great teacher" approach. It worked most of the time.

Most of the time.

"Really?" Mr. Aspen finally looked up from his papers, one brow arched in clear skepticism.

Even though he didn't buy a word of what I said, he still responded smoothly, "Great to hear that, Ms. Gabrielle. I, too, have no doubts about my teaching abilities—just as I have full confidence in my students' ability to learn."

…What's that supposed to mean?

Before I could dissect his words further, he continued, "I assume your after-school tutoring sessions are going well. As much as I trust your abilities, let's make sure your progress reflects that. I think it's about time we evaluate how effective this method has been."

He smiled.

A perfectly polite, professional smile.

Yet, somehow, it still managed to look wicked.

Or maybe it wasn't his smile—maybe it was the sheer horror of his words making it seem that way. Either way, I was doomed.

"Uh, but… I think—don't you think it's a little soon, Mr. Aspen?" I stammered, scrambling for any excuse, anything that could buy me more time.

He shook his head, looking entirely unfazed. "On the contrary, I think it's a bit late. As I mentioned before, I'll be testing you at the end of every week, starting from the week I first informed you of this arrangement."

I knew that.

I remembered him saying it crystal clear. But that didn't stop me from pretending I didn't.

I had deliberately ignored the entire ordeal, hoping that if I put off thinking about it long enough, it might just… disappear. In hindsight, that was a very flawed plan.

In my defense, I was stuck in this nightmare with Rome Dracken, of all people. Could anyone blame me for trying to delay it for as long as humanly possible?

I could barely tolerate that guy. How in the world were we supposed to sit in the same room for more than five minutes—without launching a verbal war, let alone actually studying together?

This was impossible.

And I would've loved to make that clear to Aspen.

But then, another realization struck me.

If I admitted how unbearable tutoring with Dracken was, it would also mean admitting that… we haven't actually been tutoring together at all.

For weeks.

And if Aspen found out?

Oh, we'd be screwed.

He made it painfully clear from the start that if we didn't comply, he'd kick us out of his class for the rest of the semester.

If that happened, I'd fall even further behind, miss all my exams, and—worst-case scenario—completely flunk his course.

It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing that whether I stepped forward or backward, I was falling either way.

What the hell do I do now?

"Uh… can I have a little more time, sir?" I asked hesitantly, grasping at straws.

His sharp gaze narrowed. "How much time, exactly? I thought you said you weren't having any trouble."

I gulped. Crap.

"Yes, I mean—I don't have trouble," I backtracked quickly, forcing an awkward chuckle. "But… I actually already made plans to visit my aunt in Virginia this weekend. I, uh, already bought my plane tickets, and they're non-refundable. So…" I cleared my throat. "Would it be possible to reschedule? Please, sir? Just this once?"

I clasped my hands together, throwing in my best attempt at puppy dog eyes for good measure.

I was about one please away from tearing up—though I quickly reminded myself that might be overdoing it.

To my absolute shock, Mr. Aspen sighed.

Way to go, puppy dog eyes!

"Alright," he said begrudgingly. "I'll consider this a lapse in my own scheduling. Due to the short notice, I'll allow a slight delay. I'll check my calendar and let you know which weekend I'll be available to conduct your test—so make sure to keep those dates open." His voice hardened slightly. "I won't be so sympathetic next time."

I nearly sagged in relief.

"Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind. Thank you so much." I nodded eagerly, my voice laced with enthusiasm.

"Very well then," he dismissed, waving a hand. "You may leave now."

With that, I all but bolted out of there, relieved beyond belief—yet still completely aware that I had only bought time, not solved my problem.

The test was still coming.

And my tutor?

Still a jerk.