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  "It was, without a doubt, the best recital that I've ever seen," I said, still beaming with pride.

  She scrunched her face, her dark hair falling around her features.

  "You're just saying that."

  "I would never ‘just say that'," I said.

  And I was serious.

  "How come you were late?" she asked, her tone now one of concern.

  "Sorry, Dee; I just got hung up at school."

  "The same thing as always," she said, disappointment weighing heavily on her words.

  "I know, I know," I said. "Hey, you and your friends want to go out to dinner? Maybe some pizza? My treat."

  Her face brightened. "Really?"

  "Sure," I said. "Least I can do for keeping you waiting."

  Without another word she dashed off, getting the attention of a few of her fellow dancers and letting them know of the plan. Soon, a trio of girls in colorful clothing was chattering at my feet, eager for the pizza that I'd promised. The parents arrived to confirm and coordinate.

  "You're fine with babysitting four girls during dinner?" asked Melanie Walker, the mother of Annie, Darla closest girlfriend.

  "It's no problem," I said. "I'm around undergrads all day; they're all pretty much kids."

  Melanie smiled. She was a pretty woman, with short brown hair and a slender figure, a little older than me, and a single mother. I'd considered asking her out before, but between Darla and my work, there was simply no time for dating.

  "Well, I'm fine with getting an hour or two off," she said. "You have my number if they start getting too wild."

  I thanked her, and soon the girls were piled into my car.

  "Can we put the top down, Mister McCall?" asked Emma, one of the girls.

  "Don't see why not," I said. "Just no making a break for it."

  Soon, we arrived at the pizza place. I ordered a couple of pies along with a few pitchers of soda, the girls chattering amongst themselves as we waited. Darla sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, worn out from the recital.

  "Dad?" she said, looking up at me with her big blue eyes.

  "Yeah, Dee?" I asked.

  "I wish Mom could've seen me tonight."

  "Me too, kiddo," I said.

  The pizzas soon arrived, and thoughts of Rosemary, my former love and Darla's mother, filled my mind. I couldn't think of her without my heart aching as her face came to mind. She had fair skin, red hair, and Darla's blue eyes. We met during our undergrad programs, with her majoring in English Literature as I went on to earn my advanced degrees in archaeology. She became pregnant a year into my masters, and we'd planned on marrying soon after. But when Darla arrived there had been…complications with the birth. One moment she was fine, the next she simply wouldn't stop bleeding. Just like that, she was gone.

  I hated the fact that Darla not only didn't have a mother, but she’d had never known hers. So, I did my best to be both parents, but to say that I was burning the candle at both ends would be to put it mildly.

  Soon, the dinner was over, and nothing remained in front of us but a pile of pizza crusts sitting on the metal serving trays and a couple of now-empty plastic pitchers.

  An hour or so later, the girls were all dropped off and Darla and I were back home. By the time I'd pulled into our garage, she was fast asleep. Between the dancing and the piles of carbs she'd just eaten, she was out like a light. I scooped her up, brought her in, and got her ready for bed. She barely made a peep as I tucked her in. I decided to have a small drink in my study as I went over the lesson plans for tomorrow. It was a new semester, and I was very much looking forward to it.

  The next morning I headed to work soon after seeing Darla off. I headed to campus, feeling well-rested and ready to begin what I hoped would be a fruitful semester. I said my hellos to my few department professors as I arrived, and soon I was standing at the front of my 404 class, the students gradually making their way in. I kept an eye on the clock, careful to watch for any student that trickled in after the eight-thirty start time. In my experience, a student who would be late on the first day would likely be one to lag during the rest of the semester. I set aside twelve spots in this course with an eye to pare it down to six or seven, so I was already on the lookout for those who showed signs of not being able to hack it.

  And just before the time struck, a familiar face darted into the room, taking a seat two rows back, right in the middle. It took me a moment to recognize the girl, but as soon as a deep blush broke out across her face I knew exactly who it was- it was the girl yesterday, the one who'd put on a ditzy show and caused me to be late to Darla's recital. Part of me wanted to be mad at her, but I knew that such behavior would be unprofessional, to say the least.

  In the same manner as yesterday, I couldn't help but be struck by the girl's beauty. Her brown hair was long, parted in the middle and hanging down both sides of her strikingly attractive features. Her eyes were large and green, her nose small and pert, and her red lips were a stark contrast to her fair skin. She was dressed in a simple black blouse and a pair of very tight blue jeans that accentuated the curves of her body. I tried not to stare, but it took some effort- she was simply a beautiful girl.

  I decided to turn my attention to my notes in order not to stare at the girl. Soon, the time to start arrived, three students scampering in within a few minutes after eight-thirty.

  This is going to be quite the semester, I thought. I can just feel it.

  3

  I was mortified. I was beyond embarrassed. I just couldn't believe that the man that I acted like a total ditz to, the one that I dragged around campus helping me find one of the easiest-to-spot buildings for twenty minutes was none other than Professor Evan McCall, Ph.D. I should've known it was him. After all, I'd done my fair share of salivating over his picture on the dust jacket. But I suppose I just wasn't thinking about it; all I wanted at that moment in time was to get as far away from Paul as possible. But sitting here in his class, looking up at him as he stood at his podium, his handsome face in a serious expression, his black hair slicked back, his obviously-fit body dressed in a smart, black suit sans tie, all I could think about was how much I wanted to crawl into a hole and just disappear.

  And I was totally regretting my decision to make a good first impression by taking the middle seat in the class. I just bolted to the chair without looking around, without knowing that the time for first impressions has long passed. He had to know who I was, too. I could tell he was the cool-headed, intellectual type, but the way his gorgeous blue eyes widened just a bit when he spotted me told me all that I needed to know.

  Before I could beat myself up for too much longer about it, however, Professor McCall took a glance at the clock, confirming that it was time to begin, before laying his eyes on the class.

  "Good morning," he said, his voice rich and warm, the type of voice made for public speaking. "My name is Professor Evan McCall. Welcome to my advanced course, four-oh-four Advanced Archaeology. I'm not going to lie- this is a tough course. Normally, I would only allow for a handful of students, but I decided to let a few more in this semester in order to be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. I fully expect around half of you to drop the course within the first month."

  He strolled away from the podium, a hand in one pocket. I was kind of in awe over the way he commanded the classroom. It was only a couple of minutes into the first class, and he already had all of the students in rapt attention.

  "And if you drop, I don't want you to feel bad. I specifically designed this course in order to find out just who would make the most promising students to take under my wing. If a few weeks pass and you find that you're not able or willing to do the work, then please, take that as a sign that archaeology isn't for you- at least, as a profession. Many of you are still in your first couple of years, and you have more than enough time to find a new major, one that's more suited to your talents and interest."

  His eyes fell on me at this last stateme
nt, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was his way of telling me that he wanted me to drop. I shook this thought out of my mind as stupid and silly.

  "So, with that being said, I look forward to the semester ahead. I'm sure that more than a few of you will prove to be stellar students, and hopefully, this course will be the beginning of a fruitful academic career for you in archaeology. And that's my introduction."

  I looked around the room, noting that every girl had the same wistful, dreamy look in her eyes. I couldn't blame them- Professor McCall was goddamn gorgeous. Taking one final look over the class, he slipped off his coal-black suit jacket, revealing a crisp, white dress shirt. Sitting back on the edge of his desk, he rolled up his sleeves, showing off his toned, ropy forearms. It was all I could do to not salivate.

  "Before I begin, are there any questions over the course?"

  Right as the words left his mouth, an idea popped into my head: maybe I could prove that I wasn't a ditz by showing off what I knew. After all, making a reputation right away as a knowledgeable student might go a long way towards showing Professor McCall just what kind of girl I really was. So, I shot my hand up.

  He nodded towards me, a curious look crossing his features.

  "Please, share your name and your current year level when I call on you," he said, looking around the class.

  "Roxanne James, senior," I said, already feeling short of breath. "When looking over the syllabus, I noticed that we're going to be covering Akkadian archeological history. I was wondering if this survey would incorporate recent developments concerning new ruins found near the Hellespont that suggest that the dating of Troy might be earlier than previously thought?"

  I say back in my seat, feeling proud at my display of knowledge. That had to show him what I was all about.

  But instead of looking impressed, a slightly confused expression formed on his features.

  "Well…seeing as how the Akkadians existed over a thousand years before the Trojans, I fail to see how the two subjects are related. But yes, we will be covering some recent developments in the field concerning ancient Troy."

  I wanted to die. Here I was, trying to show off my knowledge about the Akkadians to a man who'd literally written the book on the subject. The students nearby all shot hot gazes to me; it was as though they smelled blood in the water. My face went a deep red, and I felt like I just might pass out.

  "Any other questions?" Professor McCall asked. "Perhaps ones slightly more germane to the topics at hand?"

  First I felt like I was going to pass out, and now I wanted to cry.

  The rest of the class was a blur, and I did all I could to keep up. Soon, nine-twenty arrived, and it was time to go.

  "Well, that first fifty minutes flew by, didn't it?" asked Professor McCall. "That will be all for the day. Please, for those of you who haven't already, please purchase the text for the course, as well as a copy of my book, from the bookstore. Both will be referenced extensively over the course of the semester. Good day."

  With that, the students all got up to leave. A small line, mostly of women, formed in front of Professor McCall, and I decided to take the opportunity to come clean, to apologize for how dumb I acted yesterday. Hopefully, that would get us back onto the right foot. I hoped so, as the thought of spending the semester in a class where the professor thinks I'm a total airhead was just too much to bear. Laughter sounded from the front of the line; he seemed to have a way with the students, putting them all at ease as they asked their questions. I hoped against hope that he would treat me the same way.

  Eventually, Professor McCall's budding fan club dissipated, and it was just he and I in the room. My heart pounded as I approached, a nervous sweat already forming on my forehead.

  "Yes?" he asked, a trace of impatience in his voice.

  "Hi!" I said, the word coming out way more chipper than it should've. "My name's Roxanne James."

  "I remember," he said crossing his arms over his chest.

  My heart began to pound harder; I could tell that he already wasn't impressed with me.

  "Um, I just wanted to, well, say, um, that I'm sorry for yesterday."

  He said nothing, instead waiting for me to finish.

  "That was a big waste of your time, I'm sure, and I don't want you to think that, um, the way I acted reflects on me as a student."

  He looked at me skeptically, his blue eyes catching the afternoon light in a way that seemed to make them glow. It felt like he was staring right through me.

  "I suppose I'll have the rest of the semester to see how well it does, in fact, reflect on you as a student."

  My heart sank at this.

  "Now," he said, standing up, "unless there's anything else, I've got some work to attend to."

  He waited for me to answer in the affirmative or negative.

  "Um, no. That's all."

  And before he could respond, I darted out of the room, my arms holding my binder close to my chest. I couldn't figure out why he was being so mean to me. Was he really so mad that I wasted his time yesterday? I wanted to cry.

  I rushed back to my car and by the time I god behind the wheel I resolved to not let Professor McCall's behavior get the best of me. I'd do what I said I was going to do, and that was to let my skills as as student do the talking for me.

  As the weeks went on, that's precisely what I did. I threw all of my energy into my studies, forgetting about my social life, and turning the bare minimum acceptability of a performance as possible at the restaurant where I waited tables a few nights a week. I busted my ass, studying nonstop, cramming every bit of knowledge that was in the class's assigned books into my head. It was rough, but when the first quiz came back with a hundred percent score, I knew that my hard work would be worth it. And I might've been imagining it, but it seemed like Professor McCall's attitude towards me was softening.

  Things were looking up so far, but it was taking all I had to keep it up. I had no idea for how long I could manage this pace. I guess I was going to find out.

  4

  Sitting in my study one Friday night, I was enjoying a glass of red wine while I looked over some of the mid-term essays from my four-oh-four course. Flipping through some of the remaining tests, I was pleased to see that there were only a few left. Counting them all, I noted that there were only seven in total. Meaning nearly half of the class had dropped- a happening that I was more than OK with. Now, if I could get it down to only three or four.

  I leaned back in my high-backed leather chair, sipping my wine as I looked out of the study window at the stretch of houses outside of my window. My eyes tracked along the tall, packed bookshelves in the room, the many colors of their spines making an odd blur as my gaze moved over them. Letting the wine loll in my mouth, I allowed the Chopin piece that was playing on the study stereo drift over me. Mazurka in A Minor was the current piece- one of my favorites. I knew that I had plenty of work to get finished before the evening ended, but I allowed myself a moment of relaxation as I savored my wine, listened to the music, and allowed the tensions of the week to spool out of me.

  A jarring bong sounded from my computer, jostling me out of my peaceful mood. Shaking my head and bringing myself back to reality, I turned my attention to my computer and saw that I had a new email.

  It was from Jeffery Cohen, the head of the department. I opened it eagerly, wondering what Jeff would need at this late evening hour. I scanned over the contents of the email and saw that it pertained to a research project in the Czech Republic this summer. He wanted me to visit a village in the country over the course of a few weeks and gather some research information for a large study on Eastern European archeology that the department was putting together, as well as possibly collect material for a potential book.

  I sat back in my chair once again as I thought it over. One the one hand, getting out into the field would be a welcome change of pace. On the other, I didn't look forward to the idea of being away from Darla for so long. I finished my wine and the rest
of the papers, the pros and cons of the situation bouncing around the back of my head as I worked.

  Finally, that next afternoon as I ate lunch with Darla on the back deck of the house, the three words that pushed me into accepting the project formed my mind. They were the three most important words for any academic.

  Publish or perish.

  Taking the summer off to pursue my own interests sounded lovely, but I knew that I putting my name on a project such as this would benefit my career more than anything else I could get up to during the summer. And as I watched Darla eat her lunch, I determined that solidifying my career as much as I could was the biggest priority of all.

  After lunch I responded to Jeff, telling him that I was on board. He was pleased to hear this and told me to put together an ad for students, as I'd need an intern to come along with me and do the grunt-work that I might not have time for.

  When I read this, I sat back in my seat, giving the matter careful consideration. Whoever I brought would need to be reliable, and not afraid of getting his or her hands dirty. They'd need to be able to take criticism and to know the work inside and out. And they'd need to be someone with whom I'd actually like to work with, especially considering the fact that this assignment would likely be a stepping stone to future work the department, possibly even a masters or Ph.D. It wasn't a matter to consider lightly.

  I grabbed my laptop and went into the living room, spending a little time with Darla while I pondered the situation, thinking of students in class who might make good assistants. After a time, I put on a movie for Darla and sat on the couch with my laptop, typing up the ad. Once it was done, I fired off an email to all students in the department before closing the computer and watching the movie with Darla.

  My eyes went wide when I opened my email when the movie was done; I was already receiving applications.

  The next day, I decided to spend the afternoon going over the applications in some detail. Many of the students were promising, but after a few hours of looking things over, there was a clear front-and-center candidate.