Dear Professor(29)

Well, shit. “Isn’t that kind of…drastic?”

Jake groaned and leaned forward. His upper arms bulged against the thin cotton of his red shirt. “Maybe if this weren’t my third attempt.”

I frowned and snatched the essay from him. “Jake. This is from three weeks ago. How haven’t you gotten this right?”

He shrugged, his face still buried in his arms. “Because I’m dumb.”

I rolled the printed essay up and whacked him on the head with it. “You’re not stupid. You’re just…a little out of your depth.”

“That’s code for stupid.”

I coughed into my hand to disguise my laugh. “Here. Let me get you mine and then you can read it. For ideas, Jake,” I added when he looked up, a light in his eyes. “I got the second-highest grade on this. You can see how it’s done.”

He tapped his finger against his lips, his dark eyes surveying me carefully. “How much would you charge if I hired you to write it?”

I stared at him flatly. There was no way in hell I was going to write his damn essay for him—especially not on the third try. “I’m just a little nerd monkey in your eyes, aren’t I?”

“Hundred bucks?”

“Up your ass? Go for it.”

“Darce,” he moaned, dragging the word out and slumping forward once more. “Please. You know I love you.”

“Jake Haas, I am not your bitch.” I tapped my fingers against my own essay and passed it to him. Luckily for him, I’d foreseen this and printed out every history paper from the last month just in case. “It’s right there. Take it and reword it or whatever.”

“You’re such hard work.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and pulled my laptop from my purse. Jake grabbed my essay while I opened the computer and fired it up. I glanced at him over the top of the screen. My teeth dug into my lower lip as I fought my laughter at the look of utter confusion on his face.#p#分页标题#e#

That alone told me that I didn’t want to touch his essay, not even if he’d pay me. God only knew what kind of fairytale crap he’d written in it if he didn’t understand mine.

I’d plugged my headphones in and hit play on Spotify right before he opened his mouth to ask me something. Then I held my hand up. His shoulders visibly sank as I did it, and I felt a little guilty, but if I didn’t, he would have had me rewrite it for him. I was all for helping him, but come on.

The guy was twenty-one. He needed to learn to look after himself a little.

When my browser loaded, showing Google as my homepage, I opened an incognito browser tab and typed in Professor Jordan Keaton and the college’s name. A number of search results came up, including one that was the university’s website, and the preview showed his place of birth.

Of course. For all of my searches, I hadn’t thought to check the university’s website. It would have a basic bio for him that might help me. Darcy, you idiot. I clicked on the link. The first thing to load was his picture, and I deliberately avoided looking at it while the text appeared.

Dr. Jordan Keaton, Ph.D., graduated from the University of Colorado with a bachelor’s degree in history. Then he returned one year later to complete his master’s. In his final year of his master’s, he achieved his doctorate after what was cited as an

“outstanding and innovative view” on seventeenth-century England and the monarchy. Although he is officially Dr. Keaton, he prefers to be referred to as Professor Keaton in his classes, and the University of Chicago respects his wishes. He uploads the same standard of grading in his classes he was held to as an undergrad and is commonly regarded as one of the toughest history professors in the Midwest. In the five years since he began teaching, his graduating classes have never averaged beneath a B.

Dr. Keaton was born in Colorado Springs, Colorado, has a healthy interest in sports, namely the Denver Broncos, and opts for archeological or historical trips to the United Kingdom during his vacation time.

The website went on to list his various qualifications in more detail and his university contact details. I pursed my lips as I let the information sink in. I hadn’t known he had a doctorate, but why would I have? Like the bio said, he was Professor Keaton to his students, not Dr. Keaton. The thought did make me pause. Why wouldn’t he use his actual title? He’d earned it.

The man got more mysterious by the minute.

He was like a murder mystery novel; every page I turned, he got more intriguing, more exciting. I wanted to know what secrets were hidden beneath the webs of his existence.