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Clarke’s POV “You picked mythology for your senior year elective?” Raven asked me as she came out of her room in our apartment; her brown eyes were wide and disbelieving. “Yeah,” I answered as I took another bite of my banana and quickly scribbled notes down for the first chapter of Biochemistry that I had forgotten the night before. “What’s the big deal?” She made an unintelligible noise of disbelief. “What’s the big deal? That’s Bellamy Blake’s class.” The name sounded slightly familiar to me, but I couldn’t put a face to it. “Who is..?” I twirled my wrist on the hand that was holding my banana, encouraging her to continue. Raven spread her arms
out in front of her, her neon pink nail-polish flashing in the early morning light. “Who is only the biggest hard-ass out of all the professors in the history department! He makes you write an EIGHTEEN page paper for your final assignment. No double spacing, 12-point font. AND you have to read it in class. He doesn’t allow any notes for testing or quizzes, and he makes participation thirty-five percent of your grade.” “And you know all of this how?” I asked her. “One of Murphy’s gaming buddies took his class last year and he told me about it. It’s no joke, Clarke.” I rolled my eyes and waved a hand at her. Most of my other courses for that semester were easy, except Biochemistry. I wasn’t a fan of dropping classes, either. How hard could it be, anyways? I’d had plenty of strict teachers before. I took the last bite of my banana and flung the peal into the trash can next to the kitchen table. “I’ll be fine, Raven. Really. How hard can one elective be?” She just shook her head and mumbled, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Clarkey.” I scoffed and gathered up my notebook and stuffed it into my backpack on the floor. It was a one semester class. How much of a jerk could an old, Greek mythology professor be? -/-My first day of senior year went by slowly, with no excitement. Which was fine with me because at that point in my college career I was definitely over the whole “first day excitement” thing. I only had one more year, and I’d finally be able to go for my Masters at my dream university in California. Pre-Med was so close I could feel the satisfaction already. It was three o’clock in the afternoon by the time I made it to Professor Blake’s classroom, and I was hungry. I didn’t have time to stop for a snack though because Mythology started exactly fifteen minutes after my Biochemistry class ended, and it took me ten minutes to walk between buildings, which gave me five minutes to pee, find a good seat, and switch the focus of my brain from the Table of the Elements and Neurons to Zeus and Hercules. Still, I hadn’t eaten anything since my banana that I had for breakfast, and I was quickly starting to border the line between just plain hungry and all out hangry. I sat down in one of the chairs the second row up in a huff, not caring that I got a few curious glances from the other students. The room was surprisingly very large, and the seats were the theatre type chairs you usually see in psychology classes. There was a big projecting screen in the front of the classroom instead of a dry-erase board, with a dark, wooden desk in front of it off to the side. I casually looked around at my classmates and was again surprised that almost all of the seats were filled. With girls. I counted exactly fifteen guys in the room, but the class had to have held at least seventy- five students. Why weren’t there more guys in the class? I thought I’d be one of the only girls in class because Mythology didn’t seem like something a lot of women would be interested in. The office door to the room squeaked open, and I turned my attention to the front. The first thought that came to my mind was, ‘Oh, that must be why there are so many girls.’ What I meant by ‘that’ was HIM. Professor Blake. He looked more like a senior student than a teacher. A really.. really attractive student. The thing that stood out to me the most at first was his skin. It was naturally tan and looked impossibly smooth. I could faintly make out a few scattered freckles on the bridge of his nose. He had dark, curly hair that was almost too long and unruly for a professor to have but also somehow still classy enough to make him look incredibly sophisticated. A couple of stray curls laid on his forehead and almost reached down to his eyes and he had a few days worth of dark stubble growing around his jaw and chin. “Good afternoon.” His voice rumbled, low and gravelly. It echoed off the walls with confidence. He walked along the length of the first row, about five feet from the students sitting there. “My name is Bellamy Blake, and I’ll be your instructor for Greek Mythology this semester.” The five or six girls in the bottom row all had a wide- eyed, almost starstruck expression on their faces as he spoke. I couldn’t really blame them. This man was impossibly good looking. It wasn’t just his handsome face or his broad chest and shoulders that perfectly filled out his navy blue button down shirt. It was his, swagger. From the moment he walked in the room everyone, myself included, sat up straighter and taller. His presence was commanding and overwhelming. “You all can call me Professor Blake. Before we get into our material for the class, I’m going to go over a few preliminary things with you. You should all have a syllabus handout under your chairs..” I had been through so many syllabuses that I didn’t even try to pay attention to what he explained. Not that I could’ve anyway with him looking like a literal Greek god from some ancient myth we would eventually read about and study. My fingers itched to sketch his face. I hadn’t had the urge to draw in a long time, but it was suddenly all I could think about. I just had to capture the way he used his hands to talk as much as his mouth; he stretched his arms out and made wide gestures around the room to emphasize certain points. The hair on his forearms was lighter than the hair on his head and it looked incredibly soft. Time stretched as I stored away details of him to remember later when I pulled out my sketch pad. Suddenly, he was looking at me. Directly at me. He had an expectant look on his face as he crossed his arms and raised his brow as if he was waiting for me to say something. I froze and only stared back at him. He had walked closer to my row, the second row, and I could now see that his eyes were brown. Rich brown, like melting chocolate on a hot-“Are you alright?” He asked me, and I jolted out of my thoughts once more. Although his question sounded concerned, his face looked bored and annoyed.“I’m..” My voice came out small. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter even though I wanted to curl up in a ditch somewhere. This kind of thing never happened to me. I was Clarke Griffin. My mother was the Chief Surgeon at the Medical Center of Virginia and she raised me to be tough. Hard. Not easily impressed. And I WAS those things. Bellamy Blake seemed to be the exception to my rule. I started over and spoke with as much confidence as I could possibly fake. “I’m fine, professor.” “So can you tell me your name now? Or did you decide that you weren’t going to give an introduction that the syllabus requires?” He asked with the slightest bit of sarcasm. Introduction? I hadn’t heard anything about an introduction.
Of course, I didn’t really hear anything at all after he said the word ‘syllabus’. My face flushed and I knew my skin was turning red, but I pressed on. “No, I’m sorry. Of course I’ll give an introduction.” I said as professionally as possible. He simply stood there and blinked at me. Then after I didn’t speak for a few seconds he shifted on his feet and put his hands on his hips and spoke with as much patience as I think was possible for him. “I’m not sure if you like keeping people in suspense or what but-““It’s Clarke.” I blurted out, done with being embarrassed. “Clarke Griffin.” He nodded, and his eyes seemed to asses me. After another moment he asked, “And what, Miss Griffin, do you plan on getting out of this course?” I opened my mouth to respond but nothing would come. I couldn’t say what I said for every other class, which was, “I want to get valuable, medical information from this course that will help further my medical career.” This was freaking Greek Mythology. Why DID people take this class? The only reason I chose it was because I had taken almost all of the other semi interesting electives. “I..I don’t..” I ran my hand through my hair while I searched for an answer to his arbitrary question. His eyes followed the movement and trained solely on my rose-gold Rolex watch that my mother had gotten me for Christmas the year before. I saw his jaw clench as he also looked down at my designer shoes and jeans. He curtly turned away from me then and waved a hand to dismiss his question. I was relieved but still incredibly embarrassed over losing my cool. But it was when he said, “See me after class ends, Miss Griffin.” in a firm, no-nonsense tone that I started to feel nervous. -/- From that moment on the class went by agonizingly slow. It took a good thirty minutes for everyone to give their introductions and another forty-five for Professor Blake to go over the rest of the syllabus. By that time, there was only thirty more minutes left of class. My leg bounced in my chair anxiously, and I forced myself to pay attention. “Now I know,” He began, sitting on the edge of his desk with his hands in his slack pockets. “most of you probably aren’t all that interested in myths and legends. You more than likely chose this course because you needed a couple more credits and it sounded passably interesting. And that’s totally fine.” I let out a sigh of relief. “But even if that’s the case, I still expect everyone in here to participate and join-in with the rest of the conversation. Participation is thirty-five percent of your grade in this class. We’ll be having a lot of class discussion.” So, Raven had been right, as usual. “And no one will receive any special treatment,” I’m pretty sure I didn’t imagine his eyes cut sharply to me when he spoke again, “because of who they are.” That’s when it all made sense. The way he practically glared at my watch and clothes, and then dismissed me like I was a spoiled brat. ‘Because he thinks that’s what you are.’ My subconscious whispered to me. Of all the conceited, judgmental, stereotypical assumptions- My nostrils flared as I let out a gust of air, and I gritted my teeth to keep from speaking up and telling him exactly what I thought of his predetermined ideas of me. He went on to explain more of the expectations he had for all of the students (which was a LOT), answered a few questions, and briefly went over some of the material in the prologue section of the textbook. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he dismissed the class and everyone started getting up and leaving. I switched between pretending to highlight some bold terms on the first page and acting like I was texting someone on my phone while I waited for everyone else to get out. “Please come down to the front, Miss Griffin.” Professor Blake said, not even bothering to glance at me as he looked at something on his laptop. I grabbed my bag and stood up in one steady, fluid motion. My confidence was no longer fake as I walked across the tile floor of the lecture hall towards his desk, my black, ankle boots clunking ominously. I had my whole speech ready as I stopped a few feet away from him, but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak he held up his damn hand again to cut me off. “I don’t want excuses, Miss Griffin.” He said, sitting on the edge of his desk, ankles crossed, hands in his pant pockets again. (Hair perfectly mussed as well, but I ignored that part. Or at least tried to.) “I just want to be up front with you and let you know that you won’t be getting any special treatment from
me just because of who your mother is.” I stood there dumbfounded as a million questions and statements went through my mind. What was he getting at? “I- what?” I plainly asked him. He tilted his head towards his laptop screen, “Your mother is Abby Griffin right? I just looked up your student file.” “I don’t see how that has anything to do with-“ “It has everything to do with the fact that your mother, who is a very successful surgeon, makes generous amounts of donations in the form of finances to the school every year, and the fact that you, her only child, coincidentally have perfect grades in every class you’ve taken. Not that I’m implying anything. Maybe you’re just that good.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and disbelief. I couldn’t believe what he was insinuating. I crossed my arms, “Mr. Blake, you don’t-“ “It’s Professor Blake, Miss Griffin.” I closed my eyes and locked my jaw together to keep from losing it. Of all the arrogant, presumptuous men, he was the worst one I’d ever encountered. “Professor Blake.” I said a bit too loudly, my voice echoing off the auditorium walls. I sucked in a deep breath. “Would you please stop interrupting me?” He eyed me curiously and nodded for me to go on. “I know I wasn’t paying attention earlier. I don’t have an excuse for that.” (At least not one I was comfortable sharing with him.) “But I don’t think it’s fair that you’ve just assumed that I’m not-“ He interrupted me again. “I’m not assuming anything, Miss Griffin. I’m simply stating facts.” He stood up from the desk and began packing up his leather messenger bag, apparently done with our conversation. Alright. Time to cut the shit. I walked closer to his desk, defiant. He briefly looked over at me but didn’t seem to care I was invading his personal space. I had to crane my neck up to see him properly. “Look, we both know you have predetermined ideas about me and how I got here. But they’re wrong. I’m not just some trust fund brat, okay? I enjoy learning. That’s why I have good grades; I worked my ass off to earn them.”He stopped packing his bag and glanced at me with a raised brow as if to say ‘Do you really expect me to believe this little spill?’ I pressed on, not caring that he was my professor instead of just some jerk with a chip on his shoulder. “I don’t need or want any special treatment in this class, either, so you don’t need to worry about me asking for it. I’m perfectly capable of acing this course just like all of the others I’ve taken.” I thought I saw the tiniest bit of the beginnings of a grin on his face, but he licked his lips and turned the smile into an arrogant smirk. “We’ll see, Miss Griffin.” And with that, he slung the strap on his bag onto his shoulder and briskly walked past me to leave the room. I turned on my heel, fuming. ‘Oh, you will see Blake. Trust me.’ I thought to myself as I stomped from the classroom just seconds after I saw him leave. -/- (That night, I read the first three chapters in my Mythology textbook even though he had only assigned the first. I was Clarke fucking Griffin, and I had a point to make.)
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Clarke’s POV That next week I walked into Bellamy Blake’s class with determination. I had studied the first three chapters in the textbook meticulously every night and memorized every bold term I saw. I didn’t sit in the same spot; instead I sat in the middle of the front row so I’d be right in front of him. It would be impossible for him to ignore me. Between me were two other girls, freshmen from the looks of them, and they were both wearing ridiculously revealing clothing. One of them had on a mini skirt paired with stilettos and a crop top, and the other wore a dress so tight I thought her boobs were going to spill out at any moment. Both of them had done their makeup flawlessly, complete with smokey eyes and red lipstick. They looked like they were about to go clubbing, and I knew without a doubt that it was all for Professor Blake. ‘That would be one way to get his attention.’ I thought to myself as I looked down at my dark blue skinny jeans and plain, black T-shirt. I hadn’t even put on any makeup that morning because Raven had taken forever and a day in the bathroom and I didn’t have time to do anything but shower and wash my face. I paled in comparison to those girls, and I knew then that there was no way Professor Blake would notice me, even if I was sitting in the center of the first row. He may have been a teacher, but he was still a man. A very attractive man. Not that I wanted him to notice me. I just wanted him to call on me when he asked questions so I’d be able to show him how wrong he was about me and my grades. It was nothing more than that. Ten minutes passed by before he even arrived to class. He rushed in, and kicked the door shut with his foot. “I apologize,” he immediately said, “I got stuck in traffic on the interstate for two hours. I’m glad to see you’re all here and on time though because we have a lot to cover.” His words came out fast and breathless like he had been running. He had a black tie on his red button-up shirt and it hung a little loose around his neck. It was a good look on him. The two girls next to me immediately sat up straighter and crossed their legs when he started unpacking his bag on his desk, but he didn’t look up at all until all of his stuff was laid out neatly. When he did look up, his eyes immediately landed on me and he paused for a moment, as if surprised I was there. I stared right back at him and grabbed my favorite gel pen from behind my ear. He seemed to take it as a silent challenge as his eyes bored into mine, and he cleared his throat before finally looking out at the whole class. “So like I said we have a lot to cover today. I’m hoping to get through half of the first chapter. Let’s get right into it and begin with what your book states about the poet Homer. Who in here can tell me which of his poems sparked the beginning of the belief in myths?” I shot my hand straight up just a second before the two girls next to me did. I knew if I looked behind me I would see a lot more raised. It was one of the easiest questions he could’ve asked. But I had been first, I was sure of it. Of course, he completely scanned over my hand and pointed to the girl next to me. The one who was wearing a dress that looked like a second skin. “Miss Azgeda?” The girl- I vaguely remembered her name to be Echo from last weeks introductions- put on what seemed to be an attempt at a seductive smile but instead she looked like she had to sneeze and was trying to hold it in. “That would be the Iliad and the Odyssey, Professor.” She said, leaning forward slightly as she spoke to show off more cleavage. No dignity whatsoever. I rolled my eyes at her generic answer. Professor Blake must’ve noticed because he moved to stand a few feet in front of me and crossed his arms. “Something you’d like to add, Miss Griffin?” That was my chance to show him up. I inspected my pen cap as I spoke. “No, Professor Blake. If you wanted the basic answer I guess that’s all there is to it.” “So you can give me more besides what Miss Azgeda provided?” I looked up at him then and spoke slowly. Deliberately. “Yes, Professor. I believe I can.” Somewhere from the side of me I heard Echo scoff, but in that moment it was just us. Me and Bellamy Blake. His jaw clenched and he bounced on his feet a little as if he was tempted to walk away and dismiss me but for some reason couldn’t bring himself to. “Please enlighten us all, then.” He said through gritted teeth. I smiled sweetly at him. “Well,” I began, “the Iliad and Odyssey had two different affects. While the Odyssey gave readers a sense of adventure and courage, the Iliad elicited more of a melancholy approach to love and loss and war. This is best exemplified in the line, “It is not possible to fight beyond your strength, even if you strive.” They were essentially separate poems written during very different parts of Homer’s life so the themes are almost the opposite of each other. They’ve just been generalized through the years as being one large work.” I paused and thought for another moment. “I believe that can all be found on page five in the book.” The room was silent for several seconds before I heard “Damn, Griffin..” muttered by someone in the back of the class. I tried to keep my smug smile small as I stared Professor Blake down. He had narrowed his eyes to just tiny slits and tilted his head off to the side like I was a puzzle he just couldn’t figure out. After a moment he snapped out of it and walked back to the projection screen. “That’s exactly right, Miss Griffin.” He said, dryly. “In fact, it’s so accurate that I’m almost certain your statement is verbatim to that of the book. Now I know memorization is probably key for your medical classes, but in here it’s more important that you actually understand things instead of just remembering them.” My mouth fell open at his words. How dare he? He couldn’t dismiss my answer because it was TOO correct. That wasn’t even a thing! I glared daggers at him and he pretended not to notice, but I know I saw a shit-eating grin on his face as he wrote something on the screen. (I fumed in my seat for the rest of class. He didn’t call on me again, and I didn’t raise my hand either.) -/- For the next month, that’s how class went for me. On the rare occasions he would ask me a question, I would always answer it correctly and somehow he’d manage to find something wrong with what I said. He’d give me the most vague and cryptic questions and expect me to come up with an answer in five seconds flat. On our first quiz I would’ve gotten an A+, but he took TWO points off because apparently I had ‘questionable logic’ on one of the short answer questions. I had determined to prove him wrong about me, but he was making it impossible.He scolded me more than other students, he provoked me, but he wouldn’t acknowledge me outside of class at all. I had sent him at least five emails asking to meet about our final assignment project due at the end of the semester because damn it I had some questions, but of course I got no reply. So did I feel regretful as I marched into his office unannounced Friday morning? Not even a little bit. To say I was pissed off was a major understatement at that point and I refused to even grace his office door with a knock. I wanted to punch the glass in when I saw his name stained onto it in bulky, black lettering. I stood there a moment, took a deep breath, and twisted the knob before I could think better of it. The office was smaller than I thought it would be. Or maybe it was just cluttered. There were stacks and stacks of papers and folders everywhere, and piles of books scattered across the floor. Somehow, though, it still looked well-organized and put together even if it was a little stuffy. Much like Mr. Blake himself. “Miss Griffin, what is the meaning of this?” His deep voice made me jump a little and I raised my eyes to his desk. It was just as cluttered as the rest of the room, with pencils and loose paper placed haphazardly on the top. Professor Blake had on glasses, which threw me off slightly, and he appeared to be pouring over a book that looked to be well over a hundred years old. He was wearing a dress shirt like he almost always did, but the first few buttons close to his neck were undone and I could see a glimpse of his smooth chest underneath the fabric. His curly hair wasn’t combed down into submission like it usually was in class, and the faint light of early morning through the windows cast a warm glow around the room. I swallowed thickly. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.’ I thought. “Miss Griffin? Are you alright?”I snapped out of my daze and raised my chin. I hadn’t came there to chicken out at the last minute. “No, Mr. Blake,” I said, purposefully not calling him Professor. “I’m not alright. In fact, I’m thoroughly pissed off.” I was never one to beat around the bush. Professor Blake’s eyebrows disappeared into the hair that laid across his forehead. “Excuse me?” I closed the door behind me and approached his desk. “You heard me.” He let out a sigh and took off his glasses, rubbing at his temple like he was annoyed at my very presence. “I really don’t-“ “Please don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.” He stood up then, towering over me. “Contrary to what you might think, I have no IDEA, why you’re here.” I rolled my eyes, and he gave me a surprised look, but I was way past being polite. “What I THINK, is that you’ve been singling me out since day one and I’m tired of it. It’s not fair, and it’s not right.” He crossed his arms, “Singling you out?” “Don’t play coy with me, Professor.” I pointed a finger at him. “Ever since you saw my nice clothes and fancy watch and found out who my mother was you’ve treated me like some sort of self-absorbed spoiled brat.” He opened his mouth to cut me off but I spoke louder and stepped closer to his desk, effectively shutting him up. “You make things harder for me and give me the most complicated questions and assignments ON PURPOSE, and then you act like I’m never right! I’m not complaining because I know I’ve got the best grade out of everyone else, but it really annoys the crap out of me when you find something wrong with every single thing I say just for the sake of giving me a hard time.” I finished before having to stop and draw in a breath. He came around to my side of the desk. “Miss Griffin-“ I practically stomped my foot. “I’m not finished.” I went on, “I get that you don’t like me, alright? That’s not my issue here. I’ve had plenty of arrogant, high and mighty men not like me before, but you’re my professor. You’re supposed to teach me the information, test and quiz me on it in a PROFESSIONAL way, and then send me out the door with an A at the end of the semester. And yes, I’m wealthy. My entire family is wealthy. I’m not ashamed to say it. But guess what? That doesn’t mean you can be biased and treat me like shit.” He stared at me for at least ten seconds as I stood there, chest heaving from my rant. His eyes looked deep into mine, considering. As if he was seeing me for the first time. Like he was really seeing me as something more than a privileged little girl. Then, his gaze left mine and roamed over my face, down to my neck, and even farther down to my chest and stomach and back up again. I swear his eyes paused just a spilt second on my mouth. It occurred to me then that we were almost nose to nose, my head tipped up and his angled down. We were so close I could count the freckles dotting his nose and cheekbones. There were fifteen in all. He seemed to notice it at the same time I did, and he licked his bottom lip before stepping back a considerable distance. I was suddenly feeling too hot. The room became impossibly smaller and I still felt much too close to him. I couldn’t just leave, though, after all of that. So I stared at the ground and toed my shoe at his grey rug. He spoke up first. “Miss Griffin.” His throat sounded a bit husky. He cleared it before going on. “I know this may be difficult for you to believe, but it really wasn’t my intention to be- ah, harder on you, than the others. I truly wasn’t aware that was the way you felt.” I slowly looked up at him, skeptical. His face seemed genuine. Almost softer than it usually was when he was talking with students. It made him seem more like a regular person instead of a professor. He acted like he expected me to leave, but when I didn’t move a muscle he went on. “Thinking about it now I realize that maybe I have been firmer with you in particular, and perhaps.. unfair. At times.” He stepped closer to me again, but still far enough away so it wasn’t uncomfortable. Running a hand through his hair, he gave a dry chuckle. “It seems like you’ve got me pegged, already. I did notice your wealth when I saw you at first. And maybe..” he swallowed, “maybe I shouldn’t have said those things about your grades and your mother. It was unprofessional. It just- you seemed like, royalty. And I let it get to me for.. personal reasons.” That whole conversation took a turn that I never thought it would, and I was sort of shocked. I’d expected him to throw me out of his office and drop me from the class then and there. But instead he actually owned up to what he’d done. He bent down so we were eye-level. His brown eyes earnest as he asked, “Will you forgive me?” I wanted to say ‘Hell, no’ and walk away with whatever dignity I had left, but his face was so, hopeful. Pleading even. Screw it, my head whispered to me. Shrugging slightly, I quipped, “I guess everyone deserves a second chance. Even douchey professors.” He laughed at that. A real laugh that seemed to radiate throughout his whole body, his white teeth flashing in the light. He sagged with apparent relief and smirked at me. “You really are a princess, aren’t you, Miss Griffin?” I paused a moment. “It’s Clarke.” I said before I could stop myself. I felt my face heat up and I fumbled with my necklace. “Everyone calls me Clarke.” He bit his lip and looked towards his office door like someone was going to walk in on them. I was sure he’d insist it was inappropriate from the way he hesitated, but at the last second he nodded to himself and looked back at me. “I’ll see you Monday then, Clarke. I hope I haven’t ruined the Mythology experience for you.” Shaking my head, I smiled slightly. “I think I’ll stick around a little longer. I did make a vow to ace your class, after all.” With that, I left Professor Blake’s office with a stupid smile on my face that refused to go away. -/- (Something shifted after that day. He still gave me the hardest questions, but he allowed me time to answer and never ridiculed my responses. One morning, he started his lecture about Andromeda off with, “Have any of you ever met a girl who acts like a total princess and a complete badass at the same time?” While some people raised their hands, he looked at me from the corner of his eye, a knowing smile gracing his lips that only I could see.)