Page 31 of Pucking Bad Boys

“Good morning, everyone.” Professor Cantucci drops a stack of papers onto the desk in the lowest row of seats with a thud. “I’m Elena Cantucci, and I’ll be teaching you Roman History Through Art this semester. This right here is the class syllabus. Star Cove College strives to go paperless in a bid to reduce its environmental impact, but I decided to give you a hard copy of the syllabus. An electronic copy has been sent out to everyone’s emails, so there aren’t going to be any excuses for not knowing the material I require you to read throughout the semester.”

Professor Cantucci moves her blonde, bouncy curls from one shoulder to the other, causing the many bangles on her arm to clink with the movement.

This isn’t my first class with her, and I’ve always wondered how old she is. It’s really hard to tell from the way she carries herself. The way she talks and dresses is youthful. Today she’s in a dark gray denim mini skirt with matching sky-high stiletto heels that make her stick thin legs look ten miles long. Her flowing blouse has a floral pattern, and the plunging neckline nestles perfectly between her small breasts.

She could easily be in her forties or in her early sixties.

“The way you’re going to be graded for this class is as follows,” she continues. “Your attendance will count as ten percent of your final grade. I want you to listen carefully to this because there won’t be any exceptions. From our next class onward, you’ll sign in using the sheet on my desk as you arrive to class. If you miss more than two classes during the entiresemester, I’m not going to allow you to sit your finals, and you’ll have the choice to drop this class or take it again next semester.”

The news is greeted with a collective groan by the whole classroom.

“This is because some of the work we’ll do in the classroom is fundamental to this course. To make sure that everyone stays on track during the semester, there are going to be a couple of pop quizzes. Each of these will account for ten percent of your grade. The rest is going to be made up by your score in the final exam and by the grade you’ll get in the practical group project I’ll assign in the coming weeks.”

“What?” Tucker groans under his breath. “Practical? We didn’t do anything practical last semester. I thought this class didn’t require any drawing or painting.”

He kept his voice down, but my brother’s voice always carries, and the professor heard him.

“Mr. Prescott,” the professor turns her gaze on Tucker. “You’ll be happy to know that our practical project isn’t going to require any drawing or painting. In a way, it’s going to be a little more hands-on. But today isn’t the time to delve into that.”

My curiosity is peaked but aside from the practical project, I wish I could do a cat eye as well as Professor Cantucci. I’ve never seen a more perfect eyeliner application before.

“During the semester, I’ll assign homework in the form of essays. You’ll deliver those on time and adhere to the formatting specifications in your syllabus. Deadlines are final, and there aren’t going to be any exceptions. I don’t care if your course load is too heavy this semester or if there are any other activities that take up your time. This is a special reminder to the athletes in our midst. Our college is proud of each and every one of you, but it’s your job to balance your studies with your athletic obligations. If you fail this class, it isn’t my responsibility to give you any extra credit or any makeup work. Your eligibility to stayin whatever athletic program you’re a part of is your problem, not mine.”

Macklin shifts in his seat, running a hand through his hair. It’s a little longer than he’s had it during training camp, and it’s getting a slight wave on top. The color is also fairer than usual. He must have spent the break after camp outside because the roots of his hair are a light blond as opposed to his usual dark strawberry hue.

“What did I get myself into?” He exhales.

“That’s exactly what I was wondering.” Tucker shakes his head. “You could have taken any other class. Why you chose this one is beyond me. Maybe you like pain?”

Macklin’s response is something like, “Yeah, that must be it.” I’m not one hundred percent sure because he mutters it and the professor is still speaking.

“If you have any problems understanding the material, my office hours are listed at the end of the syllabus you just received. Do come to see me before you fail a pop quiz or turn in a poorly written essay. And when I say come and see me, I really mean Victor.”

The professor’s assistant steps forward. I remember him from last year, and I’ve seen him a couple of times at social events when he was dating my Zeta sister Fiona a couple of years ago.

“Victor is a grad student this year, so he’s capable of addressing most issues you might have with this course material. If your issues are such that you need my assistance, Victor will escalate your request to me. Don’t come to me without seeing him first. I’m very busy teaching one extra class this semester, and he’s going to devote his full attention to you. Any questions?”

Satisfied that there aren’t any questions, the professor offers us a brief introduction to this course's unique point of view.

“There are plenty of sources through which we can learn Ancient Roman history. The ancient Romans left us countless literary works that give us a remarkable insight into a complex, rich culture. Their extensive laws, both in the republican and imperial ages, have inspired the legislation of many countries in Europe and beyond. Even our own laws are often based on concepts first introduced in the legislation of Ancient Rome. So much so that we use the Latin language in our modern society. Think about expressions likehabeas corpus(you shall have the body) orpro bono(for the good). But while the law books and the poems that survived the test of time give us an insight into the day-to-day life, art plays an important role in showing us how the Romans lived. This is what this class is about.”

Call me a nerd, but I love learning this kind of stuff. To me, history isn’t about remembering names and dates. Learning how people used to live, how our society evolved to today’s culture is what made me fall in love with history.

So while a lot of people around me voice their concerns about this class being harder than they anticipated the second the professor leaves the classroom, I’m excited.

“I’m gonna go to the dining hall before breakfast closes.” Tucker says as we all rise from our seats. “Wanna come with, sis?”

I shake my head. “Thanks for the invitation, but I had breakfast before coming to class.”

“Me too. But Coach kicked our asses today at practice, so I need more sustenance.” He pats his flat stomach.

“That’s a good idea. Count me in.” Colsen smiles.

When Macklin agrees to join them, a part of me regrets saying no. But what’s the point? My relationship with Macklin amounts to hellos, goodbyes, and general platitudes until someone either of us knows better takes over the conversation. Usually, he doesn’t even look at me.

I say “usually” because since we came to class today, I caught him looking at me more than once. At first, I thought that maybe he was looking at someone behind me, but the row behind us was half empty. When I put my laptop away, I snuck a quick look at my compact mirror to make sure I didn’t have food stuck in my teeth or something equally embarrassing.

Everything looked fine. I haven’t seen Macklin taking notes, so I bet that’s why he’s been looking at me. He probably wants a copy of my notes. That must be it.