MY SISTER'S FLIRTY FRIEND (The Greene Family #4)

Chapter 2

On Saturday morning, I’m weaving between cars in Anchorage while glancing at the clock on the dash. If I’m late again, Professor Locklear is sure to give me a dressing down in front of the class. I’m the oldest person in my program since I’ve only been a part-time student since I graduated high school, which is also why I have a class on the damn weekend.

Pulling off the highway, I briefly pause at a red and turn right, barreling down the road until I reach campus. Of course, there are no parking spots in the student parking and my gaze falls to the clock again. Five minutes before class starts. Crossing my fingers the parking service workers somehow miss this part of campus, I pull into a fifteen-minute parking spot, grab my bag, and race to the lecture hall.

The door is closed when I arrive, and when I open it, it’s clear Professor Locklear has stopped his lecture because all my classmates turn in my direction. I offer a small wave, walking down the row of chairs, finding my usual seat in the front row still vacant.

“Thank you for joining us, Miss Monroe.” Mr. Locklear walks away from his podium to stand in front of me. “We’re not keeping you from something, are we?”

The class quietly giggles.

I glance over my shoulder, feeling my cheeks heat. “No. I’m sorry. I—”

He puts his hand up to silence me, and since he’s one of the rare people I listen to, I shut my mouth. I respect Professor Locklear and understand his frustration that I’m late more than I am on time.

“See me after class,” he says quietly and returns to the podium. “As I was saying…”

He continues his lecture, discussing our clinical work involving speech therapy. This semester, each one of us has a child to work with in a clinical setting with our mentors. With two months to go, I know my little guy, Dillon, will be the star. He’s come so far so fast. After living on the Native villages farther north, he was behind because of the lack of resources up there.

I jot down some notes and answer questions because even though I’m late, I’m Professor Locklear’s star student. The entire class knows it, although no one I went to high school with would believe it.

Finally, he eyes the clock and tells us all to enjoy the nice spring day, but his gaze meets mine. “Stay back, Miss Monroe.”

I pack my bag and slide out of my seat to head over to him. “I’m sorry I’m late, it’s just—”

Again he cuts me off. “Although I’m usually entertained by the excuses you come up with, we have a problem we need to discuss. Walk with me to my office.”

“Oh, Professor, I’m not sure we’re a good match.” My joke dies when he glares at me, his sympathetic dark eyes telling me now is not the time.

“What is it?” I ask, my stomach plummeting as though I’m in those gravity rides at the amusement parks. “You’re not about to tell me I’m one credit shy in an elective or something? Because I’m going to be thirty this summer and if I do not have my degree by that point, I’m officially declaring myself a loser.”

He pushes open the door and we walk down the stained linoleum floor. All I can concentrate on is his long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. It’s so silky and shiny that I’d normally ask what kind of conditioner he uses, but he’s not in the mood for jokes. The longer the silence carries on, the more worried I become.

Professor Locklear is a straight shooter. He tells you how it is and never plays games. Those sympathetic dark eyes mess with me until he opens his office door and stretches his arm for me to go in first.

“Take a seat,” he says, shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the coat rack in the corner of his office.

I sit in the same chair I have tons of times before, my knee bouncing as I wait to hear his news. He sits in his office chair and links his hands together as his elbows rest on the chair arms. When I’m about to scream, his eyes lock with mine.

“This is going to be hard to hear, so I’m just going to spit it out. I received a call last night from Dillon’s father. They’re going back up to the Native villages. Dillon’s grandfather has grown ill, and the family needs them up there.”

“What?”

He nods. “His decision is final. He wanted me to thank you for everything you’ve done for Dillon, and he hopes that one day they’ll be back down toward Anchorage, but…”

“They screwed me,” I say a little too vehemently.

“They did no such thing. Sure, this situation isn’t ideal. There’s no way you can present the work you’ve done without finishing the next six weeks, but you’ll just have to come back this fall and redo your clinical. You’ll graduate in December.”

My heart joins my stomach in the pit of despair. “December. I’ll be thirty.”

“It’s only a difference of six months, Molly.”

I stare at the floor. The ivory swirls in the brown carpet resemble a maze. Either that or I’m about to faint. With how fast my heart is racing, I wouldn’t be surprised. “I’ve been at this for years. There has to be something you can do. Can’t you talk to the dean?” I inch up on the edge of my chair. “Please, Professor.”

“Molly, you’re still going to graduate. Just not as planned.”

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I’m an octogenarian compared to my classmates.”

He tilts his head with an expression that says, “Not true.” But while the other students are all at keg parties and sorority meetings, I have no life except for work and school.

“Well, it feels that way. Twelve years, Professor Locklear. I can’t wait any longer to start my real life. There has to be something that can be done.” A tear trickles down my cheek, but I swipe it away before he sees it. At least I hope I do. “Please. Maybe I can find another child to help.”

“You know we have to scrounge for sign-ups every year. Not everyone is good with a student working one on one with their child.”

“Can we at least try?” I hate the slight whine in my voice, but I feel as if someone opened up the bottom of the earth and I’m free-falling, frantically waving my arms to grab at anything that can stop me.

He blows out a breath. “You’d have to use what you’ve done with Dillon and then whatever you do with a new child. And I cannot allow the new child to only have six weeks of your time and send them off. That isn’t fair to them.”

“Absolutely not. I can continue after the school year ends.”

“You’d be able to graduate, but you’d have to do the rest of the work during the summer. I’m teaching a course, so I might be able to see if the dean will grant permission for me to look over your work since I’ll be around anyway.”

“Please.” I put my hands together in prayer pose. “I’ll do anything.”

He stares at me long and hard. “Like come to class on time every day from here on out?” One of his bushy eyebrows arches.

My shoulders sag. “It’s not like I’m deliberately late.”

He c***s his other eyebrow.

“Deal. I won’t be late again.”

“Doubtful.” He swivels his head and looks out the window. “Let me talk to Dean Witner and I’ll let you know. No promises.”

I jump from my chair. “Thank you so much!”

He holds up his hand. “Don’t get so excited until you know whether I can make this happen. If it was anyone else—”

“You’d do the same thing,” I finish for him, because that’s just who Professor Locklear is.

“Probably. Now get out of here while I figure out the best angle to try to convince the dean and where on earth we’ll find another child for you to help.”

I do a little dance but refrain from hugging him even though I want to. “Thank you again.”

He nods and shoos me out the door.

I step outside, shutting his door, and release a breath. If I find a child for the program, how can they keep me from graduating? Looks like I’ll be talking to Lucy Greene. She’s an elementary school teacher. Surely, she must know a child who would benefit from speech therapy.