Penny was a decent student. Straight-A, not so much, but a solid mix of As and Bs, sometimes Cs. She was proud of herself regardless--her best friend was a genius, really, so she learned not to be too hard on herself when she didn't excel the same.
Which is why she found it so immensely frustrating that she just couldn't seem to do well at college. She struggled her first year, got it together a little in her second, but was struggling yet again in her third. She was twenty years old, for God's sake, she shouldn't have so much trouble with fucking "History of Britain in the 16th century".
It didn't help that her professor, Dr. Jack Powell, seemed to have it out for her. Sure, she was sometimes late, iced coffee in hand; sure, she sometimes handed in an assignment a day late. But she was fucking trying, and he didn't give even one shit about it.
Even as she watched him now, she couldn't stop mentally grumbling. It was rude how handsome he was. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he moved with an easy grace that belied his muscular form. His face caught the light from the classroom windows, the shadows along his cheekbones and jaw sharp enough to cut.
Something warm unfurled in Penny's gut, much to her chagrin. She tried to ignore it and focus, but she kept honing in on his hands with their clean, elegant fingers and trimmed nails, which somehow still looked strong.
Penny hated him. Actually, hate wasn't a strong enough word. She despised him, every part of his being, from his snide comments about her "lack of effort" to his goddamn captivating eyes, so dark and intense they bored a hole right into her soul.
"All right, class," he spoke, the deep of his voice resonating around the classroom. It was a reasonably large room, wood-paneled and well-lit, with the tables lined up in neat rows. "If you were on time last class," he stared pointedly at Penny, whose brows shot together in indignation, "you'd know that we have a pop quiz today, worth ten percent of your grade. Alicent," he nodded to his TA, "would you hand these out?"
"Yes, Dr. Powell," she smiled brightly, taking the sheaf of papers from him in one delicate hand, her blonde hair swinging as she walked the aisles.
"Fucking bitch," Penny grumbled, causing Dr. Powell to swing his head towards her and narrow his eyes.
"Something to say, Penny?" he called out as her classmates stared her down.
"No, sir," she sang out, saccharine.
He only frowned, and turned back to his notebook, scrawling down a few notes. Observations of poor student behaviour, maybe.
Alicent dropped a quiz in front of Penny and left without a word. Fighting the urge to flip it over, Penny glanced at her neighbors: Greg--who was pretty smart--sat to her left, and to her right sat Holly, who was damn smart.
This quiz was worth ten percent, and Penny didn't even know what it was on. Her mark was already toeing the line of failure, so a bad grade here would be catastrophic.
She'd never, not once in her life, cheated on a test.
But this was a required credit.
If she had to take it again next year--sit here, in this class, listening to fucking Dr. Handsome Powell drone on about 16th century Britain again for an entire semester, she might actually go insane.
She was already mostly insane.
Tugging her honey-blonde hair back into a low pony, Penny pulled several pens out of her canvas tote, chewing on one of them absently as she waited for the rest of the quizzes to be handed out.
"Okay, you have forty-five minutes," Dr. Powell looked at his watch. "Starting now."
Penny flipped the page over, a cold dread clawing its way up her abdomen and into her chest. This was--this was gibberish to her.
What year did Elizabeth Tudor become queen? Fuck if Penny knew.
The English Renaissance was the height of what era? Maybe she could guess at that one.
When was the Livonian War?! Had they even covered this in class?
The dread in her chest sank throughout the rest of her body, her suddenly heavy limbs drooping against the tabletop. That didn't last long--the next feeling that crept through her was pure, flooding rage, white-hot and focused entirely on Dr. Fucking Powell.
Focus, Penny, she thought to herself.
Holly was scribbling away, not bothering to shield her paper. Neither was Greg, for that matter, but Penny knew better than to copy from Greg if Holly was right there. A pang of guilt struck her between the eyes.
Closing them, Penny breathed several long, slow breaths through her nose and out her mouth. Surely the gods of this universe would forgive a girl for cheating one time, on a pop quiz. Not even an exam, she reasoned, opening her eyes and peering towards Holly.
It's not an exam, she thought again, her hand reaching for her discarded pen. Do what you have to do.
And so, she did.
She guessed at the ones she thought she knew--and there was a question she did actually know, thank God--and hoped for the best with the rest of them. Holly shot her a few murderous stares, clearly suspicious of her.
Dr. Powell glanced between them several times, his eyes narrowing before looking away. Penny breathed out her nose, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Stress radiated through every heartbeat, fraying her nerves, stoking her anger, the curling warmth in her belly.
She wouldn't fail. She couldn't do this class again--she couldn't do Dr. Powell again. What was he, like thirty? How'd he get a position here, anyway, at that age? Must've been a fucking know-it-all, still was, probably.
One by one, her fellow students stood up and dropped their quizzes on the table at the front of the room. Until, eventually, Penny did the same, her black skirt swishing between her legs as she walked, her oversize sweater tucked halfway into the waistband.
"Go well?" Dr. Powell asked her, his dark, curling hair framing his aggravatingly handsome, stern face.
"Just peachy," Penny squeaked out. Coughing, she tried again. "Just... peachy."
"Glad to hear it," he said, gesturing for her to take her seat.
The rest of the class was more or less a blur to Penny. She took what notes she could, her small, delicate hands scribbling furiously, but nothing really stuck in her head. Holly openly glared at Penny, her green eyes full of contempt.
Fuck me, Penny thought as she watched the clock on the back wall tick, tick, tick. Why did time move so slowly sometimes? All she wanted to do was get out of there, buy a hot chocolate, and cry into it.
"And that about wraps that up, class. I'll get these marks to you next week."
Chatter started quietly, growing louder as the students packed up. Holly leaned over and hissed, "You're going to face some fucking consequences, for once."
Before Penny could respond, Holly had her bag over her shoulder and was walking up to Dr. Powell. Hurrying to shove all her shit in her tote bag, Penny followed up behind, watching as Holly whispered something into the professor's ear.
His brows raised, and he nodded. "Thanks, Holly," he said. "See you next week."
"Thank you, professor, see you." And with that, Holly left the classroom, casting a smug look over her shoulder.
