On the last day of class, Professor Hanks stands at the front of the classroom. He looks pale, dehydrated, and almost haggard.

Serves him right.

“Final exams were, in general, good,” he says as he passes them back to us. “I wrote some comments on them about your responses. There were a lot of good responses.”

He sounds like a robot today, not like everyone’s favorite professor.

Liz pokes me. “What the matter with him today? Professor McHottie doesn’t look so hot.”

“No idea,” I say, smiling fakely.

“Yes! Seventy-six percent,” Liz says, clenching her fist in victory.

I don’t make eye contact as he places my test face down on my desk.

“Ninety-eight percent. Incredible work” is all mine says at the top.

The cold and impersonal note is in stark contrast to almost every other paper of mine Professor Hanks has corrected and given back to me.

Once he passes out all of the tests, he stands in front of the room and looks out at everyone.

“Well you guys, this has certainly been an interesting summer. Thanks for having me. I’ve decided to cancel the presentations for today and just give those people automatic A’s.”

“Alright!” a couple of stoners in the back remark, and high five each other.

Someone else raises their hand. “I don’t think that’s really fair to those of us who did the presentation. Why would you do that?”

“Because, fuck it, that’s why,” Professor Hanks says before he pulls out a flask from under his desk.

The crowd gasps collectively.

“Holy shit! The final day of classes is a party!” the stoner yells again.

“Yep. It’s a party, because I don’t give a shit anymore,” he rants, and I freeze up. “You’ve all been asking me for some real shit during this class. We’re talking about the Psychology of Sexuality. Analysing it like if we read all the studies in the world we’ll figure it out. Well, do you want to know the fucking truth!?”

“Hell yeah, Professor Hanks! Preach!” a jock in the front row yells, cupping his hand over his mouth. The class giggles.

I sink further into my chair. Maybe I loved this man once, but now, I can’t believe a damn word that comes out of his mouth. Still, I watch him with the same morbid curiosity that all of the students have right now.

“The truth is, you can’t fucking talk about the truth any more. As much as I love Academia, we’ve gotten to a place where we can’t fucking talk about the truth if it makes us uncomfortable. Two months ago, I sat in a seminar saying that it is “illegal” for professors and students to be attracted to each other. That is some Orwellian shit right there, if I’ve ever seen it.”

“What’s Orwellian?” the same jock yells from the first row.

“Shut up and google it!” the girl next to him seethes. I’ve never seen the class so engaged as they are right now.

Professor Hanks continues. “Who you are attracted to isn’t a choice. Deciding to act on it, well yes, that’s a choice. And I made a choice this summer.”

I want to crumble into my seat. The man is in full denial. And despite the fact that he’s ranting like a madman, I want to believe him. I want to somehow think he wasn’t getting into some fucked up sexual shit with my mom the other day--but I can’t unsee what I saw with my own two eyes.

I can’t get the image out of my brain of him, my dad, and my mom half naked.

Only in Blackwell, USA, could something as fucked up as this happen.

“I made a choice with the full knowledge of those consequences.”

Liz turns to me and whispers. “Holy shit! Did Professor Hanks sleep with a student? Who was the lucky girl?”

I swallow, and turn bright red. I clear my throat.

Liz sees the look on my face and damn near goes cross-eyed. “Oh. My. Dear. God. It’s you. You’re the one he’s talking about right now.”

I don’t say anything. I grip my pen hard, and write spirals into my special idea journal, pretty symbolic of how I feel right now. My mind runs in circles as Professor Hanks continues.

“I can tell you this, though. For all the research that’s out there, nobody really fucking knows what the ingredients are to true love and a happy marriage, happy life. I met a couple, lovely couple who celebrated their fiftieth anniversary just this past weekend. I wanted to ask him his secret. But I didn’t get that chance.”

The class is so silent listening to Professor Hanks, you could hear a pin drop. And then the doors swing open.

It’s my fucking Mom.

She walks in, flanked by a couple of security guards.

“Professor Hanks,” she drawls. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me. I hate to make this so dramatic, but you’re under the jurisdiction of the Blackwell U Justice Console now. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

The jaws of all the students in the room drop. Everyone’s but mine. Although I am a bit surprised at the dramatic entrance, I saw this coming.

“Seriously?” Professor Hanks barks back. “This is what it’s come to. I’ve got thirty damn minutes left in my last day of classes.”

My mom nods, and makes a come hither motion to Professor Hanks.

“Like I was saying, guys,” he says to the class. “Academia is so far up their own ass at this own point, they’ve grown afraid of confronting any truth they deem uncomfortable. Naturally, any aberation in the realm of sexualty is at the top of their hit list. Like a Professor who hooks up with a student. You know what I really think? I think they should take a look in the damn mirror.” He shoots a look so deadly at my mom, I begin to think maybe--just maybe--he isn’t totally full of shit.

But then I remember my mom’s words this weekend as she talked me off the ledge.

Professor Hanks is a professional actor, honey.

I can’t trust him worth a damn any more, and it’s a damn shame.

The security guards walk up to Professor Hanks. He puts his hands up.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go peacefully. Fine. Class is dismissed.”

Our eyes catch as Cole gets ushered out the door.

The class sits in their desks, stunned at what they’ve just witnessed: their favorite professor being dragged out based on sexual harassment charges.

And it’s all my fault.

* * *

I lean back in the chair in the Blackwell University mental health building as the therapist begins.

“I want you to know, Rose, that this is a safe space. You can tell me anything here.”

“Okay,” I say, staring up at the ceiling.

“So tell me, how did the abuse begin?”

I sit up. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been abused by a Professor, Rose. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.”

I close my eyes. My mind flashes to Liz’s townie boyfriend from freshmen year, who would hit her. “Listen, I know what you’re trying to do, but I actually take offense to that term. Professor Hanks didn’t abuse me at all. I’ve had friends who have been through actual abuse, and I think you are really abusing that term.”

Shit. Bad pun. That was not a funny joke.

She scoffs. “Listen, Rose, you might not have known it at the time, but you were abused. He had a position of power over you and he took advantage of that.”

I take a deep breath. “Okay, that's where you're wrong. It was my idea.”

She furrows her brow. “It was your idea? What, exactly, was your idea?”

“All of it. I begged Professor Hanks to sleep with me. First, he said no, actually. He told me to get the fuck out of his office, and that he wouldn’t sleep with a student in a million years.”

“Tell me more,” she says, taking out her notepad.

“But I want to be a sex therapist someday. And earlier this summer I realized I had a problem if I wanted to take that career goal seriously. I’d never had sex. I had no experience at all. Well, unless you count the half-hearted blow job I gave Brandon that one night.”

She scribbles furiously. “Okay. Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I shrug. “Yeah, so I decided since Professor Hanks wouldn’t have sex with me, I was going to just walk into the Watering Hole and hook up with someone. I don’t know, I was feeling crazy that night. I just might have done it. But Professor Hanks happened to be there that night, and he agreed to help me after I pretty much begged him. I was pretty happy about the whole thing. I just can’t believe he turned out to be such a dick.”

I tighten a little when I say the last words, and I think about how our thing was just too good to be true.

“Good. How was he a dick, as you say?”

“This is confidential, right?” I squirm a little in my seat.

“Yes, of course. You can say anything here, and I’m bound by the law not to repeat it.”

“Okay. Well, I think he was banging my mom.”

Her eyes bulge out of her head. “Excuse me?”

I sigh. I’m so past the point of giving a shit. I don’t care who knows what anymore. I want the world to know what a dick Professor Hanks is.

“You heard me.”

“That is quite the tale.”

“Only in Blackwell.”

“Only in Blackwell,” she confirms, and I know she feels my struggle.

I sink into my chair and let out a sad moan. “I just feel so damn foolish,” I say. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

For just a minute, I remember the good times. What it was like to have Cole underneath me. On top of me. How wet he could make me by just the sound of his voice, or by a single command.

“Still, I don’t like all this about how it’s ‘Professor Hanks’ fault. It’s just not true. I don’t think he should be punished.”

She leans forward. “Honey, you’ll understand some day how you’re wrong. For now, just know that Professor Hanks won’t be teaching here anymore.”

Cole was right about one thing. He did ruin me.

He introduced me to pleasure I’d never known--and might not ever know again.

It’s all a lie, though.

“So switching gears here, tell me about your childhood,” the therapist says.

Oh boy. She’s in for a doozy.

“Where do you want me to start?”

* * *

Later in the week, I’m picking my grandparents up from their home to bring them to the first Blackwell University football game of the year. It’s our little version of Friday Night Lights, although the game won’t be televised or anything like that.

Our team usually isn’t all that great, since we have such a small school, but this year we apparently have a chance at winning the conference.

“Thanks for getting us, dearie!” My grandmother says as I greet her at the door. She’s all done up in her Friday best. Some small towns go nuts for high school football. In Blackwell, we love our college football, since so much of the town works for the university.

“Where’s your date?” I joke.

“Oh, he’s running late. Like always!” she yells into their assisted living apartment. She’s got a smile on her face, and it makes me grin, too. “What about you? No date?”

I shake my head. She doesn’t need to know about all of the details that are currently making the rounds in far too many circles.

“No date for me,” I say as Grandpa appears at the door, dressed in a suit, and takes her arm. They walk together to the car, I open the back door, and let them inside.

I start the car up.

“Well that’s a shame,” Grandma continues. “Who is that nice young man who is new in town. Jamie!” she calls to her husband. “Who is the one who came to visit us today? What’s his name?”

I pull onto the road, and I can’t help but smile a little at how my grandma is the only one who has ever been able to call my grandpa anything other than his full name, James.

“Of course. The one who brought us a nice lunch and was asking us about how we were so happy after all these years. What a riot he is. Let me think...I know he’s that Harvard boy. Rosey, maybe you know him.”

I clench the wheel, my heart beating like a bass drum. There’s only ever been one Harvard boy who made it back to Blackwell. And of course I know who it is.

“Cole Hanks stopped by your place?” I ask.

“Yes. What a smart, nice young man. It was quite a surprise. He said he was doing a survey about couples who are happy long term in their relationships. So we told him all about how we met and what our secret sauce is.” I see her smile and wink in the rear view mirror.

“What is the secret sauce?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Forgiveness,” Grandma says.

Not the answer I was expecting.

The rest of the ride is silent. When we arrive to the football field, I help them out of the car and we walk together toward the ticket booth.

“Three please,” I say. The ticket booth guy seems like he’s looking through me, not at me.

“Are you with them?” he points behind me, to my grandparents.

They are locked in a kiss like a couple of high schoolers. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

“I can’t make them pay,” he says. “And while I’m at it, I might as well give this one to you on the house as well.”

He hands me three tickets, which I gratefully take. I’ve got one more semester in college, and although tuition is free, I’ve never been more desperate to fill up my “Get out of Blackwell” fund.

I let my grandparents lead the way into the first Blackwell game of the season.

Watching them, I can’t help but think of the random fantasy I had this summer--that Cole and I might grow old together like them.

How wrong I was about him. My heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of my stomach, knowing I’ll never have love like them.