Breathe, I tell myself, even as panic begins to rise in my chest.

I'm late, and I hate being late. If there's anything I'm really good at, it's following the rules – and a class starting time is definitely a rule to be followed.

I try to swallow the burning sensation in my throat, but it doesn't work. Looking down at my map of the campus, I attempt to decipher where I am in relation to the English department. The building is supposed to be next to the politics building, but I can't seem to find that one either.

It doesn't help matters any that this college campus is larger than the entire town of South Hollow – and it's set inside the biggest city I've ever been to, which makes it even more overwhelming.

I assume the campus is probably at least twenty times the population of South Hollow, too. Students pass me in every direction. They all look like they know where they're going and what they're doing, power-walking solo while scrolling through their phones or with headphones in their ears. Some are in pairs or groups, engrossed in conversations. I have no idea how everyone here seems to have already made friends since today is only the first day of classes. Everyone seems confident and competent and totally at ease here.

Meanwhile, I feel like I've wandered onto another planet. Coming from a small town like South Hollow where it feels like I've been sheltered from the whole world, this place feels more foreign than another country.

Of course, I wouldn't know what being in another country feels like, either. This is the farthest I've traveled away from home.

Even though I know that this city is nowhere near as large as some cities – like New York City – it still feels gigantic to me. People here move with purpose. This isn't like South Hollow at all, where everyone moves at a leisurely pace, like they have all the time in the world. There, you can't pass someone on the sidewalk without stopping to say, "Hello," and, "How's your mother doing," and, "I'm sorry to hear about your father passing."

Here, no one makes eye contact at all.

I should be rushing to class right now. It starts in fifteen minutes, after all. Instead, I stop right here in the middle of everything.

I feel lost – in more ways than just my sense of direction. I feel overwhelmed and small. A little voice inside nags at me that I shouldn't be here, that I don't belong in this place. I'm a hick girl from a hick town, and I'm not smart enough to even find my stupid class, let alone actually participate in one.

I blink back the tears that well up in my eyes. How immature is it to cry because I can't find my class, anyway? Turning right, I head down the sidewalk, stopping abruptly when I realize I'm at the end of campus, on the side where it butts up against the rest of the city.

How could I have gotten so turned around? I'm never going to make it to class. The worst part of this is that it's his class.

Mr. Gabe's.

Professor Ryan, I correct myself. He's not Mr. Gabe anymore.

And I'm not a child, even if right now I might feel like one.

Even if right now I feel completely out of my element and want nothing more than to run back home to South Hollow, a place I've been longing to run away from since I was twelve.

The thought of returning to South Hollow makes me want to burst into tears. I'm about to do just that when a tiny furry face peers up at me. The scruffy toy terrier lets out an equally miniature bark before going back to sniffing around my shoes and staring up expectantly at me again.

Bending down, I scratch behind his ears before looking around for his owner. The dog is wearing a leopard print collar and he's obviously well-groomed, but I don't see his owner – or even a nametag. "Who do you belong to, little guy? What's your name?"

"Benson," a gruff voice calls from a nearby sidewalk bench. "Leave the girl alone."

"He's no bother," I reply as the dog gives me a little tail wag and another not-ferocious bark. I let out a little sigh as I pet him again. I'm late for class, yet I'm standing here petting a dog and trying not to sob.

I'm real grown-up, that's for sure.

The old man sitting on the bench looks at me askance. "Scratch him behind the ear like that and he's going to follow you home."

"I wish I could keep him," I say wistfully. "As adorable as he is, I'm living in the dorm, and I think they tend to frown on dogs in the dorm rooms."

"First day?" the old man asks before his gaze drops back to the bench. A chessboard is balanced on the seat, but no one's playing the game with him. He moves a piece anyway.

"Is it that obvious?" I ask.

Suddenly, a student crosses the busy street and pauses briefly in front of the bench. He peers over the board without even stopping to remove his headphones, looking at the pieces intently before making a move. Then he fist-bumps the old man. "Morning, Bert," he says before spinning around and walking off in the direction of campus.

"It's written all over you," the old man says, chuckling as he looks down at the board. "You look like Dorothy showing up for the first time in Oz."

"I've never seen it," I admit, then immediately regret the disclosure when the old man gives me a wide-eyed stare.

"You've never seen The Wizard of Oz?" he asks, shaking his head and making a clucking sound with his tongue. "You kids these days. You've never seen any of the classics, have you?"

My cheeks warm. "I know what it is," I stammer. "I mean, I've heard of it, I just wasn't ever allowed to –"

"Allowed??" he interrupts.

I stop short because I'm two seconds away from explaining that I wasn't permitted to watch the movie because it had a witch in it, so my father was convinced it was the work of the Devil. But that just sounds insane, and if I say that aloud, this stranger is going to think I just moved here from the mental hospital and not from a small town. So, instead, I clear my throat. "Actually, I'm a little bit lost."

"Well, I gathered that much," he says. "And you're not a city girl, either, that’s for sure."

I slide my palms down my skirt, trying to distract myself from my embarrassment. I chose the least conservative outfit in my suitcase for the first day of school, but clearly, even this dress screams: I don't belong here. "No, I'm not a city girl," I admit.

"Well, now, that's not a bad thing," he says, his brow furrowed as he focuses on the chess game.

Chess is something I happen to know a little bit about. My father might not have permitted me to play video games, watch television, or listen to current music, but he did teach me to play chess. He considered it an "appropriate game". So, even though I'm late and should be hightailing it in the opposite direction right now (or whatever direction the English department is located), I can't help myself.

I lean over the bench and move the knight. When Bert looks up at me, I bite my lip, feeling rather sheepish. "I mean, I don't know what I'm doing, really," I lie. "I'm not trying to interrupt your game or anything. I need to find my way to class."

I whirl around to leave before the old man can yell at me for moving a piece on his chessboard.

But he doesn't yell. Instead, he calls out at me. "Hey, Dorothy! Where are you trying to get to?"

When I turn back around, Benson runs up to me again, darting around my feet and getting tangled up in the bottom of my skirt. He rolls onto his back, pawing and growling at the material that's obviously trying to attack him. "I'm trying to find the English department."

"Go straight back the way you came until you see the courtyard with the large fountain in the middle. Take a left and it'll be the second red brick building on your right side."

I glance at my watch, letting out a groan. It's ten o'clock right now, which means that as of this moment, I'm officially late for my very first class as a college student.

Way to be responsible, Purity.

"You'll only be five minutes late," Bert notes, engrossed in his game again. "Don't stress so much. Whose class is it?"

"Professor Ryan's," I say, cupping Bert's squirmy little terrier and bringing the tiny dog back to his owner. I set him on the bench beside Bert and give the dog a little pat on the head.

He gives me an appraising look. I wonder what he's thinking, because he's clearly thinking something. But he only nods and tells me, "You'd better get along, then."

I look down at his board. He countered with a move of his queen, so I reach down and move my bishop, suddenly feeling confident and a little bit impudent. Then I turn to leave. "Thanks for the directions," I call over my shoulder.

He laughs. "Off you go. Just follow the Yellow Brick Road, Dorothy."

* * *

When I reach the classroom, I have to pause for a second outside of the door to catch my breath. I glance at my watch. Bert was right; it's five minutes exactly from the sidewalk to the classroom.

Now, if I can just sneak in undetected and slip into a seat in the back or something, I'll be golden.

I pull open the door which, as my luck would have it, can't possibly open quietly. No, this door has to be the loudest door on God's green Earth. Apparently, it hasn't been oiled for the last twenty years, because it emits an absolutely ear-piercing creak as I pull on it.

That leaves me standing just inside of the classroom as the squeaky door creaks shut behind me, somehow managing to sound even louder as it closes.

My hopes of sneaking into the classroom undetected go crashing to the ground as I freeze. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at me, unblinking.

Oh, crap.

I thought college courses were supposed to be huge. When I thought about this class, I envisioned an auditorium of several hundred students, some of whom would inevitably be running late for the first day of class, like me. But this is definitely not an auditorium – or hundreds of students.

This is a small classroom with walls lined with chalkboards and two rows of wooden armchairs set up in a semicircle that face a large wooden table and a massive white dry erase board.

And, sitting on that table, is him.

My heart stops beating. I cease breathing. The world stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

Okay, maybe none of those clichéd responses actually happen, but they sure feel like it as he turns to look at me. He doesn't just give me a glance over his shoulder either; he keeps his hands on the desk for leverage and slowly turns his body to look at me.

When his eyes meet mine, the color drains from his face.

For some reason, I'm more embarrassed by his reaction to me than I am to my current public humiliation. A flush of warmth rises through my body, moving across my chest to my neck and all the way to my face where I'm certain it's turned my cheeks scarlet.

If only the heat I'm feeling right now was solely due to embarrassment.

It's not. Disturbingly, I become acutely aware of another kind of heat that pools between my legs as my gaze meets his. For a moment, his stare is penetrating, warming me to my core.

Just as quickly, he turns away, looking down at the notes on his lap. He pulls the top page from the pile and shuffles it to the back. "Ms. Taylor, you're late. My class begins at ten a.m., not five minutes after ten."

"I – yes. I mean, I'm aware of that, sir," I stammer, my face warming to the point that my skin feels like it's on fire. Scanning the seats in front of me, I try to find an empty one. Of course, the only one left open – because I'm the only late student – is in the middle of the second row. There couldn't be a seat available on the end of the rows so that I could slip into it. That would be too easy. "I mean… um, ten a.m., yes… Mr. Gabe."

Mr. Gabe.

I'm stumbling over my words so horrifically that I don't even realize what I've said until after the words fall out of my mouth.

Oh, crap.

Maybe he didn't hear it.

Maybe no one heard it.

Maybe I didn't actually say it aloud. Maybe I only thought the words.

The silence in the room is deafening as I move toward the empty seat, deliberately avoiding the stares of the other students. As I slide into my chair, the girl sitting beside me titters softly. "Mr. Gabe," she says with a snicker.

Oh, no.

I'm going to vomit.

When I finally look up, Mr. Gabe is staring right at me. His gaze is direct and intense. For a second, it feels like the two of us are the only people in the room.

Forget the room.

It's like we're the only two people in the entire world right now.

And that tingle I felt before when I went to his office? It's spreading through my entire body until it feels like every part of me is more alert, more aware, more on edge than ever before.

I cross my legs, trying to suppress whatever this is that I'm feeling.

It can't be attraction.

It's not attraction.

I can't be attracted to Mr. Gabe. He's old enough to be my father.

He was my father's friend when I was a kid. I knew him when I was a kid.

He was also a total jerk when my father and I went to his office the other day.

But my heart pounds even faster in my chest, my body responding in a way that contradicts all sense of reason.

Finally, he speaks.

"It's Professor Ryan." Mr. Gabe's voice is icy. "Perhaps next time you'll be more prepared with the location of the class and the name of your professor, Ms. Taylor?"

I swallow hard. My stomach is in knots and I have to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to crawl under my desk right now and hide from all of the eyes I can feel turned on me.

Instead, I summon the strength to look directly at him. "I'll be more prepared next time," I tell him contritely. "Sir."

Next time, I'll be more prepared for all of this, not just the location of the class. I'll be more prepared for how he seems to affect me. I'll be more prepared for how the look he gave me sent a thrill rushing down my spine, all the way to the tips of my toes. I'll definitely be more prepared for how every part of me seems to be on edge when I'm near him.

Mr. Gabe looks at me for a long moment. "Well, then, I'll look forward to it, Ms. Taylor."