Chapter Text
Belle French sat in the chair in front of her academic advisor, repeatedly digging one of her fingernails into the side of another. It was a nervous habit that she had acquired when she was younger, one her boyfriend had tried getting her out of for years. If anything, his habits always made the urge stronger. It always popped up when she was severely stressed. In this case, it was enrolling into this semester’s classes, something she had put off for one reason or another. She inwardly sighed as she reminded herself that this was going to be her last semester in college, one last semester of dealing with at least this chapter in her life.
Blue eyes peered over the top of the computer screen, concern etched on the professor’s face. Dr. Archibald Hopper pushed the frames of his glasses further up his nose before he spoke. “That’s only nine hours.”
Belle frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, it says here that you’re enrolled in three classes. That’s nine credit hours. You need a minimum of twelve credit hours to be considered a full-time student.”
“How can that be possible?” she demanded. “I applied to four classes two days ago!”
“It seems as though your Ancient History class,” he stated without flinching, “is the one that dropped you. Dr. Vincent tends to be strict when it comes to how many students are in her classes. If it’s not right at fifty people, she crosses off the excess.” Dr. Hopper gave a small smile. “I could always force-add you if you’re dead-set on it, though.”
“No,” Belle sighed, “don’t bother.”
“So do you want to keep your schedule as-is and be considered part-time?”
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather be a full-time student.” That way, her graduation wouldn’t be postponed another semester. Sure, she could take a three-credit class during the next semester, but it all needed to be done now. The less stress she had to deal with, the better.
The young professor hummed in noncommittal agreement, his gaze back to his computer screen and his fingers flying over the keyboard. There was something she liked about Archie Hopper: he never dug for any more information than he was given. He had the temperament of a psychologist, and he would have been a great one if his doctorate degrees in psychology were any indication.
A shout of surprise broke Belle out of her thoughts, and she bit back a sharp yelp as her eyes flew back to her advisor’s, excitement and trepidation rolling into one ball in the pit of her stomach. “What did you find?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!” he murmured under his breath, his eyes wide as his hand gripped his computer’s mouse.
“What?”
“A psychology class!”
The young woman’s brow furrowed. “What about it?”
“I could enroll you in this psychology class! Granted, it’s the last one open, and we need to snag it before someone else does.”
“Sounds great!” she enthused.
This only made the professor happier as he typed the call numbers into the system. “Now, you don’t need to have other psychology classes as a prerequisite. All you need is a brilliant mind and a will to learn. And the course materials, of course.”
That was a no-brainer. Any student caught in class without the required texts usually had the entire class listening to a forty-five minute lecture about being prepared. It was enough to make the dedicated ones want to pull their hair out. Belle would usually take this opportunity to pull out a book and read, but something told her most professors would take that as an insult.
The office door suddenly swung open with a bang, the sound followed by a man limping in unannounced. The knuckles gripping the golden handle of his cane were pale white, a testament to the fury that wafted off of him like a sorority girl’s perfume. “It’s going to take weeks to scrub that Sharpie marker off of my white board! If I ever find the insolent brat who thinks this is a good idea for a prank, I swear, Hopper, I will emotionally scar them so much that your pathetic excuse for counseling sessions won’t even make a dent.”
“Um…” Hopper began, “I’m with a student right now.”
Cold brown eyes that reminded Belle of chocolate left in a fridge overnight shifted from her head to her toes, an action that made her blush in self-consciousness. The man’s face then shifted into even worse of a sneer than before, a huff of indignation passing through his lips. “Schedule another appointment. It can wait.”
“Actually, it can’t. Today’s the last day to register for classes.”
The man looked from advisor to student and back again. A finger tapped on the handle of his cane in impatience until he finally swung away. “Fine,” he grumbled as he limped out the door. “I’ll see if I can catch you at a later time.” The door slammed so hard, Belle was surprised the small glass window didn’t shatter.
“Geez,” she huffed. “Would it kill him to smile?”
Dr. Hopper laughed. “That’s what people say. But he’s a good guy once you get to know him.”
Which was obviously code for, “You’ll get used to him being an asshole.” But considering how most men were assholes anyway, this wouldn’t be too much harder to deal with. Besides, it’s not like she was ever going to run into the bitter old man ever again.