Ada shifted anxiously in her seat as a thick, gingery ringlet of her hair escaped the tight French braid next to her temple. Rays of lingering afternoon sunlight caught in the coil of hair, reating a ring of golden fire that bounced out of the corner of her eye with every movement. It was the first day of her senior year in college, and Ada did not expect a warm welcome—having always been dubbed the odd one out. Sure enough, today was no different.

Thinking back to previous years of school when she was often the butt of jokes and prank fodder, she knew it would be another year of failing to make friends. Her anxiety began to make her face flush. In an effort to deal with the nervous energy, she shuffled her notebooks and binders around in her bag again. As she rummaged through her books, time slowed down. The metal leg of her chair felt like ice as her hand brushed against it. She heard her thick braid rustle against her black jogging suit as it fell forward. Then she felt it. Someone was looking at her. She physically felt someone’s eyes boring into her back.

Here it comes. A bad joke from a classmate and another over-sensitive-psycho moment from me, complete with a slow-mo effect. Because, you know, everyone has one of those moments on the first day of class!

Her mind was quick to condemn these moments after years of bizarre time slow occurrences. She still hadn’t learned why they happened, what they meant, or how they could be useful—if she could control them. They had plagued her childhood, along with other unusual things including strange dreams and premonitions.

Ada’s grandmother Della attributed it to the loss of her parents when she was a small girl. However, she had met other orphaned children in her group grief counseling sessions, and no one mentioned anything of the sort happening to them.

Movement caught her eye, and she turned her head in time to catch the professor closing the classroom door about ten feet from her desk. He stopped dead in his tracks with his hand still on the doorknob, staring directly into her eyes. His gaze lasted a little too long. She broke eye contact with him, straightened her back, and shifted her gaze to the front of the room. It seemed like he felt that time had slowed for her. His eyes bore into hers. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Maybe it was just my hair gleaming in the sunlight. It does take people off guard. Rationalizing the moment did little to shake the feeling that something was off about her professor.

She felt time slow further to a snail’s pace. As her braid swung back into place, it sounded and felt like bristling fields of wheat swaying in the wind. She felt the heat rising again in her cheeks. The sun felt like a laser beam behind her, and a trickle of sweat—induced by her rapidly rising panic—slid down the small of her back. She heard the hand on the clock above the whiteboard tick with deafening finality. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Stare straight ahead, Ada, like a good pupil. Don’t let on that you’re the psycho who thinks she can hear her own hair. Chin up.

She exhaled, blowing a few stray curls out of her face. Just at that moment she felt an unexpectedly warm hand on her shoulder, and a calming sensation instantly washed over her brittle nerves. She turned and met the professor’s piercing brown eyes.

At close range, she realized his eyes were a shade too light, a warm caramel as opposed to the mahogany brown she expected. They were round and soulful. They seemed to speak without a voice. His hair was wiry, cut short, and was salt-and-pepper colored. His face was creased with wisdom. She felt like she knew him already, which was bizarre because she’d never taken any of his classes.

Ada was still a little taken aback by his soul-piercing gaze, so she looked away from him and down at her notepad. After he placed his hand on her shoulder, time began to march forward again, and she felt relief wash over her fragile psyche. The professor addressed the class, with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Let young Miss Ada here be our exemplar and Luminary in class. She has already ordered and reordered her color-coded notebooks three times and rearranged her pencils according to size.”

The professor seemed to be jittery and nervous as he finished speaking. What would he have to be nervous about? I’m the one having a mental breakdown over the sound of my own hair!

Raucous, booming laughter escaped the smallish man beside her as the entire class turned around to gawk at her. She felt thirty pairs of judging eyes on her and her unruly hair, which was now beginning to escape the tight braid in earnest. Her cheeks flushed from pink to crimson. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. The professor’s voice boomed again, distracting her from the hot tears she felt welling up in her round brown eyes.

“If you were to look in my desk, it looks like an angry toddler rifled through the whole thing, and he brought his best toddler buddy to have a second go at it.”

Laughter broke out slowly, and the students began to loosen up. He bent over and looked into Ada’s eyes one more time for good measure. He patted her shoulder before finally letting go, then began walking to the whiteboard.

Ada noticed that he moved with the grace of a much younger man. His walk was peculiarly silent, and she felt her eyes shift down to look at his shoes. She recognized the pebbly grain of bison leather on his loafers. They were heavily worn and beginning to fray—the mark of a man who lived frugally. He reached the front of the room and turned to face the students with a flourish of his hand which Ada would almost describe as giddy—although the giddiness was tempered by wisdom.

Ada shifted anxiously in her seat as a thick, gingery ringlet of her hair escaped the tight French braid next to her temple. Rays of lingering afternoon sunlight caught in the coil of hair, reating a ring of golden fire that bounced out of the corner of her eye with every movement. It was the first day of her senior year in college, and Ada did not expect a warm welcome—having always been dubbed the odd one out. Sure enough, today was no different.

Thinking back to previous years of school when she was often the butt of jokes and prank fodder, she knew it would be another year of failing to make friends. Her anxiety began to make her face flush. In an effort to deal with the nervous energy, she shuffled her notebooks and binders around in her bag again. As she rummaged through her books, time slowed down. The metal leg of her chair felt like ice as her hand brushed against it. She heard her thick braid rustle against her black jogging suit as it fell forward. Then she felt it. Someone was looking at her. She physically felt someone’s eyes boring into her back.

Here it comes. A bad joke from a classmate and another over-sensitive-psycho moment from me, complete with a slow-mo effect. Because, you know, everyone has one of those moments on the first day of class!

Her mind was quick to condemn these moments after years of bizarre time slow occurrences. She still hadn’t learned why they happened, what they meant, or how they could be useful—if she could control them. They had plagued her childhood, along with other unusual things including strange dreams and premonitions.

Ada’s grandmother Della attributed it to the loss of her parents when she was a small girl. However, she had met other orphaned children in her group grief counseling sessions, and no one mentioned anything of the sort happening to them.

Movement caught her eye, and she turned her head in time to catch the professor closing the classroom door about ten feet from her desk. He stopped dead in his tracks with his hand still on the doorknob, staring directly into her eyes. His gaze lasted a little too long. She broke eye contact with him, straightened her back, and shifted her gaze to the front of the room. It seemed like he felt that time had slowed for her. His eyes bore into hers. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Maybe it was just my hair gleaming in the sunlight. It does take people off guard. Rationalizing the moment did little to shake the feeling that something was off about her professor.

She felt time slow further to a snail’s pace. As her braid swung back into place, it sounded and felt like bristling fields of wheat swaying in the wind. She felt the heat rising again in her cheeks. The sun felt like a laser beam behind her, and a trickle of sweat—induced by her rapidly rising panic—slid down the small of her back. She heard the hand on the clock above the whiteboard tick with deafening finality. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

Stare straight ahead, Ada, like a good pupil. Don’t let on that you’re the psycho who thinks she can hear her own hair. Chin up.

She exhaled, blowing a few stray curls out of her face. Just at that moment she felt an unexpectedly warm hand on her shoulder, and a calming sensation instantly washed over her brittle nerves. She turned and met the professor’s piercing brown eyes.

At close range, she realized his eyes were a shade too light, a warm caramel as opposed to the mahogany brown she expected. They were round and soulful. They seemed to speak without a voice. His hair was wiry, cut short, and was salt-and-pepper colored. His face was creased with wisdom. She felt like she knew him already, which was bizarre because she’d never taken any of his classes.

Ada was still a little taken aback by his soul-piercing gaze, so she looked away from him and down at her notepad. After he placed his hand on her shoulder, time began to march forward again, and she felt relief wash over her fragile psyche. The professor addressed the class, with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Let young Miss Ada here be our exemplar and Luminary in class. She has already ordered and reordered her color-coded notebooks three times and rearranged her pencils according to size.”

The professor seemed to be jittery and nervous as he finished speaking. What would he have to be nervous about? I’m the one having a mental breakdown over the sound of my own hair!

Raucous, booming laughter escaped the smallish man beside her as the entire class turned around to gawk at her. She felt thirty pairs of judging eyes on her and her unruly hair, which was now beginning to escape the tight braid in earnest. Her cheeks flushed from pink to crimson. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. The professor’s voice boomed again, distracting her from the hot tears she felt welling up in her round brown eyes.

“If you were to look in my desk, it looks like an angry toddler rifled through the whole thing, and he brought his best toddler buddy to have a second go at it.”

Laughter broke out slowly, and the students began to loosen up. He bent over and looked into Ada’s eyes one more time for good measure. He patted her shoulder before finally letting go, then began walking to the whiteboard.

Ada noticed that he moved with the grace of a much younger man. His walk was peculiarly silent, and she felt her eyes shift down to look at his shoes. She recognized the pebbly grain of bison leather on his loafers. They were heavily worn and beginning to fray—the mark of a man who lived frugally. He reached the front of the room and turned to face the students with a flourish of his hand which Ada would almost describe as giddy—although the giddiness was tempered by wisdom.