Private Lessons by Donna Hill Page A

Clarke.”
    â€œI’m in lecture hall A-12.” She thanked her again and headed down the corridor to her lecture hall.
    The first day of classes was always chaotic. Students and teachers invariably wound up in the wrong place, or large classes were placed in small classrooms and small classes would be up in the lecture halls. She smiled and silently prayed to the education gods that her first day would be as free from disaster as possible, although she’d already encountered her first glitch. Hopefully, that would be it.
    One highlight for her was that this semester she was teaching students who were in pursuit of their master’s degree. That alone made them committed and focused. She was looking forward to challenging them intellectually and learning from them as well.
    She turned the next corner and ran right into Frank Lewis.
    â€œNaomi,” he clasped her shoulders to settle her and then irreverently bussed her cheek as if they were really friends.
    â€œFrank.” She forced a smile. “Are you teaching this morning?”
    â€œYes, I am.” His eyes rolled up and down her body. “Good to see you, Naomi.”
    â€œHave a good day, Frank.” She hurried away, needing to get far away from him as quickly as possible. Her lecture hall was up ahead. She had about ten minutes before the students would start pouring in. That would give her time to get settled, sort through her handouts and quickly review her notes.
    She pulled open one of the double doors and stepped in. She took a long, deep breath to settle herself. That first moment of entering a classroom always filled her with a sense of overwhelming duty and obligation. She was responsible for all of the young men and women who sat before her. She had the power to impart wisdom, to change and open minds. It was not something that she took lightly.
    Slowly, she walked down the steps to the deskbelow and put her materials on top, and before she knew it her new crop of students began to filter in.
    Before long, the hundred-seat hall was more than halfway full and she began to wonder just how many more students she was going to have. She started to do a quick head count when her heart nearly stopped beating.
    At the top of the stairs, heading down, looking for a vacant seat was Brice. But it couldn’t be. That didn’t make any sense. She was obviously imagining things. She swallowed, blew out air between parted lips to calm herself down. They say that we all have a double. This was obviously Brice’s double. Yet, even declaring that to herself didn’t help the shaking to subside.
    Then he looked down and his eyes connected with hers. He stopped, frowned, took another step and stopped again, causing a young woman behind him to stumble into his back. When he turned to help her, Naomi took that instant to sit down, because she was certain that her knees were going to give out. She started shuffling papers on her desk. Her opening remarks had flown out of her head. Her fingers shook. The pulse pounding in her temples began to give her a blinding headache.
    This didn’t make sense. What was he doing here? She gripped the edge of the desk for support, and when she looked up the entire class was looking down at her, waiting for her to begin.
    Naomi swallowed over the dryness in her throat,slowly pushed herself to her feet and looked out onto the sea of expectant faces.
    "Good morning. Welcome to Atlanta College. This is a master's class in African-American studies and literature. I hope you all are in the right class." She forced herself to smile at the smattering of laughter. "I'm Dr. Naomi Clarke. My students call me Prof, Doc, whichever works for you." More laughter. She smiled again and lifted her chin, gaining comfort and assurance in her element. "Let's begin."

Chapter 9
    B rice sat through the forty-five-minute class in a stunned amazement that tap-danced between confusion and anger. At first he figured that the