***A/N Hey guys. Will be posting another chapter of Obsessed either today or tomorrow, but wanted to put this up as well.

Notes:

This is AU. Something I've never done before, but I'm excited about it.

Note: There are no vampires in this fic… Yep, both Tara and Pam are human in this.

Some might interpret the two of them as OOC in this fic, but I see it as focusing on certain aspects of their personalities more. Tara in particular I imagine as a very quiet tomboy. I also envision her looking how Rutina did in "How She Move." I can't post images on here, but I would type in the title and go to google images because it will really help to see what I'm referring to.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter. I used a description from a course booklet from my alma mater in here, just wanted to state that so I gave them credit.

I don't want to give too much exposition here; things will be clarified with each chapter. Please let me know your thoughts. I hope I'm not crazy…***

"Hi everyone. Welcome to L-335, Victorian Literature. I am Professor Beaufort, but please feel free to call me Pam."

She was dressed in Diane Von Furstenberg. She had on a cream colored Menaro top, a scarlet Jill belt, and a black Maryland skirt that just reached her knees. Her hair was down: sleek, golden, and falling to her mid-back, curled under at the ends. Her expression was a paradox. She seemed warm and genial, yet at the same time also appeared stern and closed off. She gave off a vibe that warned never to cross her, yet at the same time her eyes expressed the idea that she could start crying at a moment's notice, that there was a deep sensitivity and delicateness just under the surface.

Before she had started speaking, she had gazed around the room, tentatively taking in her future students. She had learned to not make assumptions on the first day of class. Looks were deceiving. And she also knew that after she explained the structure and content of the class, several would drop the course as soon as she dismissed them.

The room wasn't large; this was an advanced level course, and was notoriously unpopular due to the reading load that came with the class. The students were scattered haphazardly around the lecture hall. Pam noted a group of basketball players sitting together, in the first row surprisingly. They were in baggy jeans and sweatpants, and one of them in particular seemed unnaturally attentive. What she didn't realize though, is that every time she turned around, he would scan the entire length of her body, eyeing her toned calves and then glancing up with a smirk to admire the way her skirt hugged her hips and behind.

One girl with stick straight blonde hair sat in the second row with erect posture and a notebook and pencil gripped tightly in her hand. Pam recognized her from one of the other courses she taught. She was a diligent student, but her points were almost always laughably ridiculous. It was clear she had grown up in a sheltered, isolated environment where she had been assured that every opinion she had was brilliant and golden.

The rest all seemed to blend together. It was the same sort of lazy, entitled students that seemed to continually grace her classroom and the university in general.

There was one girl who stood out though. She had been one of the earliest to arrive, and she sat in a corner near the back. She hadn't once interacted with any of the other students; she had been intently reading a book that she never looked up from once until Pam began to speak. She had rich, dark skin and long braided hair that was swept back into a low ponytail.

Pam's classes were never very diverse, nor was the school itself, so even having one student of color was a noted rarity. The girl had a blue and white baseball cap on, slightly askew and pulled down to the middle of her brow. She wore blue jeans and a loose white cotton t-shirt. She leaned back in her seat, her legs in a wide stance. She looked off to the side, but Pam could tell that she was listening.

"So before I go over the syllabus, I will tell you all a little bit about myself. I've been teaching for over 15 years, including 5 here at Baitz University. I also teach L-380, Literary Modernism and W-401, Advanced Fiction Writing, and I recognize a few of you from them. Good to see you again."

XXX

Tara sat in the back, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. That was the strategy she adopted when it came to this school. The people were all irritating, or they were ignorant, and often they were both. Tara was way too good for this place, but she was much too modest to flaunt that. She kept to herself, which some interpreted as arrogance. She stayed quiet in class, which some interpreted as stupidity. Some classes she didn't even bother attending because she wasn't learning anything; she did just as well turning in her papers and exams through reading the material on her own. She had little hope for this class, dubious that she would get something meaningful out of it. But she tried to sit there without judgment or too much resistance.

She finally looked up at the teacher. She listened to her speak, and as she did she realized there was something different about her. She seemed to actually… care about her job. Perhaps that was it.

She was also really beautiful.

Tara realized that once she started looking at her, she couldn't look away. The woman was intriguing, but she couldn't put her finger on why exactly this was so.

When their eyes finally met, Tara was surprised at how long the woman held her gaze. They looked at one another with a curiosity and surprising openness. Tara blinked and eventually looked away.

Pam cleared her throat and continued speaking, informing the class of when her office hours were. The acoustics of the room left much to be desired. The air was dry and her voice sounded dull and muted as it left her lips and sunk immediately into the walls.

"There will be four papers assigned over the course of the semester that comprise 50% of your grade. There are no exams, but there will be short quizzes over each of the novels. If you've read the book, you have nothing to worry about. 40% of your grade comes from participation. This is a discussion-based class, so it is crucial that you contribute to the class dialogue. I don't take attendance but I do note how often each of you speak. I don't like to call on you and force you to speak, so please make sure you're familiar with the material and bring questions and comments to each class."

Tara heard this and knew she wouldn't be able to do what she so often did: skip the entire semester yet ace the course anyway. Little did she know, though, that even without this policy, she had already decided a few minutes ago that she would be attending every class anyway.

The professor began to go over the syllabus, and Tara watched the way she presented herself. She looked at how she gestured with her hands, and how her voice increased slightly in volume when she spoke about things she was particularly passionate about.

"Accused of denying his characters any semblance of 'psychology,' Charles Dickens is often considered a writer whose sympathies lay with the stage. Antic and theatrical in nature, his characters, it is said, have had their insides turned out: in names externalizing moral character, in outrageous behaviors and actions, speech tics, maladies, and other physical manifestations of an inner life on outward display.

Yet it is also said of the nineteenth-century novel that it moves us further and further 'inward,' away from theatre's visible spectacles and into the mind, individual feeling and perception, and the inner lives of people who spend their time thinking—and, often, not much else. In this class, we will explore how literary characters think, looking at portrayals of mind in nineteenth-century, mostly Victorian, British writing. We will be interested in the way this material portrays, or invokes, theories of mind, cognition, mental perception, and the imagination, including the mental effort required for imaginative sympathy. Course requirements include, of course, a serious commitment to reading many pages of writing. Are there any questions?"

One of the athletes in the first row raised his hand. "What will the format of the quizzes be?" he asked.

"The quizzes will contain both multiple choice and short answer," Pam replied.

She turned around for a moment to check something on her desk, and one of the guys jabbed the other with his elbow and whispered something in his ear. They cracked up, and Tara glared at them from a distance.

"I know that today is a stressful day, that you are all busy solidifying your schedules, so I'm going to let you go early. If you are on the wait-list, please come speak to me and we'll try and work something out. I'll hopefully see you all again on Wednesday. Have a wonderful day."

Students began to stand up and exit in a bustle. Tara reached into her bag for her bookmark that she seemed to have misplaced. One of her quirks was that she never dog-eared pages, even if she owned the books herself, so she searched vigilantly for it inside her bag. She finally found it and slipped it inside her book, and as she stood up she realized that all the other students were gone. She gathered her things and walked down the line of chairs towards the door. As she was leaving, she saw that the teacher was looking at her.

"What's that you're reading?" the woman asked.

Tara stopped and turned to face her completely.

"I saw you reading it before class began," Pam continued, gazing at her with welcoming eyes.

Tara paused for a moment. "Native Son," she murmured. She was already soft spoken, but for some reason she felt exponentially shyer as she stood there before her.

"Richard Wright," Pam answered with a small smile.

Tara nodded, and the two locked eyes again.

"I've read it before…" Tara stated, breaking their eye contact and staring at the floor, unsure of why she felt the need to state that.

"I think it's one of the most important pieces of literature of the 20th century," Pam responded.

Tara looked back at Pam. She felt guilty for assuming she wouldn't know the work, or at least have a full appreciation for it. It's not like it was unknown; she had just developed such preconceived notions of the professors here, and of the people in South Carolina in general.

"I'm sorry, I didn't even ask your name," Pam added.

"Um… Tara," she replied quietly.

Pam smiled timidly. "Hi Tara. It's nice to meet you."

Their eyes met again, and this time Tara's lingered a little too long. She accidentally let them travel down the woman's body and she swallowed.

"Well I hope to see you again, Tara," Pam affirmed. "In class," she clarified unnecessarily.

"Yeah," Tara breathed. "Nice meeting you."

Pam watched as she turned to leave. Maybe there was something to look forward to this semester after all.