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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Praise for Larry Hammersley and…

  Dedication

  Story

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Help Sessions

  by

  Larry Hammersley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Help Sessions

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Larry Hammersley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Vintage Rose Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-733-5

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Larry Hammersley and…

  BEAUTIFUL, INSIDE AND OUT: “A sweet college romance…perfect for anyone…a refreshing short story.”

  ~Stacey, Sizzling Hot Book Reviews (3 Hearts)

  “A quick read and fun from beginning to end…a wonderfully charming overall aura.”

  ~Snapdragon, Long and Short Reviews (3.5 Stars)

  END OF A STRING: “I thoroughly enjoyed...for a feel-good romance set in a simpler time.”

  ~Dandelion, Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Stars)

  “How love used to be before everything got so complicated....holds a special place in my heart.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  “The heart-lifting…experience of young love.”

  ~Kimber, Fallen Angel Reviews (3 Angels)

  TAKING ADVANTAGE: “A sweet romance… tremulous high school years and their relationships.”

  ~Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies (4 Blue Ribbons)

  “A simpler time in life where all the rules were so different.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  “A short, fun read that I really enjoyed!”

  ~Diana Coyle, Nightowl Romance Book (4 Hearts)

  “A heartwarming story...a must read.”

  ~Fran Lewis, WRDF (Fantastic; Stays on Shelf)

  “A comfortably familiar tale...filled to the brim with absolute charm...a real old-time love story.”

  ~Snapdragon, Long & Short Reviews (4 Books)

  LAB PARTNERS: “exciting and heartwarming ...intriguing and at times downright funny...a quick, feel-good read...one of his best.”

  ~Val, You Gotta Read Reviews (Need to Read)

  Dedication

  To Crystal Wilkinson,

  a friend, author, and writing professor.

  Her classes and critique have been invaluable.

  She believes in my writing.

  Roy Jensen needed help or his college life would be over. As a chemistry major he’d just pulled a D in organic chemistry and been subjected to a bruising lecture from his new advisor, who ripped into him with sarcasm and some poor advice.

  “Jensen, you ought to drop out before you’re dropped. Making anything below a B in chemistry is totally unacceptable for anyone planning a science career. You’re headed for Dr. Hunter’s physical chemistry class, according to this plan you set up at the beginning of the year, but there’s no way you’re capable of passing his class.”

  Those words rang in his ears. He wasn’t about to drop out now, going into the spring semester of his junior year.

  “Professor Baker, do you have the power to force me to drop out of chemistry into a simpler curriculum?”

  The answer he received shocked him. Or rather, it wasn’t so much the “No” answer as it was the string of profanity the professor used to emphasize the “No.”

  As Roy ventured into the brightly lit Union Building, he heard the theme song “Cheyenne, Cheyenne…” Somebody was settling down to watch the Western series on TV. Roy resisted the temptation to watch one of his favorite actors, Clint Walker, and kept his mind determinedly on his goal—finding Willie, the chemical engineering friend he’d sat next to in the physical chemistry lecture. He hoped to study with Willie and get help with the p-chem problems set. The Union had its study cubicles as well as the main room where the TV resided, myriad hallways, snack bars, administrative offices, and an occasional couple in the lounge sitting close, holding hands, staring at each other. As he watched a boy stroke his girl friend’s long brown hair and saw her close her eyes and sigh, he longed to find a wonderful woman who would go for him like that. But such a scenario could never be. Not here and now, anyway. No time for such pursuits, he chided himself. He must concentrate on his studies. He made his way through clusters of students as they talked, shared snacks and soft drinks, made their way to the TV room. Blanchard and Finnigan, the smartest guys in p-chem, were camped in one of the cubicles. They greeted his request to study with them with their usual arrogance, proclaiming, “Get lost, Jensen.” Well, Roy didn’t need their rotten attitude anyway.

  He was about to give up on finding Willie when he spotted the only two women in Doctor Hunter’s p-chem class. He knew better than to ask if he could join them, but maybe they knew Willie’s whereabouts.

  “Excuse me, ladies, do you know where...” Roy began, but the blonde with perfect wavy hair, painted red lips, and a distracting figure accented by her tight-fitting sweater, interrupted him.

  “Did you hear that, Heather? He called us ladies.” Heather, a tall slender redhead, adjusted her steel-rimmed glasses but remained focused on the p-chem problems set, not even looking up when Roy spoke. Her lips, full and sensual, remained curved downward.

  “I’m looking for Willie. He’s the chem E. who sits next to me in lecture. Short, unruly black hair, horn-rimmed glasses—”

  “And buck teeth. Yeah. I just saw him heading for the smart alecks, to join them.” The blonde pointed at the cubicle where Roy had just received his boot.

  “Oh.” That dashed his last hope for help on this problems set.

  The blonde held out her hand, smiling.

  “I’m Greta Pridemore, and this is Heather Kallin.” Roy took Greta’s hand, noting its softness and firm grip. Heather glanced up for a few seconds, then returned her attention to the paperwork in front of her. She ignored his offer of a handshake. Roy, disappointed, started to cast his name out.

  “I’m—” He didn’t have a chance to give his name. Greta interrupted him again.

  “Roy Jensen. Yes, we know. You’re the lab ace.” Greta beamed at him, glancing at the problems set clutched in his hand.

  “Well, I’m holding my own in lab, but I’m in big trouble with this.” Roy waved the papers, unable to hide the despair in his expression and voice.

  “You’re too modest,” Greta said, then turned to her friend. “Heather, Roy needs help on those problems. Let him study with us.” Heather remained fixed on a problem, slipping the hairline on her K&E slide rule, zipping the C scale, flipping the rule over, and recording the answer in her notebook.

  “You always want to be a social animal, Greta
, and Roy, maybe you ought to drop chemistry as your major. It doesn’t look like you can handle it.” Heather’s hateful expression and tone emphasized her words.

  “You sound like my advisor, Professor Baker, especially after the D in organic chemistry,” Roy said, smarting from Heather’s acid remarks but masking his hurt feelings.

  “I rest my case,” Heather concluded.

  “You’re always throwing darts at me, Heather, and I’ll love you despite that, but you don’t have any call to gouge Roy,” Greta said, with a sour look. Her support gave Roy the relief of a cool wind in August.

  Heather looked at Roy, swallowed, and took a deep breath, her lips parting. Roy wondered if she was showing a trace of remorse at what she’d just said. Dejected, he remarked with a bit more iciness than he intended, “I’ll leave you to studying.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait, Roy,” Greta called out. Roy stopped, turned back, and fought for control in his next words.

  “I’ve got a ton of homework besides this problems set.” He drew a deep breath, smiling at Greta’s continued politeness that quenched his impatience.

  “Permit me a few questions before you leave,” Greta said.

  While Roy nodded his agreement, Heather looked at Greta and rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy, here we go again. Greta rescuing somebody she thinks has been insulted.”

  “Hush!” Greta said, casting a subduing look toward Heather and then proceeding.

  “What did you pull in freshmen chemistry?”

  “B’s both semesters, but it was a struggle.”

  “You had a semester of qualitative analysis, didn’t you?” Greta asked. Roy could see she was familiar with the chemistry major program despite her own major being in chemical engineering.

  “Why, yes. First semester sophomore year. Doctor Kobayashi taught that course. I really liked him.” Roy’s memories of the polite, supportive oriental professor came flooding back.

  “And two semesters of quant?” Greta asked.

  “Yes. Doctor Mellon taught that. He is a true gentleman in every sense.” More good memories came for the elderly professor whose red hair was streaked with gray.

  “Your grades?”

  “A’s in all three courses.” As he answered, Roy thought of how inconsistent he was in his chemistry grades. He just couldn’t master the rote memorization it took in organic chemistry to deal with all those synthesis problems. It didn’t seem to matter to Dr. Baker that his good grades showed his ability in analytical chemistry. Roy watched Greta look at Heather with a “How about that?” expression. Several seconds of silence followed as Greta raised her eyebrows even higher at Heather, silently demanding a remark from her.

  “Well, maybe I’ve misjudged you, Roy,” Heather’s expression remained neutral, her attention drawn to the problems set and her slide rule again.

  “See you in lecture tomorrow.” Roy gave them a smile and turned on his heel, feeling better that Heather had almost given him the benefit of the doubt. He bounded quickly toward the front door.

  The p-chem test was in two days, and if he didn’t find help with the problems set he’d be sunk. The lab instructor, Mr. Cortessis, was booked solid by other students needing help. Professor Hunter was unreachable, Blanchard and Finnigan had kicked him out, and Heather called the shots for Greta, so there would be no help there. He thought Heather and Greta were not far behind Blanchard and Finnigan in smarts.

  ****

  Out of breath after his run from Baylor Hall and literature class, Roy stopped to stuff his shirt tail in before entering the p-chem lecture hall. The rows of seats ascended much more steeply than the Von Ritz Theater back home. Greta and Heather sat in the front row, just inside the door. The buzz of voices indicated Doctor Hunter hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Hi, Greta, Heather,” Roy said, as he walked past them.

  Greta returned the greeting, with an attractive smile that displayed her cherry lips and perfect teeth. Heather mumbled but also made brief eye contact, offering no smile. Roy bounded up the steps to his usual aisle seat on the fourth row, next to Willie. Doctor Hunter entered, and the lecture hall occupants stopped talking as if a switch had been turned off. The professor’s short-sleeved white shirt and brown khaki pants had no wrinkles, in contrast to his leather-skinned face. His wavy white hair didn’t have a stray filament. Everyone corrected their posture as the professor warned of the next day’s test and then launched into the chapter on liquids. Roy took notes feverishly as the professor chalked the green slate board with various formulas and diagrams.

  During the lecture, Roy glanced down at Greta, who smiled once when she caught him, but his gaze kept centering on Heather. Now why am I looking at the one who initially put me down? Surprisingly, she looked at him once, and even held her eyes on him without trying to cover the fact that she was making eye contact. It didn’t escape him that she was also beautiful despite the absence of a smile. Her hair reminded him of one of the styles worn by the actresses in movies of the 1920s. The red hair, shiny, smooth, and straight, curling inward just below her ears, swayed forward when she took notes. Her bangs, trimmed perfectly straight, rested on her forehead just above her dark eyebrows. She positioned her fully-flared lavender skirt, after crossing her legs, so that it covered her knees. Roy eyed her white blouse, so neat and free of wrinkles. Stunning, thought Roy. Although she didn’t possess a bosom like Greta’s, Heather’s features appealed to him. He shook his head, not understanding why he would dwell on her, especially when she was so reluctant to concede that maybe he knew chemistry after all.

  The bell rang, and Roy realized he’d missed several crucial formulas. As other students prepared to leave, he quickly recorded the last of the formulas, hoping he could figure them out later. He glanced up to see that Heather had left but Greta was motioning him to come down. As he reached her, she seemed quite pleased about something.

  “If you’re free tonight, you can study with us,” Greta said. Roy wasn’t sure her smile was for being able to see him again or just being glad he could get some help.

  “Are you sure Heather doesn’t mind?” Roy asked, finding it incredible that Heather had changed her mind.

  “She told me I could ask you.”

  “Really? Why did she have a change of heart?” Curiosity caused Roy to tingle all over. He tried not to think of a reason. It befuddled him, nonetheless.

  “Well, you have to understand Heather. The only way to know her feelings is watching her actions and catching the very subtle indications in what she says. Hey, why is that important to you?” Greta asked, her suspicions of Roy’s interest obvious in the upward curve of her mouth.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” Roy said honestly, trying to formulate an answer to Greta’s pointed question and at the same time feeling something stir in his heart.

  ****

  Why call the second semester the spring semester? Early February certainly didn’t qualify for spring, Roy thought as he headed for the Union Building, now a block away. The biting wind chilled him, so he adjusted his scarf to protect his neck. He’d been made fun of for wearing white earmuffs, but they were warmer than any he’d ever had. He curled his fingers up into his gloves to keep them a little less frozen from the poor circulation that bothered his fingertips. All this cold took a back seat, though, to the warmth of his emotions as he thought of Heather’s change of heart. Greta had warned him not to make personal remarks to Heather, so he vowed to follow that advice. But, he asked himself, would that keep him from thanking her for the invaluable help he was sure to get tonight?

  At last he jerked on the brass door handle and entered the warm Union Building. He removed his winter garments as he headed toward the study area. As he approached, he saw Heather and Greta had just arrived and were shedding their coats.

  “Here, let me hang these up for you,” he said, holding his hands toward both of them. Greta handed her short, fur-collared coat to him. Heather hesitated before handing her long brown coat to him as
well. He deposited the load of three coats on a nearby coat rack. Both girls thanked him, and they got busy on the problems set.

  Forty-five minutes into their study session, Roy had verified his suspicions that Heather exceeded Blanchard and Finnigan in intelligence and Greta wasn’t far behind. Just before tackling the last few problems, Heather excused herself briefly. Roy watched her walk away, trying to understand his growing attraction to her. He denied that it was because she represented a challenge for him to break down that staunch wall she’d erected. Challenges could be met, but in Heather’s case, the term “challenge” took on a new definition: that which is insurmountable. Greta broke his thoughts.

  “Ahh, there’s magic in the air.”

  “Eh, what are you talking about?” Roy asked, reluctantly dropping out of his mental analysis of Heather.

  “You and Heather.” Greta pointed in the direction Heather had taken, then at Roy.

  “Oh, not likely,” Roy answered, waving a dismissal of Greta’s opinion, but not convincingly.

  “Opposites attract in physics and in people.” Greta countered.

  “Not in Heather’s case, but it’s true of an elderly second cousin of mine and his wife. Dick and Daphne have been married forty-five years. Daphne is a small woman, very sophisticated, and Dick tops 250 pounds, a jolly fellow with a raspy laugh, not a sophisticated bone in his body,” Roy said, chuckling at the fond memories of Cousin Dick and Daphne.

  “Don’t hold your feelings back for Heather. Nurture them, let them develop more. Don’t reveal them to her verbally, at least not yet. She’ll know how you feel just by watching your face and observing your actions toward her.” Greta emphasized by poking her finger at Roy’s face.

  “It’s that obvious? I…I’m afraid I’ll chase her away,” Roy remarked, unable to mask his fear, giving up on concealing his feelings for Heather from the super-perceptive Greta.

  “Well, I’m not going to analyze Heather for you. If I did, I’d betray her trust.”