"Don't be cautious, don't be kind. You committed, I'm your crime. Push my button anytime. You got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger's mine." —Billie Eilish.

I hate my teacher.

And it's not the type of hate that people would deem as tolerable. It is the kind that makes you feel like encircling your palms around his neck and compressing the air out of his throat. The type that makes you want to put a large glob of glue on his chair and spoil his perfectly ironed trousers. Or puncture his tires and pull a pointy key across his shiny BMW.

Mean? I am not. If you knew him, you would be of the very same belief. He's annoying and arrogant, and the girls here at Camber High do a remarkable job of feeding his ego every day. He looks about twenty-five but is a lot crankier than my grandad. He has a great built, jet black hair, and chocolate eyes with little sparks of grey inside them. Whoever irons his clothes needs an award, and I have never seen him wear a shirt more than once. He's good looking, I'll give him that, but his personality stinks. And when I say stinks, I mean stepping in a pile of dog shit stinks. I am not exaggerating.

"Ms. Young?"

If his pants get any tighter, I will personally pull him to a tailor and have her loosen every hem on it. What is he? Some Elvis Presley wanna-be? God, and why is his hair so shiny? I wouldn't be surprised if he used all the goddamn grease in his Vaseline bottle this morning. I hate how he paces across the room during every lesson, prying over into people's notebooks and eavesdropping on whispered conversations. Doesn't he have a life? Doesn't he have a wife? He should get one; perhaps then he wouldn't be so inquisitive.

"Ms. Kelly Young?!"

I jerk in my seat, coming back to reality and realizing that the entire class is looking in my direction. Including Mr. Tight Pants, who is currently folding his muscular arms across his chest, his veins protruding under his tanned skin.

I chew on my lip and fix the hem of my pleated skirt over my thighs, blinking my eyes awkwardly. "Yes?"

"Who was it that had led the French Revolution?"

What? That's the topic we're on? I thought we were discussing The Civil Rights Movement.

I must look extremely dumb as I lean over to my friend Derick, attempting to locate the answer in his opened notebook. He gives me a timid expression as his eyes travel from me and to Mr. Todd.

"I didn't say you could use a book!" My educator bellows and I am positive the entire country just heard him. I settle back into my seat with quivering hands, pressing my lips together tightly.

"I have no idea..." I mutter.

His amber eyes darken, and I shift agitatedly, watching as he grounds his jaws tight. I don't know why he hates me this much. Since the first day of the semester, he has only displayed maliciousness and annoyance toward me. The feeling is mutual though. Ever since he called my mother the first time and tattle-tail to her that I had failed to bring my assignment in, I have detested his guts.

He walks down to me, dominance and intimidation in his every step. He comes to a stop in front of my desk, and I crane my neck to look up, my big brown eyes staring back at him. He's so tall, standing at least six feet with a built that is brawny and strong. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up at his elbows, showcasing rough hands that he lowers to press against my desk, leaning down to my height.

Derrick and the rest of the class watch us with anxiety as Mr. Todd's strong whiff of masculine cologne invades my nostrils.

"If you keep being so distracted during my lessons, I will have no choice but to have the principal switch you to a different class." His breath is minty and warm, hitting my face as he speaks, and his voice is low as if he doesn't want the rest of the class to be an audience. "I tend to get annoyed with students who space out a lot more than they pass my tests. Is it understood?"

I sigh. Yeah, I am not the smartest of kids, but I do try. With your teacher reminding you of this every day, it is impossible to rise above the occasion. He makes me anxious all the time, mainly because I know he is expecting something from me. I know he always marks my test papers first, and mine is always the first one to be returned. With a big fat disappointing grade at the corner of it.

"I am sorry," I say, and he shuts his eyes temporarily, releasing a breath.

"I don't expect an apology. Say sorry to your parents who keep wasting their money."

My eyes sting painfully at the words, but I keep it together, twisting my lips as he straightens his spine and moves over to the board.

"By the way, we were not discussing The French Revolution. We were on the topic of The Civil Rights Movement." He shoves a hand in his pocket as he erases the notes which he had jotted on the board, and Derrick touches my arm, sending me a smile of encouragement.

I just nod, grabbing my book and stuffing it into my knapsack. We have only a few minutes until class ends anyway, and I prefer not to spend a minute over. I hate this man to bits.

Mr. Todd whirls around and notices me jamming the exercise book in my rucksack, and his stern countenance swiftly returns.

"Did I say you could pack up, Ms. Young?"

A loud snicker comes from the back, and without a doubt, I know it's Gabriella, the second human at this school that hates my guts for unexplainable reasons.

"No, sir."

"Then. Take. Your. Book. Back. Out." He says through gritted teeth. "Now."

I sink in my shoulders and get to work, retrieving my notebook while holding back tears. Truth be told, I am kind of a crybaby. And with a man twice my size sternly ordering me around it's hard not to break down like a five-year-old.

Derrick presses his lips together in a sympathetic smile, and I sniff quietly, opening my book and leaning back in my chair. But that was the wrong choice to make since Mr. Bully's eyes fall to my empty sheet, realizing that I hadn't been taking notes during his entire lesson.

Fuck my life.

"Where are your notes?" He perches his ass against his desk, an eyebrow raised as he scrutinizes me. Now that he's seated, his pants are even tighter, highlighting things that shouldn't even be highlighted in a school setting. And I am not talking about cucumbers.

"Sorry?"

I heard him, just buying time to answer.

"Your. Notes." He spells it out as if I am stupid.

I glance around needlessly; spotting looks of both sympathy and amusement around me.

"Hello." A finger taps against my desk, and I look up, Mr. Todd's brown, scary eyes drilling a hole through me. "I said, where are your notes, Kelly?"

I wanna cry! Why won't this man leave me alone?!

"I didn't take them." I mewl.

He lifts his eyebrows in mock amusement, and I wait for his insulting retort. "Oh, wow. Everyone here is taking notes, and you just 'didn't take any.' Just look at that. Have you done this subject before?"

"No."

"Oh. Is everything stored in your head?"

"No."

"Okay." He presses his hands to his waists. "Then, why didn't you?"

I am so exhausted.

"Because I just didn't."

"Oh, okay. Well, now I think I see why you keep getting lottery numbers on my damn test papers."

Yeah, he has no manners either. He curses a lot and doesn't even get fired for it.

"I want you to borrow your boyfriend's book." He points to Derrick, and the class chuckles. "And ensure to take down the notes. Because you'll be doomed if you dare to get even 50% on my next exams. Understood?"

I nod my head. Derrick isn't even my boyfriend.

"Okay."

"Borrow it now and begin to take the notes. Rest of you, you're dismissed." He turns away and makes his way back to his desk as everyone gets up from their seats to pack their resources up.

"Here you go." Derrick slides his book over to me, and I smile a little.

"Thank you."

He stands to his feet, perching his bag over his broad shoulder. Derrick is athletic, causing him to have quite a toned built. He has brown curly hair that is always unkempt, and his eyes are a unique shade of dark blue. Needless to say, he has heads turning wherever he makes an appearance.

"Got football practice, so I'll text you later when I get home."

I nod, opening his book to begin taking my notes. I need to hurry if I want to finish by the time my mom gets here to pick me up. Mr. Todd never misses an opportunity to snitch on me to my parents.

••

He spent the entire time marking papers and scrolling down his phone subsequently. I hurriedly get my notes down just in time for my phone to buzz with a message from my mom.

I close Derrick's book and mine and stuff them into my bag, getting up from my chair so fast that a loose thread on my skirt gets stuck in a piece of rusted iron. Why won't this school get better chairs and teachers? Hissing under my breath, I pull the stiff garment quickly before making my way up to the front of the room.

My educator has his head embedded in his cellphone, the setting sun from the outside glowing on his chiseled jaw and showcasing how smooth his skin is. If only he weren't a devil, he would make quite the ideal archangel.

I clear my throat, and without looking up at me, he arches a perfect eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I am done, sir."

He bobs his head, reaching for a half-eaten blueberry muffin from a napkin on his desk, the scent of the fluffy snack causing my stomach to loudly growl. His eyes drift to the center of my white-button downs, but he surprisingly doesn't comment on the embarrassing roar of my tummy. Thank God, he never misses a moment to humiliate me.

He stretches a hand toward me, and I stare at him dumbly.

"Let me see the notes." He looks at me, annoyed.

"Oh!" I swing my bag around and hastily grab my book, extending it toward him. He looks at it quietly, tilting his head to the side as he droops his eyelids.

"Open it, Ms. Young."

"Oh." I skip to the page and lean over to rest it in front of him, and he frowns, fanning his hand.

"Don't swing your arm over me."

"Sorry."

I curl the top corner of my lips behind him, pretending I am squeezing his head with my palms as he wipes his hand on a napkin and inspects the page. He takes a bite from the muffin and chews quietly while he stares down at my book, and I roll my eyes discreetly. It's just notes. Notes!

"Is that okay?" I check, shuffling on my feet impatiently. He is taking the entire evening and my mom will come up here if he doesn't hurry.

"Mm. Yeah, take it up." He says dismissively, taking another bite out of his cake, and I reach for the book quickly, feeling elated that Mr. Perfectionist found no fault for the first in his life.

"You need to work on your penmanship."

Spoke too soon.

"Your writing looks like a cockroach stepped in ink and walked all over the page." He finishes his muffin and dusts his fingers together, and I resist the urge to tell him to fuck off. I've had it with him. I don't think I can bear being with him in this room any longer.

"Advice noted," I mutter, turning away in annoyance with my book clutched to my chest. I plod toward the door. Finally, freedom at last.

"Ms. Young."

I roll my eyes and inhale a deep breath, stopping in my tracks and turning around with a forced smile. "Mr. Todd?"

"I am seeing your panties." He says flatly, looking straight at me with a blank face.

My forehead pleats in confusion. What did he just say to me?

"Sorry?"

"I am seeing your pink, polka-dot, cotton panties." He details.

Oh my God. That's the type of underwear I am wearing. How on earth does he—?

He jerks his head toward me. "There is a huge tear in the middle of your skirt."

What the—no way.

I bend my head around, straining my neck to see my behind. A gasp escapes me when I sight the large hole in the butt of my skirt, my panties clearly showing through the open space.

Oh God, it must have torn when my skirt got hitched by that frigging rusted iron!

My cheeks redden as I hold my notebook over the spot, seeing that my knapsack isn't big enough to hide the embarrassment.

He looks away casually, reaching for a book on his desk and opening it. "Try wearing tights. So you won't damage the eyesight of your male teachers."

My jaws drop in awe, and I am propelled to cuss him out, but I remember that my mom is waiting for me, probably on the verge of making her way inside the school at this moment. And so without saying anything to the devil, I turn away to run out, but recall my ass and spin toward him, slowly backing out like a robot while he pretends to mind his own business like the asshole he is.

Once I am outside, I scurry down the slippery aisle, almost falling onto my face as I skid through the large transparent doors. I spot my mom standing in front of her dark blue Benz, dressed in her black pantsuit and her hair grasped into a sleek ponytail as she worriedly taps on her phone.

When she sees me running toward her with my hands over my behind, she narrows her eyes, placing a palm to her waist. "I was just wondering where you were. I was going to phone Mr. Todd."

I catch my breath as I come to a stop in front of her, waving my hand while the other clutches the book to my rear. "No, no. No need to phone that demon."

"What?"

"Nothing." I smile toothily as I open the door, sliding into the front seat and noticing a brown paper bag of MacDonald's sitting on the dashboard.

My face pipes up as I grab it, opening it and sighing when the scent of mayonnaise greets me.

"Is this mine, ma'?" I ask as she slides into the driver's seat, hauling her seatbelt over her angular frame. My mom is what you'd call slender, while I on the other hand is a thick ball of walking carbs, evidence being this wrapped burger I am currently holding greedily. My thighs and legs are a bit weighty, but I do have a slender waist, so that evens it out, right? Oh, who cares?

I bite into the burger after my mom confirms that it's mine. She begins to steer out of the lot, and I can see the sun as it begins to set down the horizon. I am never at school this late, but courtesy of Mr. Ass-Watcher, I have to witness how creepy Camber High looks at this time of the evening. The footballers have now finished training, the group leaving the field with their duffel bags, and I try to spot Derrick among them but fail to. They all look exactly alike. Muscular and tall and wearing the school's sports jersey.

Most of the areas on the campus are now closed, and I spot Mr. Todd's spotless BMW parked at the entrance to the Admissions Office. Doesn't he have a house? I swear he lives at the school. I recall my wish to use a key to carve his car, and a wicked smile surfaces my face as I use my knuckle to wipe the ketchup dribbling down my chin.

"Why are you smiling?" My mom looks at me as if I am getting mad, and I shake my head in amusement.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." I chuckle with a mouth full of fries.

"How was school?"

"It was alright."

"And history?"

Oh, please don't ask.

"I'd like to believe that you're doing better in Mr. Todd's class now, right?" She gives me a stern look, and I sigh.

"I am trying."

"I don't want him having to call me again, okay?"

I nod my head. The motherfucker must have no one else to phone. Come to think of it, maybe he's trying to hit on my mother. He's probably into older women.

"Anyway, anything fun or new today?" She wiggles in her seat excitedly, attempting to be one of those 'cool' moms. I cringe a little as I fetch the napkin from the bag between my legs, my school skirt reminding me of the humiliating predicament earlier wherein my enemy saw my entire backside.

I shut my eyes, the embarrassment sinking in more than ever before. How on earth will I face that man tomorrow? It surely doesn't aid my case that I have history three times a week!

"Nope. Nothing happened." I reply, leaning my head against the window with an exaggerated blankness on my face. As I watch the cars speed pass with bright flashing headlights, I realize how unlucky I am to have lucifer himself as a teacher.

At this point, I just want to head home to tear my hair out and scream in my shower.

••

🙂♥️🤗💕

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