Student Teacher

Adalynn Bishop is my new science teacher this week. As a student teacher, she's here to hone her skills while our actual teacher observes from the back of the classroom. Adalynn appears very young—probably in her mid-twenties—with a petite, almost fragile build that reminds me of a supermodel. There's something about the way she carries herself that makes her seem both delicate and deliberate.

Her outfit strikes me the moment she walks in: a shiny satin midnight blue button-down blouse layered over a fitted black pencil skirt, paired with black stockings and flat shoes. Her short, sleek bob frames her fair complexion and soft brown eyes hidden behind tortoise shell glasses. I can't take my eyes off her.

I keep staring. Miss Bishop is what I'm supposed to call her. She seems visibly nervous but manages to teach effectively. When she writes on the board, she does so slowly, likely still mastering the balance between speed and clarity. Her handwriting is beautiful—perfectly even and symmetrical, adding to her charm. I sit in front, unable to shake the thought of how stunning she looks.

I openly flirt with her during class when she asks questions. I flirt with her between classes too. Being much younger than she is, I don't think she notices. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that.

Ever since she arrived, the guys have talked about how hot she is and how they'd like to be with her. I suppose I'm one of those who feels the same way. I decide I want to get to know her better. Students have to be signed out of class by a teacher to leave, and I never need to go to the bathroom during class. So when I get the urge, I hope no one notices when I ask to leave.

Miss Bishop signs my slip without comment. I glance down and read "A. Bishop" through her signature. I turn to her before I open the door.

"Ah, so your first name starts with an A?" I ask.

She shakes her head at me disapprovingly, and I can't quite read her expression. There's something behind her eyes—a flicker of something I can't name.

I head to the bathroom and stand around for a while, lost in thought. When I get back, I go through the rest of the day. She leaves on Friday, so tomorrow is my last chance to see her.

At the end of the day, I gather my things and head toward the door. As I walk past Miss Bishop's classroom, I see her packing up. My pulse quickens.

"Come on," I think to myself, my head spinning. "Do something. It's do or die. Am I really going to let her go?"

"Hey," I call out, approaching her.

"Hi," she replies with a smile.

"Well, how do you think you did?" I ask, hoping to break the ice.

"I have a lot to learn," she admits candidly.

"I think you did great," I reassure her.

"You're sweet," she says, looking grateful. "So what's next for you?"

Adalynn's brow furrows slightly as she considers my question. She sets her bag down on the desk with a soft thud, her slender fingers absently tracing the smooth surface.

"I'm not entirely sure, to be honest," she admits, her melodic voice tinged with uncertainty. "Teaching is my passion, but I know I still have so much to improve upon."

She takes a step closer to me, her heels clicking softly against the tile floor. The scent of her perfume—a delicate floral aroma—wafts gently toward me. There's an intensity to her gaze, as if she's truly invested in understanding what I'm thinking.

"Honestly, for now, I probably need to focus on finishing my coursework, graduating, more supervised hours," she continues, her things ready and bag in tow. "You know how it is."

"I'll miss you," I say, feeling a pang of regret.

She smiles briefly but then looks down and sighs.

"What do you think this is?" she asks suddenly.

"What?" I reply, caught off guard.

Adalynn's gaze snaps back up to meet mine, her brown eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses. There's a flicker of something unreadable in their depths—frustration? Disappointment? Something more deliberate?

"You think I don't notice how you look at me?" Her words are soft but carry an undercurrent of steel. "How you flirt with me during class, linger after lessons?"

She takes another step closer, invading my personal space. At this proximity, I can see the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the way her pulse flutters rapidly at the base of her throat—a tell that betrays her own emotional state.

"I may be your teacher, but I'm also a woman," Adalynn continues, her voice low and intense. "And I've seen the way you and the other boys eye me. Like I'm some kind of prize to be won."

To be continued in chapter 2...