You head to your first class.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Okay.

...

...okay.

So I basically have a hypnosis device strapped to my forearm, you think. Sure, yeah, okay. This is... this is fine. I can... uh...

...I have to get to class.

You can't wrap your head around what's happening at the moment; it's totally overwhelming to you. But what you do know is that if you don't keep your grades up, your mom's gonna kick you out on your own. The only reason she lets you live rent-free in the house right now is that you're attending this community college, with the goal of eventually transferring to a four-year university to get a degree.

You screwed up big time in high school, resting too much on your "gifted" label. Despite your difficulties, so many other things had come so easily for you when you were young, and as a result you started believing that anything that didn't immediately come easily to you wasn't worth knowing or doing. Unfortunately, everyone grows up, and even the "gifted" start being challenged. And as more and more things started requiring more effort to learn and study, you fell behind: never focusing, missing assignments, refusing to study. Never putting in the effort required to keep your grades up. It was a shocking wake-up call to you when it turned out your grades barred you from just about every college out there.

So the simple fact is that, magic armband or no, you have to do well, so you can succeed, and eventually get the hell out of here.

You head down the hall to a moderately-sized classroom, where the other students are waiting, along with your teacher, Miss Kincaid.

Miss Kincaid sits at the front desk, looking over the course material for the day. She is tall and thin, with a narrow face and aquiline nose that makes her look almost regal in appearance. Her auburn hair is tied up into a bun behind her head, a conservative look that matches her crisp white blouse, long navy-blue skirt, and sensible black flats. It's an ensemble that screams "traditional teacher", and you think it gives her a stern-yet-sexy vibe.

As you sit down, the bell rings, and Miss Kincaid stands up. "Okay, class, I hope you're all prepared for today's test," she announces. "You'll have the whole period to complete it, so don't rush through the problems." A pile of papers is passed down to you; you take a test copy, and pass the rest down. When you do a cursory scan of the problems, you find yourself extremely glad you put in the time to study earlier, as they're all variants of practice problems that were provided on the study guide. Miss Kincaid tells everybody to begin, and you get to work. Meanwhile, she sits back in her chair, and begins reading what appears to be a teachers' handbook.

The test isn't exactly a snap, but thanks to the prep work you put in, you finish it with a good ten minutes to spare. After double-checking that you didn't make any stupid arithmetic problems, you stand up, and walk over to Miss Kincaid's desk to hand it in. At first, she's so engrossed with whatever she is reading that she doesn't even notice you. You stand directly to her right, seeing her in profile, and you're immediately struck by how her chest fills out her blouse. It isn't readily noticable most of the time, since she's usually facing the class, and the solid white of the blouse makes contours hard to identify... but here, from the side, it's clear that she's, well, significantly well-endowed.

You also notice another amusing fact: inside her open teachers' handbook sits an open paperback book. You aren't positive, as the print is pretty small, but you have the sneaking suspicion that it might be a romance novel. A particularly engrossing romance novel, given the intensity of her attention.

You clear your throat softly, trying to be as polite and unsurprising as possible; nevertheless, when you do, she jumps slightly with a brief "eep" and slams her book shut. "{if female == true}Miss{else}Mr.{endif} Anderson!" she practically blurts out, before closing her eyes, briefly centering herself, and opening them again. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," she says. "Please leave your test here, and return to your seat."

You do so, and sit back down, waiting for the class to finish. But you can't get that image of her profile out of your mind -- the "sexy schoolteacher", here to tutor you on whatever you're having trouble with.