To work

You awake the next morning with a dull headache, but also with a strange exhilaration. You go to school as normal. You teach. Sometimes, a student or three get the material. Most often, you resign yourself to emails from parents about how you didn’t teach the material correctly for their precious little angel.

Then comes last period, and in comes Ariel. You have spent all the year pretending you feel nothing for her. It is May, and she apparently has no problem with the same task. Today, however, you feel different. She is resplendent in her school uniform, skirt rolled up a little as is the fashion amongst the girls.

“Ariel,” you say, for her ears alone, “can you stay a few extra minutes after school? You and I need to talk about your final exam.”

“Sure, Mr. Doe,” she replies. “I drive myself, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

You teach the class, hoping against hope that what you have planned does not ruin you.

Time flies, but before you know it the bell rings. As class ends, you watch all the other students hurry/shuffle out of the classroom. How do they manage to seem apathetic and in a hurry to leave school at the same time?

“Ms. Konva.” She stands near the door, not fleeing but ready to be done. “Are you in a hurry?”

She smiles. “Not in a hurry, Mr. Doe, but I wouldn’t mind being home. What about the final do you need to discuss with me?”