Hot For Teacher(128)

Perhaps humans are born with a natural instinct to love and be loved, and it’s only nurture that keeps us from believing we’re worthy of it. For those who’ve been there before, the fear of having someone taken away feels like it burdens the heart more than it’s worth.

Once was enough.

Twice would be devastating.

If she’s feeling what I am right now, then I can understand why getting too close to me would be considered a risk.

Yet my emotion and logic are waging war against each other.

Her absence these last three days has given me some time to think through all the things I should’ve before now.

What am I doing?

Am I really just replacing one obsession with another?

And did Arleen really want me? Or did she just want to feel someone close to her? She had said, after all, that she just wanted to feel special. What if the who didn’t really matter?

But who was I to question her motives when mine could be construed as just as shady?

The weekend takes me through a myriad of anger.

At my parents.

At her parents.

At my future.

At her past.

At the countless girls who allowed me to use them.

And mostly I am angry at myself.

All of it swirls in my head and it feels like it’s all going to burst out of me. In four short weeks I’ve completely changed. The way I act. The way I think. The way I feel.

And I have the right to be mad!

I lived in a perfect little box where my every move was justified, every word was heard, and every thought had meaning. Now I’m questioning everything I am and everything I was.

I can’t do this.

I can’t keep living in a dreamland with Arleen at the ruins. I can’t forgo the cozy life I had before. I was in control. I was in demand.

Miss Shields was the only thing that kept my feet grounded. She was the only thing that gave me purpose. Without my obsession, I have nothing.

I’ll just have to speak to Miss Shields about Saint Louis. I’ll tell her that Arleen and I can’t be debate partners and that we shouldn’t spend time together.

Because that sounds super mature of me.

But I don’t see anything else to do. I need to think of something to get my world back on track.

***

“I don’t think I should be partnered with Arleen for the debate in St. Louis,” I say confidently, watching Miss Shields closely as she takes her eyes off her computer and focuses on me.

“Oh, really? Why is that?”

“It just doesn’t seem fair,” I state.

She chews the inside of her cheek and removes her glasses. “Fair?”

I shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to brag, but shouldn’t you pair up your most gifted students with others who are less competent?”

“No. I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “Because if we get into the final round, we’re going to need our two best debaters paired up.”

Shit.

“Well,” I stammer, “what if I told you that Arleen and I have professional differences?”

She snorts and sets her glasses on the desk.

Okay, so I guess I didn’t think the conversation would need to get this detailed.

“Professional differences?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “This doesn’t sound like you. What kind of professional differences could the two of you possibly have?”

Dammit. I can’t tell her it’s because Arleen has spectacularly rejected me. I’ll look like a total tool. I’m going to have to take a different route.

“It just seems to me that you’d be doing your job better if you spread the talent throughout the group. You know, instead of lumping the best all together.” My temples feel damp and I hope to God she’s buying this.

“Is there something you need to discuss with me, Simon?” She leans over her desk. Her new position gives me a clear shot of her cleavage and I barely notice.

I swallow. “No. It’s just--”

“It isn’t ‘just’ anything, Simon. You either have a problem with Arleen or you don’t.” She shifts in her chair slightly. “You can tell me anything, you know.” Rising from her seat, she runs her index finger over the desk as she walks around it. She positions herself between me and the desk and rests her ass against the surface. “Are you nervous about Saint Louis? Is that the problem?”

I can feel my pulse in my neck and I swear my jaw drops at her insinuating tone. I don’t think I’m imagining the underlying message. She’s not asking me if I’m nervous about the debate; she’s asking if I’m nervous about spending the night with her.

“Should I be?” My voice cracks.

She smiles and crosses her ankles casually. Her arms are behind her now, her hands resting on the desk. “Maybe a little. I know I am,” she says, her voice heavy with subtext.