Lana's POV
The door opens and thirty faces rise to look at me.
I was not expecting the classroom to be in that configuration and had hoped I would have one last moment to take a deep breath, but the 12th graders are already all looking at me, probably implicating what my teaching style would be.
I, too, could not wait to find out.
I was a 23-year-old baby who had no idea what she was doing there, but I guess I was their new teacher, and I would have to figure it out along the way.
I follow the school director into the classroom, and he clears his throat in a loud disgusting noise.
- Guys, this is Miss...
He pauses and looks at me.
- I'm sorry, sweety, I can't pronounce your name.
- Mercier, I answer with a voice that sounded way too shy. "Pull yourself together dammit!"
- Meyrrcerr, he repeats with an American accent.
Two teenagers have a mocking laugh and I smile with them.
- Close enough, I jokingly say, and it raises a few small laughs in the classroom.
My shoulders relax a little.
- She will be replacing Mr Mod, who you drove insane, he says casually, leaving the classroom without looking at me.
He closes the door behind him, and I am left alone in the arena with the wild animals.
- Why would he say that? I ask, a little frightened.
A girl with glasses in the front row shakes her head and answers:
- He was joking, Mr Mod moved back to Wisconsin.
- Oh, good, I say, reassured.
A silence follows, and I put my small bag on the desk I will be occupying for the next months. I nervously lower the edge of my black pencil skirt. I should have known I would be uncomfortable in it, and should have worn jeans. I just wanted to make a good first impression. The girl with the glasses in the front row looks like the chatty one and keeps going:
- Although I'm sure he would say Aaron's the reason why he's leaving the state.
Half the classroom laughs at her joke and a few heads turn to a boy at the very back of the room. A man, rather. Tall, with messy black hair and dark eyes, he barely smiles at the girl and joins his hands together on the table in front of him. I notice his tattoos and think to myself that he looks to be older than the others.
- Aaron? I ask the girl, because my instinct tells me the guy in question is probably not as chatty.
His eyes pierce through me and he gives me a look that sends chills down my spine. Intense and dark. "Like him", I think to myself.
- Don't listen to Sophie, another boy with an orange shirt says, Aaron didn't drive Mod crazy, he barely comes to class.
- Ah, I see.
I smile at them and continue:
- Well, I guess I should introduce myself a little. You can call me Miss Mercier or Lana, I won't mind. I'm 23 and English is not my first language. Safe to say you might have to excuse mistakes, either teaching ones or English ones. I will try to teach you as best I can, as slowly as you guys need me to, so that by the end of the year, you might be able to go visit France and have easy conversations with people. About discipline, I guess I will figure it out along the way, in all honesty.
My eyes pause on Aaron for a second, and he tilts his head to the side slightly, looking at me. He clenches his jaw and I realize he probably doesn't care about the consequences he might face if he does not come to school. After all, school would be over for him in a few months, and he would be free to do what he wants.
- I guess I won't be the type of teacher who is breathing down your neck all the time. And I know homework sucks because I was a college student literally a few months ago.
A few faces smile and it boosts my confidence to keep going.
- So... What I want to say is, come to class or don't come, do your homework or don't, I won't be able to lie on your grades I guess, but if you don't care, that's just fine by me.
- Sounds good! Orange shirt guy says.
- Do you guys want to tell me what level of French you're at?
- Zero, answers the guy in a split second.
I laugh, and sit on the desk, crossing my legs.
- Ok, I answer jokingly. How about y'all introduce yourselves in French to me?
A few students complain and I hear "I don't even know how to do that" and "what's "my name is" again??".
- I'll start! I say to remind them of the words.
I proceed to get up and speak French in a slow pace, telling them that my name is Lana Mercier, that I'm 23 from Paris, France, and that I've come to Texas to teach French, but that I really want to go back to France eventually, because I miss the food (I get a few laughs so I know some of them are following). I tell them I have a brother back home and that I miss him sometimes, and that I like watching movies and playing the piano.
I end my monologue with a "that's' me!" and smile. My heart is racing because I am hoping their levels of French aren't too far apart from one another.
- Would you go first? I ask Sophie, the girl with glasses in the front row.
At that exact moment, Aaron gets up. He is even taller than what I thought and even with my heels, I feel like a little mouse trapped in front of a tiger. While looking at me, he picks up the copybook he brought to school (no bag?) and his only pen and approaches me.
He gets closer and everything around him seems to fade away. "He smells good" I hear myself thinking. When he is one foot away from me, he stops, and tilts his head slightly to the side. "Why does he dos that, it makes him look... smart?"
- I'm sorry... Lana. But I'm not doing this. If you're as chill as you try to make us believe, you'll have no problem emailing when you're planning on doing tests.
His voice is low and my name out of his mouth sounds weirdly warm. I know that no one can see his face and I think he knows it too, because he takes a very quick look down my body and back to my eyes. I can see that he wanted me to see him doing it. Like a challenge.
He gives me an almost imperceivable smirk, walks past me, brushing against my shoulder, and closes the door behind him.
I feel blood rushing to my face, and I hope it does not turn red. My stomach feels warm for some reason, and I feel my heart pounding in my chest.
- Alright, you were not lying about him, I jokingly say to the class to hide my condition.
YOU ARE READING
His Favorite Teacher: Student-Teacher romance
Romance"I'm not giving up. You're mine." He says in a low voice, slamming me against the wall before crushing his lips on mine. 23 year-old Lana lets go of her past to become a high school teacher in America. She wants to focus on her classes and her stud...
