.genesis.

04

ｔｅａｃｈｅｒ /ˈｔｉːｔʃə/ ａ ｐｅｒｓｏｎ ｗｈｏ ｔｅａｃｈｅｓ.

____________

I tied my shoe quickly and rose up, meeting Bee’s curious stare. She stood there with her hands folded in front of her.

“I’ll be going now,” I said, advancing towards the door.

“Bee,” Bee said, a small frown on her mouth.

I turned back and smiled at her. I didn’t want to leave at all.

She stared back at me. “Eric,” she said this time, testing.

Oh, god.

I struggled to keep my emotions in check. I was so glad that someone hadn’t invented a robot who could read minds.

With my jaw beginning to tighten, I willed myself closer to the door and clasped a hand around the doorknob. I was too late, because I felt another hand pulling me back in.

“Eeeric,” Bee cooed as soon as she had a steady grip on my arm. She was tugging on it, preventing me from taking another step. I breathed in.

“I’ll only be gone for three hours,” I exhaled, but a dreadful feeling came over me.

If I thought about it, three hours isn’t that long. But now, looking at Bee’s desperate face, and saying it out loud, it seemed like so much could happen in that span of time.

I closed my eyes and shook my head violently. That kind of thinking would turn me mad. I dropped my school bag on the floor and seized the hand that Bee was holding me with. She glanced up, her expression flickering to surprise.

“I promise,” I started, looking into her eyes. I didn’t want her to be afraid, nor did I want anything to happen to her.

“I will be back for lunch. Wait for me, okay, Bee?”

Bee stared at me for a long time. Her hand softened, and removed itself from my arm. She held my hand in both of hers, close to her chest, and nodded, a big smile in the place of a frown.

“Bee. Wait. Eric.”

I laughed, my cheeks beginning to burn. Almost instinctively, my hand went to her head, mussing her white bangs.

“We will work on that when I come back.”

____________

My heart kept beating throughout the entirety of the bus drive towards school. I glanced at my watch. Three hours to go until I could see bee again.

When Peter and I arrived to class, I was surprised to not find our usual teacher there, waiting for us. Instead, after ten minutes had passed, a young-looking, eccentric woman with cropped, brown hair came dashing through the door, a clipboard and a pile of books in her hands.

Then after apologizing profusely (her excuse was she got lost in the campus) she proceeded to introduce herself as our new literary teacher.

“My name is Tammy Shiman, and I’ll be teaching this class throughout the semester,” she said, placing her books on the desk in front of her. She kept her clipboard, and then looked out into the room.

“Before we start class, I’ll take roll call.”

Peter scoffed beside me.

“This isn’t elementary school,” someone called out.

The teacher gave him a flash of a smile, and tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear. “It’s all right! I actually wanted to be an elementary school teacher!”