Ghost

0503

"Welcome to class, everyone. But not just any class. This is the cool class."

 I watched our new English teacher pick up a stick of chalk and begin tracing his name on the board. His handwriting was quick and sharp, and he ended it with a peace sign. Scott Grayson.

 "I am Mr. Grayson in front of the principle. Mr. G to all you lovely young ladies." He shot a wink and I could feel the heat rising in the room as every other girl bubbled up in a fit of giggles. I looked back down at my text book, suppressing an eye roll. I hated him already.

 He wasn't like any of the other teachers there. Old, plain-dressed, and strict. Everyone hated the other teachers. Even though I made it my job to give them as much crap as possible, I still liked them. I respected them for doing their job and teaching us what we needed to be taught. They didn't slack off. They didn't give us busy work. They taught, and I liked the challenge.

 But Mr. Grayson seemed like the easy teacher. The teacher who would let us sit around and watch movies in place of giving an actual lesson. The teacher who tried to hard making up slang to seem ‘cool’. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and his hair was long and shaggy; looked fresh out of college. I was shocked the school had hired him; he didn't even seem religious.

 I was even more shocked when he never let us watch a single movie. When he brought in a book of poems by Edgar Allen Poe and began asking us philosophical questions that made me think about things I had never thought about. I still couldn't stand him, though. I couldn't stand how every student in the school was now swooning over him. The way he flirted with all of them like he enjoyed the attention.

 And then one day he asked me to stay after class. Several girls had shot me jealous glances, but I had ignored them as they all stood up and left. My stomach was too busy knotting.

 "Come join me in the cheat-seat." He patted the leather chair that was supposed to be used for misbehavers, though he never seemed to have that problem. He usually just used it as a foot rest. I rose quietly and walked towards him. He must have noticed my nervous expression. "Chill. I just wanna rap with ya." My mind went blank for a second before I realized that was slang for talk.

 I sat down, curious. "Did I-um, do something wrong?" It wouldn't have been the first time, but I knew I hadn't acted out in his class yet. As ornery as I could be, I always did my work. Not even the teachers that hated me could deny that.

 "No, no. I just heard around that you were a bit of a trouble-maker. You've been pretty quiet in my class."

 I shifted my eyes, curious why that was a bad thing.

 "I was just wondering if anything is wrong?"

 I looked down at the notebook sitting in my lap, running my finger over the metal spirals. I shrugged. "I guess I just don't know you that well yet."

 I didn't feel it was appropriate to tell him I think you are a prick.

 "Are you sure?" He asked. "I just get the feeling maybe this class isn't doing it for you. I didn't offend you, or anything, did I?"

 I shrugged, keeping my gaze as close to the ground as possible. I could feel the color in my cheeks blooming.

 "Are you...feeling suicidal?"

 I tried to suppress a laugh, but it came out anyways. He was mocking the counselor, who always asked any student who was seeming a little off if they were having "bad thoughts." Even if they were just sick. Or high.

 "How 'bout we just conversate?" he finally said. "And then you can't say that you don't know me anymore." He smiled. His teeth were so white I couldn't help but stare.

 And then we talked. We talked more than my parents ever got me to talk. More than my counselor got me to talk. Even more than my sister got me to talk; which at that point, she hadn't started hating me yet. We started off talking about things as simple as what we were going to do that week, and progressed to things as complex as life and death, and the possibility of parallel universes.

 Somehow we got onto the subject of poetry, and he began quoting Shakespeare and reciting some of his sonnets word for word, completely from memory. I could feel my face catching fire when he began quoting a rather romantic line, his eyes never leaving me.

 We had gotten so deep into the conversation, I hadn't noticed the sun lowering out of the window or that the clock was about to hit the five-thirty mark. I had the subject of ghosts on the tip of my tongue when he looked at his watch.

"You should probably be getting home, kiddo. But you can come chat with me anytime. It's nice talking to a fellow intellect. I'm so used to dealing with the gabbers-" he rolled his eyes as he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Anyway, I'll walk you out." He patted my hands that were resting in my lap as he headed for the door. I sat there for a few seconds feeling the heat of it radiate from my inner thighs.

 I never read my textbook in his class after that. My eyes were always on him, leaning forward in my seat with my head in my hands and a sigh burning in my chest.