Love, Zed

26. On Fire

Aria

"Entrer." Mr Dornan says calmly without looking in my direction. I sprint over to take a seat at the back of the hall. As far away from him as possible. He moves on with his lecture. Wow no outburst today. Maybe he got lucky this morning.

He's wearing a crisp grey button down shirt and denim today. He coughs and adjusts his wristwatch, adjusts his impeccable, innocent collars, then he picks up the marker and turns around to scribble something on the board.

L'Amant. The Lover.

"L'Amant." He whispers, turning swiftly to gaze at us. "Can you name the author?" He asks in English, he rarely does it and I expect him to throw me a look but he doesn't.

A guy with blue specs answers from the first row. 'Marguerite Duras.'

Mr Dornan tilts his head in acknowledgment but says nothing, any other day he would add curtsies like, reste d'entre vous? rien? But nothing this time, he just stares at his sheets. Something's off about him today. I know everyone can sense it. I wish Zed was here and we could jump to conclusions. But he isn't here. I check my phone to check if he texted but it's nothing there. Suddenly I decide to call him. Is he all right? Is he in some kind of trouble? But Mr Dornan speaks again and I put my phone down.

"Duras is unparalleled and one of the most famous female French writers. Before I start on her biography, some instructions." He throws us his usual glare. "You must read the original text." He stresses on 'original'. "A translation is entirely out of question. It shall ruin your performance as much as your pleasure and understanding." He exhales. "And refrain from watching the movie adaptation, s'il te plait."

Some people chuckle but he pays no heed to it and starts with author biography. The whole time, I can't help but notice the odd quiver in his voice. I even took snap of him for my daily snapchat but he barely looked up from his sheets. I give up and start drawing doodles on my notebook.  Then it happens.

My phone rings at the top of its lungs, I feel the song ricocheting off the walls. Panic seizes my heart and my stomach lurches. I smother my phone before cutting the call with shaky fingers. I look up horrified. Every fucking living organism here is turning to look at me making me wish I was sitting at the first row. But I'm not looking at any of them. I'm looking at him.

Mr Dornan slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine. I brace myself for literally anything. But he sighs looking tired and almost... dejected? He looks away from me and clutches his forhead. I automatically stand up.

"I'm sorry." I say quickly.

Last time a phone rang in his class, he flipped shit on us. Tests after tests, and dragged the poor cellphone guy to the VC! Can you imagine? This fella has some serious high school teacher thing going on.

"Sit down, Aria." He puts simply without even looking at me.

What? He trippin'?

"I should've turned it off before getting in here, Sir, I'm-"

"Just sit."

"Sir-"

"Give me your phone, Aria." He sighs irritated.

"What?" I mumble taken aback. "That's not French, is it?" A bunch of guys beside me crackle up. I curse myself. Why couldn't I shut my fucking blabbering mouth? I gather up my spirits and walk up to the front of the class. After all these years of high school, I should be habitual of this. But I'm not.

He seems more intimidating when he's near. From the last row, he looks like a rabbit with golden fur. Usually his blue-brown iris makes him look furious but today he just looks fed up when he extends his hand to take my phone.