Marrying Mr. Shaw [EDITING!]

5 ♥

"So this paperwork is about your inspiration. This is an assignment and you have to write at least two pages full back to back to get an A grade." Mrs. Simpson began, walking slowly across the room.

The boys in the class were literally checking her out. It's funny because to them, she is intangible.

"So, would anyone give me an example of your biggest inspiration?" She asked. 

A couple of hands were raised and she pointed at Jeffery, a 5 foot 4 inches tall guy—the shortest in our class I might add. He pushed his sandy blonde bangs and revealed an unpleasant toothy grin.

Mrs. Simpson raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Jeffery, right?" 

"You got that right, Simpson." He winked at her as she rolled her eyes as a response. He grinned sweetly at her before replying, "My inspiration is my mom and dad." The whole class smirked at him as he's not the kindest person in the school. 

"Aw, isn't that sweet? How so?" She asked, smiling. 

"For raising such a wonderful child like me!" He laughed.

The class snickered and his friends laughed. I rolled my eyes, turning to face the front of the room again. 

"Very well," Mrs. Simpson commented with a touch of disappointment. She walked back to the front of the class and stood in front of my desk. Staring into my hazel eyes, she spoke, "How about you, miss...?"

"Lucy." I finished the sentence for her, shutting my notebook to hide the girly scribbles I have been creating of Mr. Shaw. 

"Ah! Yes, Lucy." She said, puckering her lips and fluttering her eyelashes. I narrowed my eyes at that awkward movement.

"Uhm well uh...I don't really know anyone as an inspiration." I replied, hesitantly.

"Oh come on, Lucy. There must be someone who inspires you." She urged. 

I bit my bottom lip and the only name that kept playing in my head was Mr. Shaw.

Mr. Shaw! Say Mr. Shaw!

Mr. Shaw, the love of your life, your inspiration!

"Mr. Shaw!" I blurted without thinking.

The girls in the class sighed dreamily, the guys questioned why the girls sighed dreamily and Mrs. Simpson looked horrified. I swear her jaw was almost touching the ground. What was that all about?

"Why do you think Mr. Shaw inspires you?" She said, clearly appalled.

"Well he..." I breathed. I have to do this. I can't let my fear of self consciousness swallow me. "He inspires me because he cares about this world. He cares about the children who are suffering daily from varieties of diseases that are unable to cure without big prices. His company has helped over millions and it still is running. He is saving children of any age, including babies everyday, providing them with food, clothes and money.

"Yes, he's rich and through our eyes, rich people are known as arrogant fools or selfish—excuse my language—bastards," The class giggled. "...Who don't care about anyone except their money but Mr. Shaw is different. He's just amazing and if that's not inspiring, I don't know what is." I chided.

There was a minute silence and then suddenly the whole class applauded. I smiled, shyly at everyone as they were giving me big grins. Some girls were also in tears which was odd but appreciating. 

Everyone cheered and smiled except Mrs. Simpson, who currently had a frown plastered on her face with her arms crossed across her chest. However, when I glanced at her body response, she composed herself and gave me a tight smile. Strange...

"Alright guys you can stop clapping now." She retorted but smiling lovingly at everyone. She then looked down at me with a glare before turning to face the board. 

What the hell was that all about? Why did she just glare at me?

Turning around to face Tiffany, who was busy writing something on her notebook, I wanted to ask her if she saw that glare Mrs. Simpson gave me. I wanted to know whether I was hallucinating or not.

"Did you see that?" I asked as Tiffany tilted her head up.

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "See what?" 

"She gave me a horrible look!" I whispered, loudly.

She laughed. "You're just imagining things. She's not bad for a teacher." My best friend has just defended my new nemesis. 

"I don't know. I don't think she likes me..." I muttered, turning back to face the board but really, keeping an eye on Mrs. Simpson. She was blabbing on about the language technique we could use for our assignment. Oh for the love of GOD, we're 18 not 13. We know what language techniques to use and what not!

I groaned. There was something about Mrs. Simpson that made me think she was un-manicured and eerie It was annoying to know that I just couldn't put my finger on it.