He was her teacher; She was his student.
He wanted her; She wanted him.
It shouldn't be complicated.
But nothing's ever that easy.
*contains mature content; read at your own risk
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"Stop being so crabby," I scolded my two very hungover friends once we arrived at school. I, of course, had to pick the two of them up because I still had Ashton's car, and they would have to get Lindsey's car after school today. I couldn't go with them because I had tutoring.
They had somehow magically made it through the first couple class periods without any questioning from the teachers. But then again, most of the teachers here were fucking clueless when it came to this kind of stuff. The only teacher who ever had any idea when students would come to class high or hungover was Mr. Hemmings because it wasn't too long ago that he had classmates— and maybe even he himself— who probably did this. He would never give detentions or send the students to the office when he caught them though. If they were hungover, he would always make sure to call on them, or if they were high, he would play along with whatever they were going on about just for some in-class entertainment. It was such an asshole move, but the students preferred it to getting a phone call home.
"Have fun in here, guys," I laughed when we were entering Mr. Hemmings' classroom. He already knew of their condition even if wasn't already obvious. My friends groaned and one of them muttered a quiet "fuck you" under their breath.
We took our seats as the bell rang, and Mr. Hemmings scanned the room, mentally checking attendance. He chuckled a little when his gaze fell onto Ashton and Lindsey who were resting their heads on their desks.
"Alright class," he clapped his hands together, and his voice boomed loudly throughout the room. Ashton and Lindsey jumped at the sudden noise and audibly groaned when they saw Mr. Hemmings looking at them.
"I hate him so fucking much," Lindsey whispered to me as Mr. Hemmings started the lesson.
"It's your own fault," I whispered back, but she just scowled in return.
"Miss Brooklyn, Miss Clifford," Mr. Hemmings called attention to where the two of us were whispering back forth, all eyes in the room turning to look at us. "Do you ladies have something to share with the class?"
"No, sorry, Mr. Hemmings," Lindsey squeaked, her eyes wide.
"Really? I'm not that old. My ears do still work."
