Meet Me After Class

Chapter 4: The Substitute Teacher

Jay just flashed a grin and exited, tray in hand.

"Shut up," Adam snapped at her and left.

I watched Adam walk away. "He can never say no to him."

"How do you think Jay even scraped through Junior High? I've never caught him with a book. Or seen him carrying a bag."

"Well, maybe he spends a lot of time studying at home."

Penny shook her head. "Impossible. Or maybe Adam's been doing his homework. You know, with their special bond."

I laughed at her unfounded comment as I stared at my dry salad. Maybe Martha broke up with her boyfriend again. What a waste of ingredients? "Do you really think that Adam's gay?"

She rolled her eyes at me like it was a given. "Duh. Of course, he is. Did you ever see him with a girl other than us? It's either he's with us or he's with that turd. And I never heard him said he's liked someone."

Suddenly, my conversation with Adam the night before flashed in my mind. He made some valid points. Why ask someone out just for the heck of it? I mean, the physical attraction could be one factor to ask someone for a date, but not Adam. He'd rather do it based on deeper connection than physical attraction.

"Hurry up or are you going to really finish up that miserable salad?" Penny asked. "You don't want to be late for Creative Writing."

Right. Ben, I mean Mr. Scott, for a brief moment, I thought I kind of connected with him back at Brown's. Okay, I made a fool of myself, but there was a connection, even if it was a very, very thin thread.

But did he sense it too?

Penny and I hustled to our next class. The moment Mr. Scott strolled into the room and the gushing and giggles from the other girls commenced, the very, very thin connection I thought we had earlier evaporated into thin air.

Although he was a lot younger than the rest of the faculty at Pinecrest High, he was still my teacher, not that I was hoping for some romantic involvement with him. That would be utterly absurd.

Besides, he's a studmuffin. The growing number of admirers and obvious crushes on him was a bit of a buzzkill. I had zero interest in competing for his attention, especially not against the likes of Megan Jones and her clique. Unruly brown hair refusing to cooperate, ordinary brown eyes, a barely-there chest—I could go on—nope, I wouldn't stand a chance.

Ugh! Why did I sound like a hopelessly romantic girl in denial? I'm already eighteen. I really should start thinking and acting my age!

Mr. Scott cleared his throat and addressed the class. "Good afternoon." Then, he smiled.

Why did he have to pair his gravelly calm and warm voice with a smile that lit up his eyes? And how was it even possible for him to get better looking every day?

By now, practically every single female at school was bug-eyed about him. Not that they could do anything about their growing affection for him because, again, he's a darn teacher. So, all they could really do was daydream about him.

Speaking of daydream, I nudged Penny next to me. "Wake up, he's here."

She groaned and straightened up in her seat.

Mr. Scott began to brief the class about the annual play, emphasizing its weight in our final grades. As he went over all the details, I glanced around and noticed every girl in the room hanging on his every word. Even Megan Jones!

Damn, when Ms. Miles almost choked on her own saliva in front of us, she didn't even bat an eye.

"Nice tie," Penny coolly muttered, referencing Mr. Scott's dark blue slim knit tie.