I am yanked forcibly out of my mid-class daydream by the piercing trill of the school bell, signaling to the class of relieved students the arrival of lunch.
As soon as my gaze lands on the algebra teacher at the front of the classroom, my cheeks begin to flame.
Because, well… the previously mentioned daydream may or may not have consisted of a mildly inappropriate fantasy with Mr. Moore. As his eyes lock onto mine, the intensity of the color on my cheeks increases. I look away hastily, pretending to be totally absorbed in sliding my textbook and notepad – which, I’ll add, contains a whole lot of doodles but no actual math work – back into my bag whilst waiting for his attention to turn to someone else.
You can’t blame me for daydreaming, though. Mr. Moore, although he happens to be way older than me (probably about twenty seven, give or take a few years), is the most attractive teacher in the school. Almost every girl in the school who’s aware of his existence will harbor an involuntary crush on him. It’s impossible not to; his dashing looks and naturally charming personality are enough to make any female swoon.
I snatch up my bag and am about to make my escape when I’m cut off by the sound of a voice.
“Georgie?”
Crap. Please don’t let Mr. Moore have gained mind-reading powers in the last ten minutes. What’s just been going on in my head is something I’m not too keen on him seeing.
I turn around slowly as the rest of the class begins to file out of the room. Biting my lip, I try to keep the impending blush down as my eyes meet with his. “Yeah?”
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
Inappropriate images flash through my mind again, causing me to curse my dirty brain. This is a teacher, Georgie. And that’s not even getting started on the fact that he’s over ten years older than you. Get a grip.
I inhale deeply, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”
He goes over to his desk, waiting until the remainder of the class have exited the room. As I stand awkwardly beside my own desk, I try to calm my frantic nerves. I’m only talking to a teacher, for God’s sake. It’s not like he’s going to confess his love for me and ask me to make out with him in the store closet.
Damn fantasies.
The door clicks shut after the last student, the quiet sound seeming practically deafening in the silence that’s settled between us. Mr. Moore leans on the edge of his wooden desk, looking way too attractive and calm – especially in comparison to my incredibly jittery state. He looks over at me, grinning when notices the distance I’ve put between us.
“You can come closer, you know,” he mentions, with a short laugh. “I don’t bite, I swear.”
“Um… right,” I say, clearing my throat. Hesitantly, I step closer. “So, um… what did you want to talk to me about?”
Mr. Moore shoots another heart-stopping grin at me before reaching over for the top sheet on the pile of papers resting on his desk. Averting my gaze from his chocolate-colored messy hair and dazzling grin, which is way too distracting, I shift my attention to what he’s holding in his hand. Immediately, I recognize the marginally crumpled sheet covered in red ink marks as last week’s algebra quiz.
Crap.
I knew as soon as I turned over the paper that I was going to flunk it. And, by the looks of the amount of red crosses scrawled all over the sheets, I had been right.
“This one didn’t go so well, huh?” Mr. Moore says, but his voice is far from patronizing. I know for a fact that any other teacher would launch straight into a lecture about how I didn’t study enough, but he actually seems understanding. I suppose it’s just another reason why his fan club is so extensive.
I bite my lip. “Not really…”
“Everyone has bad days, but… a lot of your tests have been like this. Are you having trouble in class, Georgie?”
Suddenly, I find myself under the intense gaze of his hazel eyes. Does he have to look at me like that? He should know by now that it’s incredibly hard for anyone to concentrate when those beauties are boring into them. I rack my brain for a suitable answer, but come up short. My head is way too jumbled from the complications of my everyday life to form a coherent sentence right now, let alone think about how I’m going to pass algebra this year.
“It’s fine if you are. I’m not the world’s greatest teacher,” he comments jokily, although he knows perfectly well that almost everyone in the school thinks he is.
“Um, yeah... I mean, I’ve always struggled with math...”
He holds up my test paper, handing it to me. When I catch sight of the score scrawled on the front, I don’t even bother to suppress my grimace. Wow... when I thought I flunked it, I was so right. “With your answers, I can see you’re halfway there...” he muses. “You just don’t understand it fully, right?”
Well, I don’t even understand half of it, but let’s go with that one.
“Right.”
If I could, I would drop out of this class faster than... well, a fast thing. Believe me, there’d be no hesitation about that one. Algebra is pretty much the chart-topper on my list of subjects that make me want to tear my hair out, along with gym, of course. However, if I don’t pass at least one math-related class this year, I know full well that college will be a distant dream.
And being stuck in this town for the rest of my life? I can’t say that’s too appealing.
“Well, we could always see about you getting some help,” Mr. Moore says, running a hand through his shiny-looking hair. “Perhaps a tutor?”
His eyes are on me again, shooting me a questioning look. Once again, I’m rendered practically speechless, feeling myself shrinking in size under their intensity. Ugh... does he have to keep doing this? Maybe it’s way of subconscious hypnosis. Instead of replying, I find myself nodding slowly. Although, with the way he’s currently looking at me, I think I would agree to anything he says.
Especially if the offer for the make out session still stands...
Shut up, brain.
“Great!” he responds, shifting his attention to the rest of the class’ tests which are still lying untouched on his desk. After a split-second of hesitation, he snatches them up, flicking through the names scrawled on the top of each one whilst inspecting each one’s score. There are a couple of grimaces – although their results are probably still better than mine – which makes me feel marginally better. I’m well aware I’m probably at the bottom of the class, but it’s still reassuring to know there are people almost as suck-ish as me.
Eventually, he comes across one of suitability and pulls it from the pile. My eyes flicker to the top of the sheet, trying to sneak a peek at the name, but I’m not quick enough.
I tell you, if it’s Connor, I’ll be one step closer to stabbing him.
Thankfully, just seconds after this thought crosses my mind, I realize that the test was taken by our class before Connor started yesterday. Thank God. Any more time than necessary spent with that jerk and we may just have a murder on our hands.
“Hmm... Nathan scored pretty well on this test,” Mr. Moore comments, flicking thoughtfully through the paper in his hands. Then, he looks up, studying my expression. “What would you think about him tutoring you? Would that be a problem or anything?”
Nathan... in my mind, I conjure up an image of the guy in question. Limited only to occasional small talk throughout our years of schooling, Nathan isn’t anything more than an acquaintance to me, despite sharing classes with each other since kindergarten. From what I can gather, the blonde-haired guy seems nice enough, and isn’t part of the popular crowd (which is a big bonus).
“No, that’s fine,” I confirm, internally congratulating myself for making it through a sentence without stuttering or passing out.
“Great!” he says breezily, with a smile. “I’ll talk to Nathan tomorrow and see how he feels about it. You two can meet up once in a while. He’ll probably go over the work we’ve done in class, check you understand it and explain whatever you don’t. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
I suppose it won’t be too bad. I mean, I’ll finally get some help with the subject I’ve been struggling with ever since day one of high school. You never know, miracles could happen; I may actually get an A.
Actually, scratch that. Even Jesus wouldn’t be able to perform something as far-fetched as that. Healing a blind man, sure, but me getting a decent grade in algebra? Dream on. As long as I pass with something higher than an F, I’ll be satisfied.
Anyway, I should look on the bright side. At least it’s not Connor tutoring me... or Charlotte. The thought makes me shudder. To be honest, if it was The Devil trying to teach me algebra, I think I’d be trying to claw her eyes out with her own manicured nails before any actual learning was done.
Still, it’d be satisfying.
“Okay, Georgie, that’s fine,” Mr. Moore concludes, smiling warmly at me as he pushes himself off from the desk and starts toward his computer. “I’ll talk to Nathan tomorrow and then let you know what he said. He should be okay with it, though.”
“Okay... um, see you,” I say awkwardly, not really knowing how I should bid goodbye. I shoot him one last grateful smile before tearing my gaze away from his godly attractiveness and concentrating my efforts on exiting the room. Surprisingly, it’s harder than it looks, and I have to focus all my attention on putting one foot in front of the other – I know myself too well, and if I let myself get distracted for a nanosecond by anything, I run the risk of being incredibly stupid and tripping over my own feet.
Oh God! I cry internally as the thought makes an appearance in my head. What if he’s looking at my butt as I’m walking out? These jeans are so not flattering in that department. What if he’s internally commenting on how unusually large it looks in these pants?
I quickly steal a glance behind me, hoping he doesn’t notice. When the sight of Mr. Moore staring intently at his computer screen greets my eyes, a breath of relief escapes my lips.
However, I sighed too soon.
Because, before I can whip my head back around and resume my concentration on the extremely difficult task in hand (i.e. walking), my foot collides with the metal leg of one of the desks. The contact startles me, and before I can retract my own leg quickly and stable myself, my sense of balance fails me (as it often does). And then, before I’ve even realized what’s happening...
Well, me and the floor are getting to know each other a little better.
A low groan escapes my lips as a result of the impact; my bag slides off my shoulder and hits the floor too, spilling its contents in the process. For a moment I just lie there, utterly confused for a couple of seconds, before the realization begins to set in.
About the same time as the mortification.
“Whoa... are you okay?” I hear the scraping of Mr. Moore’s chair as he stands up, hastening over to where I’m sprawled uncomfortably on the polished floor.
“Uh... I’m fine,” I say, summoning the energy to push myself upwards into a sitting position and rub at my head. I’m not injured, just in shock, but the whole incident’s enough to make my head just that little bit more jumbled than it was before.
Suddenly, a large hand appears in my line of sight. After a nanosecond of staring at it, blinking stupidly, I realize that it’s Mr. Moore’s offer to help me up. Forcing down the girly-girly side of me that’s screaming in excitement at getting to hold his hand – even if it’s purely through an act of my unnatural clumsiness – I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
Still, I can’t get rid of the girly-girly side completely.
Mr. Moore just held my hand!
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my bag lying half-open on the ground beneath me, its contents strewn everywhere. Because, as you know, Georgie Howard isn’t one to do a job half-heartedly – oh, no. She’ll go out of her way to do it properly. Even if that does mean coating the floor of room twenty-four with all of my personal belongings.
“Here, let me give you a hand,” he offers, as I begin snatching up everything in my reach.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” I say, but he continues anyway. Bending down, he picks up a couple of textbooks lying abandoned next to his feet and holds them out to me.
Thankfully, I’m able to snatch up my notepad before he can make a grab for it. I can’t even begin to imagine the awkwardness if he sneaked a peek at any of my inappropriate doodles in there. Not that they’re indecent, or anything – it’s not as if I’m making plans for the next big porno magazine in there – but the inside of my personal, strictly private notepad is not intended for his eyes.
Or any prying human, for that matter.
Breathing a second sigh of relief, I shove the last of what’s left into my bag. At least now I’m free to leave the room and fret about this mortifying incident alone. For me, escape from this situation can’t come soon enough. To be honest, if I’d had my way, I would’ve bolted from the room at the first mention of my name.
I pivot on my heel, all set to make my speedy retreat, when I’m interrupted by the sound of Mr. Moore’s soothing voice once more.
“Uh...” Is it my imagination, or does he sound kind of embarrassed? “I think you forgot something.”
Slowly, I turn round, suddenly wary of what I’m going to find. And, it turns out, my suspicions are justified. When I catch sight of Mr. Moore’s flustered expression – miles away from his usual confident self – my gaze immediately snaps to the item he’s gripping gingerly in his hand, as if it’s a hand grenade.
Oh my God.
No!
The most awkward forced laugh on the planet escapes my lips as I snatch the tampon from his hand, shoving it into my bag as quickly as my co-ordination will allow me. Needless to say, my cheeks are on fire, and I’m internally wishing that the floor would open up and swallow me. Anything to escape from the tortures of this situation.
Something like this could only happen to me.
“Um... I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, still wearing an embarrassed expression, his cheeks flushed slightly pink.
The only thing I can bring myself to do is turn around and sprint out of his room as quickly as my clumsy legs will allow me.
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LOL. I love this chapter. I wanted to have an opportunity for a new character (Nathan), but I just had to have Georgie embarrassing herself first. I'm cruel :P Anyway, as promised, early upload :) Thanks so much for all your support!
55 comments (it's going up, but you reach it anyway) = upload on Tues instead of Wed :)