My Teacher Is My Boyfriend

1: New Teacher

~ TRIS KILLIAN ~

"Hi Denver," I said into the phone, to my boyfriend, Denver Crosby, on the other end of the line. 

"Hi, babe." He beamed. I could sense the ecstasy in his tone and I wondered what was the cause of it, but I wasn't interested in asking. 

I secured my phone firmly by placing it between my ear and shoulder, so I could get into my underwear. 

"I miss you so much. Can you believe I haven't seen you in three months?!" He exclaimed.

"I know." I giggled, returning my phone to my grip. "I also miss you so much." 

"So… how are you? Have you had anything to eat this morning?" I asked, feeling a headache forming at the back of my head, and it made me wince in pain. It was probably due to lack of sleep, but what could I do? I was stuck in this weird and stupid thing I had to attend called High School.

"I'm very good. I hope you had a nice sleep. Did you dream about me?" 

"I ought to, but I couldn't dream about you because my sleep was very short." I rolled my eyes. 

"And why is that? I've told you to always have a quality night rest." 

"I know, I know, I was stuck with taking care of Aeryn last night. She was kinda sick so I was up all night, watching her. And I had tons of stupid homework to do." I heaved a sigh. 

He maintained silence for a while before I heard him sigh and mutter, "sorry."

"Denver…" I chuckled. "Anyway, I'll call you later. I've got to get dressed for school." I yawned, still feeling sleepy as hell.

"Sure, have a nice day, babe." 

"Yeah. I love you. Bye." I ended the call, tossing the phone to my bed. 

As fast as I could, I wore my black jeggings, a white tank top, then a red sweater, slid my feet into my white and black striped pair of espadrilles, and rushed to the dressing mirror to brush my wavy waist-length dark blonde hair. My hazel eyes had bags under them, so I applied a bit of unnoticeable makeup to hide them. 

"I guess I look better now." I tried to convince myself, sighing again. I really needed to rest.

I strode to my school bag on the stool beside my wardrobe and hung one of its straps over my shoulder, picked my phone from my bed, threw it into my bag, then strode out of my room, scuttled down the stairs, and found my way to the dining table. 

"Finally! You're here." Jayana, my stepmom, greeted me with her round brown eyes flashing with delight that matched her smile as she pulled out a chair for me to sit on. 

"Thank you." I smiled back at her. Jayana was my 39-year-old stepmother. Unlike the evil stepmothers in movies, she was the sweetest human ever.