Fuck
I hissed under my breath as I realized that I had blew away my cover. The crumbled up paper which I usually used for copying was lying in the middle of the row, vividly visible to the teacher who was now going on rounds, catching culprits.
I stretched my leg sideways, trying to move the paper with my shoes, but as luck would have had it, I kicked the desk along with the paper which created a loud banging sound. I didn't know which one was going to be more painful; the teacher's ear bleeding lecture or my leg I had banged the table with.
"Y/n!" Mr. Park shouted, furrowing his brows and shooting glares in my direction.
"Yes sir?" I shuffled awkwardly in my place, a tension arising in the room.
He bent down, and picked the ball of paper that I wished to make it disappear by waving a magic wand.
"What's this?"he asked me, holding the paper firmly in his hand. I let out a sigh knowing that he wouldn't dare or read the contents loud in front of the class.
"A paper?" I mumbled stupidly. That was the time I questioned my whole existence.
"I know that its a paper. But what did you use it for?"he said, authoritatively. His voice held no emotions. It was as if someone had installed a microchip in him that made him to talk like a robot.
"I u-used i-it. . ." I trailed off, not knowing how to continue the answer. Why did I stutter? Oh god!
"Meet me after class. I need to talk with you,"he said, marching off to his place after throwing the piece of paper in the dustbin.
"Yes, sir." I replied, sinking back into my seat, avoiding the glares of the others students.
Within a few minutes, the quiet atmosphere was back, as everyone's head were buried in the papers. I tried to look at the math paper in front of me, but all those equations seemed to have a world war three in my head, giving me a headache. I rubbed the temples of my head, groaning in frustration.
After a few minutes, Mr. Park warned us that there were only five minutes remaining in the test. A surge of panic coursed through my body, as I tried to tick in random options for the questions. Just as the time got over, I realized that I had ticked the options simultaneously (a,c,b,d). I handed over the sheet to the teacher and waited in the class until everyone left because Mr Park had apparently wanted to have a small talk with me.
"Follow me,"he said, holding the bundle of our exam papers in one hand and the other one adjusting his glasses.
Without retaliating, I soon followed suit, while fiddling nervously with my fingers.
"Sit down," Mr. Park ordered, after we entered his personal cubicle (office).
"Yes sir," I said, as I slided the chair and sat on it. Just then, I heard a crack, from my bones, indicating that they were indeed doing the job of humiliating me.
"Lack of physical exercise,"he mumbled under his breath in utter frustration.
I'll just act like I did not hear that.
His glasses slided over to the bridge of his nose ever so often when he gazed at me, as his slim fingers made their way to adjust them. I was so fascinated at the dexterity of his fingers that I did not notice him waving a sheet of paper in front of me.
"Y/n!"he shouted. I sprang up from my seat, flustered, as the chair fell back with a thud at the sudden movement. Brushing the lock of hair behind my ears, I smiled sheepishly and brought back the chair to its position and sat on it, looking down at the floor.
"Did you know how you performed in the previous test?"he asked me, the paper swaying in front of my eyes.
"How could I know unless you say, sir?" I replied, gritting my teeth to make sure it came out politely.
"Talking back, aren't we?"he smirked, a devilish grin etched on his face. I scoffed in remark to his disrespectful attitude towards vulnerable students like me.
"This is not called talking back sir. This is called spitting facts," I fumed in anger.
"Well, then, why don't you spit your so called facts on your answer sheet?"he asked me, folding his hands. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and his shirt was drenched in perspiration despite the freezing cold outside.
"I write them sir," I replied, grabbing the one of the armrest.
"Then why don't you ever get good marks?"he questioned again, with that smirk still engraved on his idiotic face.
"Sir, like I said, I write facts. I don't solve them," I replied, shrugging my tensed shoulders.
"Should I solve them for you?"he asked me, grabbing a pen and twisting them between his fingers.
"Sir, I-" I began but was cut off by his loud voice.
"Be quiet. No more talks. You scored a fat zero in the previous test!"he shouted, his nose flaring in anger.
Why was he so angry?
"I can't help it when math is so hard," I whined.
"Should someone tutor you?"he asked me, his eyes boring into mine.
"Yes sir, I am in need of some assistance," I replied.
"Then, I will give you private lessons,"he said, taking me by surprise.
"Sir, private lessons?" I asked, still dazed from the sudden revelation.
"Yes y/n. Get ready for a thrilling ride,"he said, and walked away with the bundle of papers under his arms.
Private teacher? Interesting...
