Hunters

Math Class

I honestly love his class. Not that I like math, but it's just him. He's the best teacher I've ever had. He's friendly, young, and almost like a student himself.

Mr. Winchester is 26. Last year was his first year at my school, and he's obviously fresh out of college. Mr. Winchester often tells of stories about his college days of playing basketball and how he got a full-ride scholarship for his athletic talent. I can tell he was an athlete too. He has a rock hard body, with defined and toned muscles that stretched his shirts. His clothes always look so good on him, especially with his shirts untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wears black, beat-up converse and has long, brown hair. He's honestly hotter than any of the boys in my year.

Despite them being a huge factor, Mr. Winchester's looks aren't the only thing that attracts me to him. Me and every other girl in the school, that is. He's very charismatic. I suppose it's a Winchester thing. I've seen his brother come in to drop off papers or something once in a blue moon, and damn, did they hit the jackpot. That boy winks at the girls in the hallway and they all giggle and stare. He is almost as hot as Mr. Winchester. They don't look a lot alike, and Mr. Winchester is taller than his brother by a foot or more, but just the way they hold themselves was the same. Like they'd grown up with a lifetime of girls throwing themselves at their feet, which they probably had. Mr. Winchester isn't cocky in any way, but he has a certain look in his eye like he knew the dirty things I thought about doing to him at night when my thoughts couldn't silence themselves.

He's smart as well. He honestly has an answer for all of my questions, about math or not. I often find myself asking him questions about my chemistry assignments because the other teachers just can't make me understand.

"Think a little harder. Yeah, you've almost got it! You're right in the edge of it, " he tells me, assuring me that I was just one small step off, even if I were a million miles from the right answer.

I'd laugh and say, "Yep, I was definitely close," as I changed my answer to the new suggestion that Mr. Winchester gave me. He'd roll his eyes and let out that beautiful laugh of his, where his eyes crinkle at the corners and his white teeth add to his gorgeous smile he has whilst laughing. He always laughs at my jokes, even if they aren't super funny. It's like he hasn't laughed for years, every time he does let go. It seems as if the only time he ever laughs is for me, which I know is not true, but it makes my heart flutter at the thought. What if I was one of the only people who could make him happy? Would he fancy me then?

I don't laugh much either. A hard life of moving around all my years has brought me little joy, and just seeing his smile can make my day. Only if he knew how he can make me feel. I often found myself sitting in his class during study halls in the back, just because I 'needed help with math' even when I didn't have a math assignment to complete that day. I couldn't help it. Always being new to schools and all, having something that's always the same comforts me. Mr. Winchester isn't always the same, but at least he's always there. Sometimes he looks like he hasn't slept for weeks, mug after mug of coffee being downed on his desk. On these days, Mr. Winchester says it's a free period and pours himself over his books. His books are almost always in a different language or look ancient, but I don't question it. He seems stressed, so I simply leave him alone. Those days I miss his smile, but use the time to actually catch up on the work I miss while daydreaming about the man.

"May?" I hear my name and look up from my notebook.

"Yes...?" I ask tentatively, smiling sheepishly.

"Um..What's the answer?" Mr. Winchester asks and everyone in the class giggles. He smiles and I smile back, watching him raise his eyebrows. I then watch him write the correct numbers I was supposed to say on the whiteboard, his strong arms flexing as he shoves the plaid fabric of his dress shirt up his forearms.