The Sweet Taste of Honey

HISTORY

AVERY

School, though I wasn't excited or even remotely intrigued by the idea, I always tried  to make an effort; in the beginning anyway but not so much by the end.

I was never the smartest but not because the intelligence wasn't there but because I never really used it to my advantage.

It was far easier to sit back and fly by on passing grades than to actually try but ultimately that plan had to fail, and it did as you know I resat my senior year which was rudely interrupted by my father's scandalous behaviour which led me to the very moment I dreaded, January sixth, my first day.

As I wandered down the halls, I thought about the many school days where I should've focused and tried a little harder because if I had I wouldn't be in those halls, I'd still be in the little village yes, but not those halls and that was what I hated most about myself.

Old habits die hard and so even despite my best efforts by the time my final class rolled around I was clinging on to my focus for dear life. I waited for the teacher to arrive, so did everyone, we took it upon ourselves to find our seats and naturally I wound up at the back, with my head on my desk aimlessly doodling onto the wooden table.

I was too busy lost in my own world to hear the teacher clearing her throat, requesting my attention and so when I finally caught sight of a clean black pair of shoes standing in front of my desk, I lifted my head, quickly dropping my pencil.

I swallowed harshly as I saw her. Her brows were furrowed as she stared at me, stunned to silence.

"Miss Honey," I whispered ever so quietly under my breath.

She cleared her throat as she shook her head a little, her loose light brown curls bouncing perfectly as she woke herself up from her painfully obvious state of shock.

"Miss Valentine," she corrected me, and I nodded my head.

She quickly returned to the front of the class to continue teaching in hopes of dismissing the awkward introduction. For the most part, not a single other person looked too much into our strange encounter and for that I was grateful.

I wasn't sure why and even despite my earlier thoughts, I paid just about as much attention as I could to her and her teaching, but I knew that it had nothing to do with me bettering myself. She intrigued me. I found the way she spoke so passionately about history to be fascinating even if the topics weren't so much.

She cared about her class and her teaching, and it was beyond evident with her elegance and grace as she proudly taught, and that behaviour reflected on her class.

Consciously or subconsciously, we found ourselves wanting to impress her, wanting her approval and praise because unlike most teachers, she seemed to mean everything she said. She was so trustworthy and loving, she was Miss Honey.

She stopped me at the door as I was about to leave, her I walked over to her desk as the last student politely shut the door behind themselves. "Avery, we need to talk," she began.

"I had no idea you'd be my teacher," I interrupted.

"I had no idea you were so young, Avery I'm so sorry for what I did."

"Please can you just call me Avie and it's okay I'm 18, not 12 and we both agreed to let that night be a happy memory so you have nothing to worry about."

"Avery," she made a point of using my full name and I hated it, "you know I can't sit here and call you Avie like it has no meaning."

"Please just call me Avie, honestly, we can forget about what happened, friends?" I questioned.