Mated To The Werewolf Calculus Teacher

1

Emilia

"Welcome back to Florence, Ms. Davenport, how was your summer?"

"It was absolute dog-water, Principal Atachi. Thank you for asking." I give him a warm smile. His face changes from a pleasant smile to one of concern and confusion but I've already turned a corner before he can ask any more questions.

"Looks like Emmylou's back on the farm." Maira, my ancient nemeses and her minions laugh as they pass me in the hallway. But I'm a different person now, better and stronger than the sad little tween she used to bully.

"Good to see you again May, I see you're still a 'Maxinista'." I drop my Chanel sunglasses over my eyes, ignoring the drop of Maira's jaw. But I can't contain my smile when I hear the suppressed chuckles of her traitorous minions.

I effortlessly make my way to homeroom. I could walk through this building blindfolded. I attended Florence High School for two years before transferring my Junior year when my dad got a job as news anchor in New York. It was going to be the best year of my life, the year I finally got out of the sticks of Florence

Plot twist! It sucked. It more than sucked. It was absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the worst year of my life. My dad cheated on my mom, which led to my mom revealing that she had been cheating with her colleague for two years. All of this was aired out over the dinner table, in front of my boyfriend, who broke up with me that night. And on top of all that there was the 'incident', as mom likes to put it.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts of all things New York related. It doesn't matter. I've moved in with my grams. My test scores are amazing, my grades are phenomenal and this last year is all about getting into Dartmouth, the Ivy League school of my dreams. I'd be a legacy, but if Dad thinks I'm going to let him take credit for my enrollment, he's dead wrong. I'm doing this all on my own.

I turn into my classroom and take the desk at the front on the left. Yes, I know sitting at the front is kind of lame. But I'm blind as a bat and I refuse to get glasses. Also, I'm 5"1 so... yeah.

I set down my Christian Dior bag, pulling out a pink notebook and an iPad Pro. The kid next to me sits with the hood of a black hoodie pulled up and his inky hair falling over his eyes. He looks over at my desk and rolls his eyes.

"Problem?" I ask him, lowering my sunglasses to look him in the eye.

"Not at all, Princess." He says, shoving wired headphones into his ears and scrolling through his phone.

I readjust my glasses and run a hand through my hair. Jeez. This kid doesn't even know me. I barely register the teacher's entrance as I turn on my iPad. The audible gasps and giggles behind me draw my attention to the front of the room. I look up to see a tall, well-muscled man, writing his name on the whiteboard. "Damn." I whisper. I'd say his name if I knew how to pronounce all those syllables together. I swear, it's the most beautiful back of a man I have ever seen. His muscles are defined even through the black thermal. His charcoal slacks hug him like they were made to fit his perfectly firm butt. His hair is loose and long and hangs just above his shoulder blades.

Is he god? I ask myself, feeling a certain tension build in me like I've never felt before. The room feels warmer, my clothes are constricting and I squirm in my seat as he turns to address the class. But before he can get a word out, his head turns to me, like I've called that long, unpronounceable name on the board.

He taps a thick pointer finger against his temple, "Glasses, Ms..."

"Emilia." I tell him reaching for my glasses, "But you can call me Emmy-"

Our eyes connect and my world shifts.

(In Progress)