Miss, Do I Know You?

03 - Wednesday, September 9

Nature had always been my peace of mind, my space for introspection. But today, on a park bench by the school, there was not much peace to be found. All I was left with was introspection.

Unmindful of my observant eyes that kept straying through the trees and snatching glances as if to confirm her presence, she had claimed her usual lunchtime spot for nearly an hour, this time with a book shared alongside her habitual cigarette. Once she had paused, inexplicably, looking away from her book to gaze out into the park, and I had nearly died of fright that she had noticed me. I felt like an intruder, some stalker, but it wasn't even on purpose. It was just her that drew attention.

It had been merely over a week of shared spaces and glances, but little by little, she crept into my thoughts and always lingered at the back of my mind like noxious fumes despite my efforts to evict her. She had this alluring indifference, matched by a savvy awareness, and while she had always acted strange with me, recent days had been even stranger; whenever my eyes dared to join hers, they would quickly retreat. In class, she took special care to always call on me, but multiple times we had found ourselves trapped in some silent exchange where words dared not intrude, far longer than usual boundaries. Almost like she was testing me on something, as if she wanted something from me.

Some impulse, almost unsolicited, pushed me to simply get up and confront her, to ask directly for the truths that I wanted to understand. If only it weren't for the warning bell echoing from the school that wrenched me away from the thoughts and held me in reality, where more doubts and theories bred and spread in my muddled brain. It was all so confusing.

However reluctantly and unwillingly, I turned my strides toward the classroom down the hallway. But no matter what I did, wherever I looked, wherever I went, that sound—the drumbeat of boots striking the floors behind me—seemed to be there, somehow both metaphorically and literally echoing my steps.

A monotonous voice trailed along, as untimely and blunt as always. "Class is starting in half a minute," it said before Miss Martin drifted past without sparing me even a glance, leaving behind a faint scent of vanilla and spring flowers.

Those words halted my steps, compelled me to lean against the wall, and made me linger in audacious procrastination. My own impulses confused me; I didn't know if I wanted to provoke her deliberately, but I knew I didn't want her to monopolize all the fun. And when I finally stepped inside the classroom after the bell had stopped ringing, one pair of eyes stood out with their disapproving glances.

"You were ten steps away from the door and still managed to be late?"

"No idea how that happened."

Miss Martin let out a long sigh before her gaze veered back to the rest of the class. "Anyways. The results of yesterday's test were surprisingly good," she continued just as dryly. "Given your enthusiastic participation, I was expecting a disaster, so thanks for proving me wrong. But there are some things I'd like to point out."

Her fingers plucked a paper from the stack. "One of you went to great lengths to explain every answer in the multiple-choice quiz part where it was absolutely unnecessary. Thanks for the light afternoon reading, but I have to admit that it's just pointless and clearly left you with no time to finish the rest."

The following paper met the same fate under her scrutiny. "This one had obviously filled in the quiz part at random and drawn memes under every exercise. You know who you are. I gave you an extra point for each huff of air that I let out, but you failed anyway. Please see me after class to go over the reasons for it, and we can figure out when you can retake the test and whether you need extra help," she concluded, her voice dipping into a hushed register. "Or just be a bit funnier next time."