Confessions of a Mafia

Chapter Ten

Freen

Derivatives is the rate of change of a quantity y with respect to another quantity x. It is also termed the differential coefficient of y with respect to f*cking x!

My eyebrows instantly creased as soon as I read the topic to be discussed today. I flipped the succeeding pages in the textbook and all I saw were numbers, lines, and symbols. My jaw clenches in sheer dread. Who the bloody hell invented advanced calculus again?

I should have had disguised as a transfer student from another country instead of portraying myself as an esteemed professor in math. Why have I not thought this through while planning on how I can watch over her in school? Now it's too late! So much trouble for being a guardian of a crybaby.

I glanced back to her designated seat, but she's still not here much to my unwanted dismay. Students are quickly filling up the whole room as they entered boisterously. Checking my wrist watch, it says seven fifty. There's still ten minutes but I'm beginning to be agitated by the lack of her presence. My hand is starting to itch, wanting to get my phone and message Richie to check on the girl's whereabouts. But that wouldn't be so cool on my part. Hence, I restrained myself.

Then suddenly, a delicate hand with fair skin tone invaded my sight. I attentively watched as the slender fingers whose nails are beautifully manicured with french tip land a piece of small sticky note on my desk. It was done in a swift cautious motion, then the hand was already gone in just a blink of an eye. I immediately took it as I looked at the daring girl. Her back is already on me as she sauntered towards her seat. Her hips are gracefully swaying in the process.

Good morning. Hope you rested well last night.

My heart swelled with unspeakable emotion upon silently reading the simple message which was written in calligraphy. The foreign feeling is a total shock to me so I forced myself to push it on the farthest back of my mind and decided to unpack it later on.

Against my volition, my eyes returned to the now seated Ms. Armstrong, but she isn't looking at me. It nevertheless provided me the luxury to observe the girl as she slowly untied her hair. It fell past her shoulders like a plush veil as she slightly shake her head. Her hand went up, running her fingers through her wavy dark brown hair like some model who is doing a high-end shampoo commercial. Ms. Armstrong looks so effortlessly gorgeous at this very instance.

She's always this gorgeous, sh*thead! My silly mind retorted.

I was however caught off guard when her eyes suddenly flickered my way, disabling me from averting my gaze. Didn't anticipate that she will cast me a look. A fierce one. She then leisurely arched her sculpted eyebrow and gave me a provocative smirk, silently implying that she has caught me staring. My face heating up at her fearless expression.

Yet, the lovely sight of her has abruptly faded when Caleb appeared in the scene, blocking my view. He talked to Heng, requesting to exchange their damn seats to which the latter agreed. Then the annoying boy sat happily on the chair, facing the equally smiling girl. She is now looking at him. Caleb's hand rises as he aims to fix a couple of hair strands which are falling loosely on the girl's face.

Don't touch her! I mumbled, biting the insides of my lower lip.

But of course, his callous hand still reached Ms. Armstrong's hair and gently placed it on the back of her ear.

You can already pull back your hand boy! My mind screams, but to my utter irritation, his hand landed on her rosy cheek right after — fondling it with his fingers.

Alright. There's someone who will lose his f*cking hand this very moment!

But you are lucky Mr. Hemming because I'm not her future spouse. I frowned at the realisation. Why am I being mad over this? Yet, I willed myself not to analyse my own behaviour.