𝚍𝚒𝚕𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝚍𝚒𝚕𝚏 𝟷: 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚗

Story: You are a teacher at East High School. All your life, you have been living single and free, but for a good reason. You've been saying yourself for the man of your dreams. In this case, that man is Jack Bolton, the father of your student, Troy Bolton.

"Please be seated." You told your class, who were running around left and right. Realizing that they were not listening to you, you clapped your hands together, gaining their attention.
"Good. Today's subject will be about the history of America." You started while writing on the blackboard. You hear a quiet "𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦" from behind you. You sigh and turn around, not feeling surprised when you see Troy Bolton having his hand raised.
"Yes, Troy?" You asked him, resting your hand on your hip.
"I got basketball practice in 5 minutes. I should get going." He says
"Nice excuse, Mr. Bolton. We all know that your basketball practice doesn't start until 3:30 pm." You say with a slight disappointment in your voice.
"Yes, but -" He starts his sentence, but you were quick to quiet him.
"No "𝘣𝘶𝘵'𝘴", Mr. Bolton, you snap back at him.

Just at that moment, as you are about to lecture him on why lying isn't something that typically works on you, his father, Jack Bolton, storms inside and eyes his son. You turn your head quickly towards the door. Seeing him makes you feel nervous, so you look back out to your class.
"Why aren't you at practice?" Jack asks Troy. He turns to you and gives you an apologizing smile.
"I'm sorry for just storming in like this, Troy has basketball practice that he isn't at." He says while turning his head at Troy, giving him a look of disappointment.

You couldn't help but feel disappointed in yourself. It felt wrong to put all of the blame on your student when it was your fault that he was still sitting by his seat.
"Actually, Jack, I didn't know he had practice. I kept him here instead of letting him go. It's my mistake." You say, feeling a wave of embarrassment hit you as you admit to your mistake. Jack looks at you and raises his eyebrows.
"Oh. Well then..." He says quietly. You felt the room get cold.
"You may go, Mr. Bolton." You tell Troy and watch him get up from his chair and walk to his dad.
"Thank you..." Jack says quietly before walking out with Troy and shutting the door behind him. The whole classroom went quiet. It was obvious that you were embarrassed by what happened.
"Uhm, where was I?" You stutter out while looking out at your class.
"America's history?" Chad says while raising his hand.
"Yes, exactly, thank you, Chad." You say before giving him a small smile and turning back to the board, giving you enough time to blink away your tears.

The school day ends, and you're feeling exhausted, just like every other teacher at the school. As your students run out of the class, you do a big sigh and looks out the window in your classroom. You just wanted to forget that today ever happened. Teachers and students know you for almost never being wrong, so when you are, word spreads fast. It's even worse when you admit you're in the wrong to the teacher that your students have been suspecting that you like.

Your thoughts get interrupted by someone knocking on your open door.
"No, Martha, you can't get your report back yet it isn't fini-" You were unable to finish your sentence. By the door wasn't Martha. It was Jack. Jack Bolton. Troy Boltons father. The basketball coach. You blink a few times and stutter on your words.
"Can I come in?" He asks in a soft tone. He probably wanted to talk about what happened today. Even though you felt stress spread through your body, you try to ignore it and invite him in.
"Yes. Yes, of course!" You say while pointing in front of you, telling him to come stand in front of your desk without words. He smiles and walks inside, shutting the door behind him. He walks up to you and stands in front of your desk.
"Can I help you with anything?" You ask in the most calm tone that you can do. You were hoping that you seemed calm on the outside because God forbid anyone sees how nervous you are on the inside.
"Actually, I wanted to talk about what happened today..." He says while looking down at the floor. Shit.
"Oh, I, uh... What about it?" You ask him. You feel the tears begin to build up in your eyes already, and you started praying in your head that he doesn't notice it. His eyes turn more concerned looking. He definitely saw the tears.
"It's just... I understand that you don't handle it well when word spreads around our colleagues. I wanted to check in on you and see how you're feeling." He says with a comforting tone. This was it. This was your breaking point. The mix of flusteredness and sadness gets too strong, and you start to laugh. Your laugh makes your tears get pushed out of your eyes. You tilt your head down, putting your hand on your forehead for support.
"I... I uh... I'm not handling it well." You tell him quietly. You feel his eyes staring at you, which only makes you more flustered.
"Wow, I didn't know their words really mattered that much to you. I can go talk to them -" He starts but is unable to finish his sentence, as he gets cut off by your soft voice.
"No, no, it's not our colleagues. That's the problem..." You say quietly before taking a deep breath in. You said too much.
"It isn't? Then what is it?" He asks, bending his knees and leaning forward against your desk. This was it. It was now or never.

"Christ's sake..." You mutter out. You look down at his hands, which are placed firmly against your desk. You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes and rubbing your aching head with your hand.
"It's my students..." You say quietly, yet loud enough for him to hear you.
"Huh? Your students?" He says, sounding confused. Students' words don't usually tend to stick to teachers, especially not after teaching for a few years.
"Yes, my students. They talk about me... and you... in the same sentence..." You say quietly. It was so difficult to tell him the truth.
"What are they saying about us?" He asks you with a soft voice. He seems to not care about your students talking about you two together, but you felt like he would care once he hears what they're saying.

"Just that... I'm in love with you..." You say just above a whisper. You instantly regret your words, hoping that he didn't hear you so that you can repeat yourself and come up with a lie. The room goes quiet for a while, and you're still begging that he didn't hear you, as you desperately try to come up with a lie. However, you're not that lucky.
"Are you?" He asks you. Your eyes widen, and you tap your fingers against your head gently. You nod, keeping your gaze down.
"What do they say about me then? What do they think I feel?" He asks you, making you feel the awkwardness in the air.
"Just that... you're married and... that you don't like me like that..." You mutter quietly, watching your tears drop from your eyes and hit your desk, creating small wet circles.

You feel a hand under your chin, which pulls your head up, making your eyes meet Jack's.
"They clearly don't know me then." He says before leaning forward and pressing a soft and long kiss onto your lips. While his eyes are shut, your eyes are open, trying to grasp what is going on. After a while though, your eyes flutter shut, and you pull your hands up to his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He breaks the kiss slowly after a while, looking into your eyes and giving you a comforting smile and wiping your tears away from your eyes.
"I always liked you." He admits, his own cheeks turning red, just like yours. You give him a weak smile in return before pulling him in yet again for another kiss. That evening, you two shared your thoughts about each other, thoughts that you have been dying to tell him. You were ready to stop living single and free. You found the man you had been saving yourself for.

The end.

(I can't believe I did this.)