Character
Larissa Weems
Rating
Red
Words
1545
~•~
I was in trouble. In a lot of trouble.
Every month, the teachers of Nevermore were reunited by the principal to discuss how the lectures were going, if there were students who needed more help, if there were problems with a certain class, things like that. I had my material spread in front of me, trying to see if I needed help with something. I didn't, really, because the class was always active during my lecture, they listened when they had to, they talked when it was their turn to do so.
That day, before the reunion, my class took an exam on the topic tackled in the previous lectures. I had time to do whatever, so I started writing on a piece of paper a poem, the words kept coming and coming on their own accord, and my hand started moving on its own. My eyes shined, and a smile spread across my face. Nobody has to read this, I thought.
That's why, when the reunion finished and I was already in my room, I panicked not finding that piece of paper in the midst of my materials.
I was in trouble.
I was searching for it when I heard the ping! of my smartphone. Anxiously, still trying to remember where the Hell I had put that damned poem, I read the message.
Larissa:
Come to my office, we have a matter to discuss.
09:30 PM
I started sweating, what could possibly want the principal to talk about with me? Unless...
I shook my head, hoping it wasn't as I feared it was.
I closed my room door, and sighed. It was probably something to do with the reunion that we had before, nothing more.
All the way to her office, I fidgeted with my fingers, nervously. Once arrived, I knocked two times.
"Come in."
I gulped, opening the immense door before me.
"Please, do take a seat."
I closed the door and went to take a seat. She was seated on her chair, her hands playing with a piece of paper. Wait, a piece of paper!?
"I think you know why I called you here, don't you?"
My eyes went wide. I started moving my hands in the air, trying to come up with an excuse good enough for that poem.
"I-I... you see, it's not as it may appear to be, just-"
She raised a finger, shushing me.
"I think it's exactly as it appears to be. I mean, you made it very explicit."
I blushed.
The poem was, in fact, a collection of my wet dreams I had of the woman seated in front of me. And of course she had to read it.
"Do you have this... dreams, often?"
"No! Well, I mean... yes, but-"
