Lana's POV
Two weeks and 4 classes later, I plan a test on a Wednesday afternoon. I decided to make it a spoken test, which is quite challenging because I want to test thirty students in 2 hours. I gave them an assignment to do in the main classroom and I've installed two chairs in a small adjacent room.
My goal is to see if they have improved on their introduction skills. I want to grade them based on the progress they made between now and my first day, not really on how good they are as a whole. I think it is more fair.
Each student comes to the small room one student at a time and closes the door behind them, spends a few minutes with me when I make them speak about themselves in French, then go back to the class.
I told Aaron about the test a week ago, and even told him specifically what to be expecting, but I'm not sure he got it, because when I enter the classroom, he still hasn't arrived.
Most students have improved when introducing themselves and I feel a certain sense of pride and joy seeing that. I try to make the interactions fun and relaxed, to lighten the mood.
A boy named Chris told me he wouldn't be attending because he was sick so when I reach the 28th student, I know Aaaron should be the 29th. But no one comes for a few minutes. I go back to the classroom and the bell rings.
At that very second, Aaron comes in. He is wearing a black shirt and a leather jacket. I haven't seen him in two weeks so I realize I had almost forgotten how attractive he looks. I shouldn't be thinking that.
- I'm really sorry, he says to me, coming closer.
He looks sincere, and I give a small wave with my hand, as if to say "it's ok."
- Students, I will see you all on Friday, thanks again for working for the test today, I can tell that you put some effort and I'm really happy. You'll get good grades from me today, I announce with a smile.
Most students greet me and leave. I turn to Aaron:
- Do you still want to pass the test?
- Yes, I do. Just to get a grade.
- Ok, I say, entering the small room and sitting on one of the two chairs.
Aaron comes in slowly, like he's analyzing the configuration of the very small room. I'm suddenly aware of how intimate it looks. It's a feeling I had not had with any other students, but with him it feels like the room is far too small for the both of us to fit into. He closes the door behind him and all noise from the classroom and the entire school fades away.
I'm left with only the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. I realize that it does that because I don't entirely feel safe. Aaron is big, and muscular, and he smells like danger, somehow.
Looking at me intently, he grabs the chair he's supposed to sit on, and slides it closer to mine. When he does sit, his knees brush against mine from the proximity. I hate myself for wearing a skirt again that day, because my bare skin burns from the contact. I press my legs together so that our legs don't touch anymore, and he glances quickly at them, like he notices.
He sits in a forward position, leaning on his elbows and I notice how close his hands are from my legs. Maybe one inch away. Tops. It's like the air in the room has lost all oxygen and I can't really breath properly.
His eyes look black. His pupils are dilated and I can barely see his eyes' true color. His gaze is intense and... hungry, in a way.
- Don't look at me like that, I whisper.
He looks at me intensely for a second.
- Why not? He whispers back, looking at me LIKE THAT.
- Because it makes me feel uncomfortable, I answer as coolly as I can (so probably not that coolly).
Aaron nods and smiles.
- You're right, I'm sorry.
He leans back in his chair with a playful smirk, and he crosses his arms on his chest. The air feels a little more breathable somehow. I examine my notes to compose myself.
- I have a feeling this is gonna happen at some point, though, he says slowly.
My heart skips a beat. I can't believe he would actually SAY that. I feel a warmth in my lower stomach, and I hate myself for it. I shake my head.
- I really don't know what you're talking about.
Is this the best I can do? He laughs and runs a hand through his perfect hair. His teeth are perfect too, and white.
- Yeah you do. But that's ok.
- Are you going to try to speak French? I ask to change the subject and to stop my blood from boiling.
- No, he answers with a smile. I told you, I don't care about the grades.
- You don't care about school altogether, it looks like.
- I don't, he says with a shrug.
- Is it why you're older than the others?
- Oh you noticed that, didn't you? He asks playfully.
I decide to ignore him.
- How old are you?
- I'll be 22 by the end of the month.
- How is that even possible? I ask.
He pauses and for the first time since we met, he truly looks angry.
YOU ARE READING
His Favorite Teacher: Student-Teacher romance
Romance"I'm not giving up. You're mine." He says in a low voice, slamming me against the wall before crushing his lips on mine. 23 year-old Lana lets go of her past to become a high school teacher in America. She wants to focus on her classes and her stud...
