My Teacher and I

Chapter Four

The next morning, I wake up earlier than usual, the plan already forming in my head. I get dressed, feeling the rush of anticipation, grab my things, and head out the door. I don't even bother with breakfast—I'm too focused on what needs to happen today. The drive to school is filled with thoughts of Mr. Harris, his reaction yesterday, and how close he came to crossing the line. Today, I'll push him just a little further, and this time, I'll see if he breaks. When I arrive at school, I see Toby waiting by the entrance, leaning against the wall with a smirk.

"Ready for round two?" he asks, pushing himself off the wall as I approach.

"More than ready," I say confidently.

Together, we walk into the building, the usual morning buzz surrounding us. I'm calm on the outside, but inside, I'm already strategizing, thinking about what I'll say, what I'll do to get the reaction I want. First period rolls around—Greek class with Mr. Harris. Toby and I head down the hall, and as we approach the classroom door, my pulse quickens. I catch sight of Mr. Harris through the small window in the door. He's sitting at his desk, staring down at some papers, but his jaw is clenched, and I can tell he's on edge.

Perfect.

I push the door open, stepping inside with Toby right behind me. I make sure to laugh a little too loudly, drawing his attention immediately. Mr. Harris's eyes snap up, and there's that same dark look in them, the one I saw yesterday. I pretend not to notice, taking my seat beside Toby. Throughout the lesson, I barely pay attention to the material. Instead, I focus on Mr. Harris. Every glance he throws my way is filled with tension, and I know it's only a matter of time before he snaps.

About halfway through the class, I decide to make my move. I lean over to Toby, making sure to whisper just loud enough for Mr. Harris to hear. "He's watching me again," I say, smirking.

Toby glances up at Mr. Harris, then back at me. "Yeah, he definitely is. You've got him right where you want him."

I grin, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. Mr. Harris keeps teaching, but it's obvious he's distracted. He stumbles over his words, shoots me another glare, and I can tell his frustration is growing.

Finally, the bell rings, and as students begin to pack up, I don't make any effort to leave quickly. I linger, taking my time, knowing full well that Mr. Harris is watching my every move.

"Mr. Affleck," his voice cuts through the noise of the room. "Stay back again. I need to talk to you."

I shoot Toby a knowing look as he heads for the door. "Catch you later," I say casually.

Once the room empties, it's just the two of us again. The tension is immediate, thick in the air. I can tell by the look on his face that something's different today—he's barely holding it together.

"You wanted to talk?" I ask, my tone teasing as I lean against one of the desks.

Mr. Harris stands up from his desk, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "What are you doing, Atticus? What's your endgame here?"

I smile, shrugging. "No endgame. Just having some fun."

"Fun?" he repeats, stepping closer, his voice low. "This isn't a joke. You're playing a dangerous game."

"Maybe I like danger," I say, my eyes locking onto his. "Maybe you do too."

He exhales sharply, clearly fighting an internal battle. "This has to stop," he says, though the hesitation in his voice betrays him.

"You've been saying that, but you haven't made me stop," I say, stepping closer, closing the gap between us. "Why is that Mr. Harris?"

He's silent, his eyes dark and conflicted as they meet mine. For a moment, the tension seems like it's about to snap, but instead, he shakes his head and backs away again, retreating to his desk. "Atticus, leave. Now."

This time, I don't push him further. I can see he's close, so close to breaking, and I know the next time, he won't be able to stop himself.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Harris," I reply with a smirk, turning on my heel and walking out of the room, already thinking about what comes next.

The rest of the day passes in a haze, my mind still replaying the look on Mr. Harris's face. I can't stop thinking about how close he came to losing control. It's thrilling, knowing I've pushed him to his limit, but I also know I have to be careful. By the time the final bell rings, I've already decided what to do next. I text Toby to meet me in the parking lot, and I head outside, feeling the cool afternoon breeze against my skin. I lean against my car, waiting for him, the plan running through my mind.

Toby appears a few minutes later, his bag slung over one shoulder, his usual cocky grin in place. "So, how'd it go with Mr. Hot Teacher?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Almost there," I say, smirking. "But I need to push him a little harder."

Toby leans against the car next to me, crossing his arms. "What's the plan?"

"I'm going to catch him off guard, make him think I'm over it," I explain. "Then when he's not expecting it, I'll hit him with one final move."

Toby laughs. "Damn, you're really playing the long game here."

"Of course," I say confidently. "He's worth the wait."

After a quick chat with Toby, I drive home, already anticipating tomorrow. When I pull into the driveway, I find myself replaying the encounter with Mr. Harris in my mind again. There's a part of me that wonders how far is too far, but I quickly shove that thought aside. I want to see him break. I need to see it.

At dinner, I keep the conversation light, telling my parents I've been busy with schoolwork, and they buy it without question. My younger brother seems to sense I'm distracted, but he doesn't ask any questions, too caught up in his own world. After dinner, I head to my room, pulling out my phone. I scroll through Instagram, casually checking my feed, when I see a new post from Mr. Harris. It's just a simple photo of some old Greek text, probably something related to the class, but I find myself staring at it longer than I should. I know I shouldn't, but I send him a message. It's nothing explicit—just a question about the material, but the real message is hidden in the subtext. I know he'll see it. I toss my phone onto the bed, satisfied, and settle in for the night. Tomorrow is when everything will come to a head.