𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 6: "𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌"

୨୧
France, Paris
Math camp
O.T.M.
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The morning sun streams through the cafeteria windows, casting a warm glow over the room as I sit at the breakfast table with my classmates. It’s bustling with energy—students from our school mingling with kids from others, laughter mixing with the clatter of plates and chatter. I’m seated with Lauren, who is animatedly recounting a story about her pet dog, but my gaze keeps drifting toward Mrs. Carter.

She’s standing a few tables away, engaged in conversation with a male teacher. My heart sinks slightly as I watch him lean in, clearly trying to charm her with his words. Can’t he see that massive diamond ring on her finger? It must’ve cost a fortune, and it’s a constant reminder of her marriage. A rush of jealousy ignites within me, but I quickly quench it, focusing back on my breakfast.

“Onika! Earth to Onika!” Lauren nudges me, and I blink back to reality, offering her a sheepish smile.

“What?” I ask, trying to shake off my earlier thoughts.

“You’re staring into space. You really like her, don’t you?” she teases, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

I roll my eyes, a slight flush creeping up my cheeks. “Shut up, Lauren. It’s not like that.”

“Sure,” she replies, clearly unconvinced.

Before I can respond, a supervisor approaches our table, tapping my shoulder. “You’ll be in the cleaning department with that group,” she says, gesturing toward a cluster of students across the room.

I blink in disbelief. “Cleaning? Why?”

Then, she turns to Ivy and says, “And you’ll be at the organization department with that group.”

Ivy groans, and I share her sentiment. Cleaning and organizing? This is not what I signed up for.

Just as I’m about to protest, Mrs. Carter raises an eyebrow, striding over with purpose. “What’s going on here?” she asks, her voice calm but authoritative.

The supervisor explains the situation, and I can see Mrs. Carter’s expression shift. “These are my math learners, and they’re not here to clean or organize. They’re here to find inspiration and get lectured to,” she insists. “Besides, Onika is allergic to dust, and Ivy hasn’t done a chore in her life, so they’ll be useless to you. Find somebody else to do it.”

Her words wash over me, igniting a rush of warmth in my chest. The way she stands up for us—especially for me—fills me with admiration. I can’t help but notice the subtle way she gestures, her long fingers moving gracefully as she speaks. She’s so confident, and it’s incredibly attractive.

The supervisor scoffs, clearly unimpressed, and walks off to find someone else to do the dirty work. Mrs. Carter turns back to us, her eyes brightening as she says, “Wrap it up, guys. Let’s head to the lecture.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Carter!” Ivy calls after her, and I echo the sentiment, my heart fluttering.

As we gather our things, I can’t help but sneak glances at Mrs. Carter. She looks stunning today in a fitted navy dress that hugs her curves perfectly, accentuating her hourglass figure. Her hair is cascading in loose waves, and the subtle makeup enhances her natural beauty. I can hardly concentrate on anything else.

When we finally make our way to the lecture hall, I find myself sitting close to Mrs. Carter, my heart racing with anticipation. She stands at the front, her presence commanding the room as she addresses the students.