Beneath The Surface

1

Sophie

It's one of those crisp autumn mornings, the kind that makes you feel like the world's still asleep, just starting to stretch and shake off the night. I pull my navy scarf tighter around my neck as I walk to the bus stop, boots tapping against the damp pavement. I don't mind the quiet mornings. They give me time to think without the noise of the world drowning out my thoughts.

Mia and Ethan are usually already at school by now-they're both up with the sun-but I don't mind the solitude. I know I'll catch up with them soon. Mia's always got something to say, and Ethan... he's quiet, but his smile fills the spaces between us. I like that too.

When I get on the bus, I'm already thinking about the day ahead. We're supposed to meet Ms. Lawson, the new English teacher. Word on the street is that she's cold, strict, the type who doesn't bother with niceties or trying to get on our good side. Honestly, I'm not sure what to make of her. I'm good at reading people, but with her... it's like trying to get a read on a wall.

By the time I get to school, the halls are packed with kids rushing to class. I spot Mia and Ethan by the lockers. Mia gives me a pointed look. "Heard the new teacher doesn't care for small talk," she says, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder.

Ethan just shrugs, but I catch the glint of something like amusement in his eyes. "Good. No one has time for that anyway."

I nod. "We'll see."

We walk to class, the three of us talking about the usual nonsense, but as we near Room 205, I can feel a shift in the air. The door's closed, but there's this heaviness about it, like the whole room is holding its breath. When we step inside, it's not what I expected.

Ms. Lawson is already at the front, standing tall, her posture stiff, arms crossed, like she's waiting for us to make the first move. Her gaze sweeps over us, sharp and calculating. It's not just cold-it's like she's sizing us up, trying to figure out who's worth her time and who's not. She doesn't say a word for a moment, just watches, and the silence hangs heavy. Then, finally, her voice cuts through the stillness.

"Good morning," she says, her tone flat, detached. "I'm Ms. Lawson. No small talk. No personal questions. Just effort. That's what I expect from you, and that's what I'll give you in return."

Her eyes lock onto mine for just a second, and I swear it's like she's reading me. Not in the way people usually do-like they're trying to figure me out-but like she's trying to keep me at arm's length, like I'm not worth the effort of knowing. It makes me uncomfortable, this coldness that practically radiates off her.

But that's the thing-I don't like being ignored. I can tell when someone's shutting me out, and I don't know if it's the challenge of it or just the feeling that she's got something buried deep beneath that frigid exterior, but it's bugging the hell out of me.

As she drones on about the syllabus and what she expects from us, her voice stays steady, emotionless. Not a single smile, not a flicker of warmth. She's not interested in connecting with us-hell, she doesn't even want to try. It's like she's not here to teach; she's here to control, to keep us all at arm's length, and I can't stand it.

What's her problem?

I don't care about the class. I mean, I do, but this is about something else. There's a wall up, and I'm not buying the "tough teacher" routine. She's hiding something, and the more I sit there, the more I feel like I need to figure out what it is.

The bell rings, and I grab my bag quickly, but I can't shake the feeling that this isn't over. It's like there's something beneath that cold, professional exterior, something raw that she's refusing to let anyone see. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm the one who might be able to get through it.