How to Get Caught Sleeping With Your Teacher

Chapter 5 - The Fates

I was walking in the hallway with my headphones blaring Lykke Li when a pair of arms yanked me into the ladies restroom. I turned around to see the identity of my attacker, only to find an anxious looking Lucia out of breath. 

"Lucia? What are you doing? Why are you out of breath?" I asked, trying to figure out what was happening.

"It's Chad." She said, stopping to pant before she continued.

"What about Chad?" I asked, only slightly concerned.

"He..." She paused again breathing heavy. "He leaked your nudes..." She stopped again. "To most of the basketball team." She added. "I jogged all the way here to tell you." She leaned against the bathroom wall to brace herself. 

"What nudes?" I asked confused. "I never sent him nudes." I'd never made the mistake of sending him nudes, especially because I knew that most of his friends knew the password to his phone, and frankly I didn't ever trust him fully. 

"Are you sure?" She asked, opening her phone. I nodded. "Then whose nudes are these?" Lucia questioned, holding up a picture of a headless tan body.

"Not mine." I responded, annoyed. I wasn't annoyed at Lucia, I was annoyed at Chad, for stooping that low.

"Well, he's telling people it's you. And they're believing it." Lucia said, trying to figure out what I was going to do about it. 

The warning bell rang, interrupting our conversation. "Shit, I gotta go. I'm sorry but I can't be late to Clark's class again. She'll kill me. We'll talk later okay?" She said, ducking out of the bathroom and leaving me to my thoughts.

I sulked out of the bathroom and towards the gym hallway. My second period was Dance class, but it hardly deserved that title. It was underfunded class that had never been taken seriously. Coach Keuls was a man in his late forties who hadn't studied dance a day in his life. I'd already been a dancer since I was seven years old and didn't need  to take the class, but I assumed it'd be more fun than Team Sports or Body Sculpting. I thought wrong. 

Most of the class was filled up by girls who either sincerely wanted to learn to dance, or girls who thought they were too girly to be in 'actual' physical education classes. There were a total of six guys in the class, amongst 29 girls. When I walked in the class, a little over half the students were already dressed and stretching. They were mainly the people who actually wanted to learn to dance. The rest of the students were still scattered throughout the dressing rooms, fixing their hair, reapplying makeup, and other odds and ends. After walking in the locker room, I immediately got dressed. I wasn't in the mood to waste time right then. I was ready expel my repressed anger on dancing, so I wouldn't be in a crappy mood all day.

I yanked on my Under Armour volleyball shorts and a thin light pink baggy off-the-shoulder sweater over a a black camisole. I tied my hair into a messy bun and didn't bother trying to fight for a look in the mirror before I walked out of the locker room and across the hall to the gym. I fell in line, stretching with the rest of the boys and girls. It was only my second day in the class, but I could already tell what this class was going to be about. All we were going to was watch choreography videos and come up with our own choreographies, based on no training from the coach whatsoever. 

The bell rang and Coach Keuls fumbled in groggily. The coffee he held was guarded tightly by his dry hands that screamed construction worker. He wasn't yet balding, but his hair had definitely thinned significantly. He had a lasting five o'clock shadow, and his eyes leaked bitterness at his reassignment from teaching Weight Lifting to Dance when the last instructor left for maternity leave. It was obvious that the only part of teaching dance that he didn't hate was being able to admire the girls 'assets.'

"Alright girls." He said. "And guys." He added, remembering that there was a population of males in the class. "We're going to start off the semester by picking dance groups. Your group will stay the same throughout all six units, no exceptions." He said, finally making it to the front of the gym, where everyone was now facing him. "Since we have a perfect 35 students in here, we're gonna have seven groups of five." He looked around. "Now I need y'all to raise your hand if you have any kind of actual dance experience." He added.

Four of us raised our hands, including me.

Coach Keuls pointed over at Drew Warden, a senior with light brown curly hair and a permanent cheeky grin. "You with the orange tennis shoes, go stand over there. You're a captain." He said, and Drew did as Keuls said.

"Alright, red." He pointed at Jenna Baker, a redheaded junior in my calculus class. She had a very friendly personality, but was very shy. "Over there." He pointed at another empty spot on the floor. 

"Girl with the uh..." He gestured his empty hand around his head as he couldn't think of the word he was looking for. "Hair." He sputtered out, referring to me. Drew scoffed out a laugh. "Congratulations, captain." Keuls said sarcastically as he pointed in another direction. I walked where he pointed without saying anything. 

"Over there, Jackie Chan." Coach Keuls said dryly, referring to Landon Chau, the skinny asian sophomore standing idle with his hand raised. I'm pretty sure everyone in the room nearly gasped when he called Landon Jackie Chan, but everyone kept quiet. Landon sighed and walked in the direction that Keuls pointed.

"Alright, the rest of ya." He said, averting his attention back to the rest of the students. "I need three more people to volunteer to be captains."

Almost before he could finish his sentence, an arm shot in the air, belonging to none other than Grace Patrick. "Alright, Eager Ellie, go stand over there." She pouted at his comment, but walked to where he asked. Over half the class giggled at Coach Keuls' Eager Ellie comment, because it was such an accurate depiction of her. She was a perky blonde with a book full of sardonic comments burned in her brain. She was the ultimate definition of a 'frenemy.'

"Anyone else?" Keuls asked. Eventually a Chilean girl named Ally raised her hand, followed by a tan girl with dyed silver hair named Anna.

Coach Keuls began picking out people and assigned them to our groups. By the time he was done, I had four other people in my group. There was Priya Sankar, a pretty Indian girl with Taylor Swift legs that ran for days; Joel Santiago, a senior who was the resident bad boy and drove a motorcycle to school every day; Gabrielle Hardy, a redhead with Ray Bans glasses who was known as one half of the school's most prominent lesbian couple; and lastly McKenzie Maxwell, a platinum blonde freshman with pale porcelain skin and a tiny frame.

For the rest of class, we just sat around and watched a documentary on the history of dance on a roll in TV. I'd talked with my group some, and they all seemed pretty friendly. I'd seen them all around school, but I had only ever talked to Priya before, and that was only to borrow her eraser in my AP English class. I assumed I would get along with them well.