Disobedience | TeacherXStudent |

Chapter 1

Andy's POV

I sat at my desk, organizing the papers for my last period class. Unfortunately, this class is a bunch of obnoxious juniors, so I have to make sure to put away important papers and tools. I've been teaching the art class here in Clairemont high for about two years, and I personally love it. I enjoy being able to teach these kids about art, different methods to create, and have certain outlooks from different perspectives. I hear the rumors about the three c's directed towards me: cute, cool and chill. I'd say I'm a pretty cool and laid back dude, but hearing them say cute is just an awkward one, especially when half the students who refer to me like that, are in fact females and minors. I'm not that much older than most of them; seniors at least. I'm twenty-three and first got into this school when I was twenty, going on twenty-one. I always did well in school, hence the reason I'm already teaching at such a young age. Not only that, but in middle school, I was lucky enough to be able to skip a grade.

I scroll through my email, seemingly ignoring the loud and annoying juniors piling into the classroom, taking seats with their groups at different tables. I notice that the popular jocks sit in one group, the cheerleaders and stuck up girls at another, while the rest are in smaller cliques. Soon enough, the bell rings, making everyone slowly quiet down. I stand up from my desk and walk in front of it, leaning against it.

"How many of you finished your abstract drawings last night like you were supposed to?" I ask, already knowing the answer. None of the students raised there hand, eliciting a small grin to form on my lips. "Thankfully, I pushed the due date to tomorrow, so today that's what-"

The door slams open, cutting me off from my sentence. In walks a shorter boy with soft black hair hanging down to just below his shoulders, mischievous chocolate brown eyes, his tight black jeans have rips at the knees, two long necklaces hang from around his neck while several bracelets cup his wrist.

"I'm aware I'm late, and I honestly don't care." He says smugly, strutting over to where his friends are sitting.

"Mr. Purdy, this is the third time this week you've been late to class? What are you up to during passing period?" I ask, cocking my head to the side curiously.

"Getting head from cute boys in the janitors closet." He smirks, causing giggles to erupt from the class. I roll my eyes before starting to talk back about the assignment.

"So yeah, it's due tomorrow. Coloring tools are set up on the counter, get what you need and don't pest me." I scold jokingly, turning back to my desk chair and sitting myself down. I quickly write the tardy next to Ashley's name. One more and he'll have a detention, wonderful. See, there are some students who don't have a brain to mouth filter and just speak whatever they want. Ashley, is one of them, especially when it comes to his sexuality. Many students accept him for being into boys and having more of a feminine body; at least that's how these students act around him. It's easy to pick out the outcasts from the more popular students and he is somewhere in between I guess.

I hear a box of something topple over, scattering around the ground, causing me to look up. I groan at the sight of Ashley looking at me innocently as the box of crayons lays on the ground, some rolling away. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him.

"Bit uncalled for, don't ya think?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "Pick it up." I demand.

"What? No, you can't make me." He retorts, crossing his arms in a mocking manor.

"You just knocked it over, now it's your responsibility to clean it. I won't hesitate to dish out a detention to make you stay after until you clean it." I lean back into my comfortable rolly chair, watching him intently. Ashley huffs, pushes his bangs out of his face before bending over to pick up the crayons. My eyes land on his back side subconsciously and I quickly look away. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I did not just check out my student. Oh god.

I quickly look to my laptop that's on my desk and check my teacher email. I respond to one mentioning the teacher conferences. As I'm ready to turn over to grading some of the sophomores projects, someone approaches my desk. I shouldn't of been surprised when I saw it was Ashley waiting impatiently.

"What?" I ask, pulling the paper out from under his hand. He lifts his palm so I can retrieve it and I mutter a soft thanks.

"Did you seriously give me a detention?" He asks in an agitated hushed whisper.

I roll my eyes absentmindedly. Of course that'd be his first concern. "I don't know, I think you could use some sense knocked into you, Mr. I think I can do whatever I want."

A small, sly grin slides onto his lips as he bites his bottom one. "You know...you could knock some sense into me if you'd like..." He keeps his tone quiet but rather seductive. My eyes widen at the sudden change of his mood.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." I mutter, turning back to my computer.

"Can't wait to see you at detention tomorrow, Mr. Biersack." He whispers in that same tone before walking off to his seat. I nearly want to slap him then kiss him to make him shut up. Wait, what? Kiss? No! I can't do that! Not only is it highly illegal, but there is a huge age gap. He's a child! Does this make me a pedophile? I shake my head trying to rid the thoughts. I shouldn't think about a student like that, let alone any minor. Soon enough, the bell rings, signalling the day is over. I silently praise as I pack up my bag. Just as I'm about to leave the room and lock up, I notice someone still sitting in a chair.

"Ashley, why aren't you getting up?" I ask, wanting to go over there, pick him up and throw him out the door so my day can be over.

He doesn't move, the only part of him moving is his hand. I curiously walk over to his table and sit down on the platform. I look down to see him coloring in one of the many doodles he made all over his paper.

"I'm glad you're into art, but the bell rang and I really want to go home." I chuckle light-heartedly. Ashley jumps as if just noticing my presence, and looks up at me.

"Uh, yeah." His voice trails off as his eyes linger down my face to where they stay on my lips. I clear my throat and his brown eyes avert themselves back up to my eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, turning away to pack his things up into his bag. As soon as he finishes, he slings the backpack over his shoulder and stands up in front of me.

"You just have...really pretty lips." He says softly, gazing back at my lips before turning away and walking out of class.

I couldn't help the small smile coming across my mouth. I instantly shake my head though, knowing it's completely wrong to let a student flirt with me like that. I should've told him stop it, but I didn't. And I don't think I want him to. Before my thoughts could get anymore confusing, I quickly leave the building to go out to my car, then home.

-

I sit on my couch watching a random Batman movie while eating a slice of pizza that I ordered not too long ago. The words kept playing through my head as I tried to think of something, anything, other than my sixteen year old junior student. It's not the first time he's made these comments either. He's tried flirting with me before. Why? I'm not sure. All I know is that he wants something sexual. Teenage boys am I right? I guess the reason I'm thinking about this so much is because I haven't had any attention from anyone in that way in awhile. My last relationship was with Matt. We didn't last for two reasons. One being his drinking and partying got out of control, and two, he didn't support the fact I was going in to be an art teacher. I've been single since then; so two years. It seems like a long time, but I know it's for the best. I'm guilty of a few drunk nights wanting to just find someone to sleep with, nothing more however. Being single, well, it gives me time to focus on work and bills and myself.

As I laid to go to bed that night, I couldn't help but wish that a certain brown-eyed boy was a bit older, a little more mature and not my student.