Guacamole & Bolognese [Student/Teacher]

3. Let me blow ya mind

Have you ever tried to write a 500 word essay in an hour with the teacher's eyes glued to you?

Well let me tell you, it's no picnic.

In fact, it was pretty much impossible to concentrate whilst Mr. De Luca was sitting right there, 3 feet away, his mocking gaze upon me. Theoretically, I couldn't be sure he was staring since I never looked up to check if he was. But I really didn't need to: I could feel his burning eyes on me, piercing my skin like arrows. Didn't anyone ever tell him that it's not polite to stare?

Worse still, I knew full well where Grumpy was headed with this: he was purposely trying to make me nervous, rooting for me to fail the test by breaking my concentration. Sabotage, that's what he was going for in order to get back at me.

Such a child, that boy...

And how old was he to begin with? Twenty-three, twenty four...? Obviously too young to realize who he was dealing with: Gina motherfucking Ferreira, that's who.

It would have taken an entire team of Grumpies to prevent me from acing an exam, let alone an exam on "Edgar Allan Poe's inflicted romanticism in between darkness". Seriously, there was no sport in it: this essay was a piece of cake for an expert like me. And it better be, since my paper needed to be flawless to compensate for my past behavior.

I wanted nothing more than to disprove the proverb "you never get a second chance to make a good first impression". Sure, I had been fool enough to blow Mr. De Luca's first impression, but I was about to blow his mind with this essay.

As a matter of fact, I had such a good grasp on the subject that I managed to finish ten minutes early. As I turned over my paper with confidence, I lifted up my eyes to meet Mr. De Luca's –which of course confirmed my suspicion that he was already looking at me, and that he had probably been staring the entire time.

"Are you finished, Miss Lindberg?" His voice was soft, caressing –probably so as not to disturb the other students.

"I am indeed, sir."

I lifted my chin up in defiance and gave him my broadest smile. For a fraction of a second, his eyes fell reflexively on my lips. Then he cocked his head to one side, flashing me an equally broad smile. The aim of his gesture was probably to mock me, yet for some reason I found myself confounded and heated by the beauty of his smile. How could an unnerving smart aleck like him be so hot? That wasn't right.

"Mind if I start grading your essay then?"

"Sure" I replied as I handed out my paper. "You're the teacher after all... That means you call the shots, right?"

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curled in amusement.

"Precisely."

If he could just wipe that smirk off his face, that'd be great. His little grin was starting to get on my nerves. Just read the paper, boy. We'll see who's laughing then.

As if he'd read my thoughts, he placed my essay on his desk with a thinly veiled anticipation and started reading carefully. Doing so, he removed the cap of his red pen, ready to strike.

Funny how the tables had turned: now he was the one bending over his desk, focused on the paper, while I was staring with a smile anchored to the corner of my lips. My eyes were shining with delight, defying him not to like what he was reading.

And sure enough, I could observe his expression change and his smile vanish gradually.

It was so satisfying to see his long-fingered hand holding firmly the red pen without being able to use it, his darting eyes desperately looking for any kind of error, inaccuracy or omission in the text –but in vain. My essay was perfect. Completely, utterly, unarguably, quintessentially perfect.