Ms. Anderson (TeacherXStudent GirlXGirl)

Chapter Two

I make it to the library within ten minutes. This guilty feeling is stuck in the pit of my tummy for bailing on Ever. When I enter the library, the cool air from the AC hits my face causing a chill to run up my spine. I walk over to the back left corner where a secluded table sits away from pretty much everybody since the bookshelves, in front of the table, are nonfiction, people rarely come back here. It isn't like I really lied to Ever. I do have homework, but it's super easy and I could do it in five seconds. Pulling out my headphones, phone, a pen, and an old tattered notebook filled with my stories.

Most of these stories are never finished; They are just silly, mediocre writings of a bored high school girl. When I want to block out the world, I write. Right now, I want to block out the world. I want to stop feeling guilty over backing out from going with Ever. I want to forget today ever happened. I want to go home. I want my car. I want this stupid anxiety to go away. Forever. I want so many things, but get so little.

Life could be worse, though. I could be homeless. I could be sick. There could be a million worse things happening to me, but there isn't. I'm lucky my biggest problem is the fact that I have panic attacks when I think about meeting new people.

"I wasn't expecting anyone back here. Hello, Aspen." Ms. Anderson smiles to me coming out from behind the bookshelves. She sets the book in her hand on the table then sits in the seat across from me. I glance over to the book with clear lettering written across the slick cover reading "World War II." "I thought it would be fun to start off the year doing a collab with the history class. Mrs. Lucas suggested the second world war. The only things I know about it is back from high school so I needed a refresher."

She's so talkative. I normally find talkative annoying but right now I think it's the best thing. I'm not really sure how to respond so I just lift my head to look at her while slowly closing the notebook. I search my brain for something to say. Something not stupid that will make her think I'm strange. "World War II, huh?" As soon as it's out of my mouth, I want to crawl inside myself and never talk to her again.

"Yeah, it seems like a pretty easy topic to begin with. I know I'm teaching a bunch of juniors but being the new teacher I don't want to come off as an ass who gives out a lot of work. Do you have Mrs. Lucas' U.S History class?" I watch her eye my notebook almost like she knows what I'm doing. Does she think I'm weird because I'm alone in the back of the library? No, she's a teacher, an English teacher no less she probably just thinks I'm very studious and is impressed. Why do I even care about what she thinks of me?

I feel my tongue fill my mouth as I try to get three simple words past my lips. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, then I suppose I just gave you extra studying time." Her tone turns playful as she laughs out her next sentence. "I expect your essay to be astounding."

I blow air out of my nose in amusement, "I'm more of a creative writer, Ms. Anderson. I don't think a research essay about a war from me will be astounding." Oh my god, did I really just say that to a teacher? How rude! What was I thinking? My heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest as I wait for her expression to turn from amused to angry. To my surprise, it doesn't falter.

"Is that what you're doing back here all alone?"

"Uh, yeah. It is. I write when I'm stressed."

"When I was your age, I used to do the same thing. People were, well, are so taxing. I used to come to the library and sit in a secluded spot and write."

"You didn't worry about what others thought?" I subconsciously place my hand on the notebook.

"May I?" She nods her head to the tattered book almost as if she knows it contains all my silly stories. I don't even let Ever read my stories, but something about Ms. Anderson has me sliding the book over to her with no hesitation. Instantly, I drop my hands into my lap twisting my fingers together as I watch her eyes roll over the words on the page. What if she doesn't like my handwriting? What if she thinks it's messy? What if she thinks the stories are terrible and then she feels the need to lie to me? She keeps her face emotionless as she flips through the pages. What if she thinks one of my stories is inappropriate? What if she doesn't like the fact that most of my characters are gay? Is she homophobic?