Ave Michaels is an out-and-proud cynical romantic who never had her heart broken (considering she has to fall in love first.)
That is until, in order to get published, she has to prove she's a versatile writer by writing a romance novel.
Throw in a...
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"In Which Reality is Smuggling a Gay Man into Class"
· · ·
"You can only be young once. But you can always be immature."
-
Dave Barry
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September 13
9:15 AM
Outside Crankston's Room
"One... Go!"
We both open the doors and go in at the same time.
SLAM! The door closes loudly behind me. The sound of wood against metal resonates in the room.
Everyone's attention — Crankston's included — is suddenly focused on me.
Showtime, bitches!
I hold down the feeling of nausea threatening to climb up my throat. It was a normal reaction I learned to ignore.
Suck it up, Michaels! You can fucking do this! You are one scary-hell-of-a-bitch!
I saunter past the board and the teacher's table, holding my bag casually like I own the fucking place.
The room was designed in a minimalist style with neutral shades of blue, brown, and grey.
Fluorescent lights mount the surface of the ceilings, brightening up the entire place. An AC was installed on either side of the room, keeping out the late summer heat from beating through the wide slider windows.
Six columns of steel desks, topped with smooth cedarwood, occupy the middle of the room in four straight rows. Under them, bags and books are strewn across the floor, obstructing the pathways for any clear exits.
At the back of the room, a wide bulletin board is stretched from one side of the wall to the other and pinned various documents that — let's be honest — nobody reads.
I focus my attention on the people inside the room, particularly the person who thinks he's in charge.
Crankston was the first to recover and, in a scornful manner, crosses his arms over his small paunch as he appraises my tardiness — again.
