The Principal

Chapter 2

Weeks have passed, and I can’t get his image out of my head. It’s a hot Tuesday morning, the sun blazing in the clear blue sky, clouds drifting lazily.

As I walk by the office, I see him, engrossed in papers at his desk. His hazelnut curls fall over his eyes, hiding those beautiful orbs. The warning bell rings, snapping me out of my daze, and I rush to history class.

History passes in a blur, and the bell signals second period. I glance at my schedule—Spanish is next.

Walking with my best friend, Beth, we weave through the crowded hallway, faces blurring past us. Five minutes later, we finally reach the Spanish classroom.

Beth goes in first, but a stream of students walking out blocks my view. I focus on my steps, careful not to trip over anyone’s feet.

When the last of the students clear, I look up—and there they are. The same hazelnut curls I’ve been imagining for weeks.

It takes a moment for me to register: he’s subbing for my Spanish teacher. Heart pounding, I find my assigned seat at the front of the room, right in front of his desk. Beth sits to my right.

I don’t dare look up. Fear creeps up my spine—if I meet his gaze, I won’t have the self-control to look away.

I keep my eyes glued to my phone screen, scrolling through pictures, pretending to listen to music.

Minutes pass, and suddenly, I feel a jab in my arm. I turn to Beth, who’s nudging me with an urgent look that says, Pay attention, stupid.

Reluctantly, I lift my eyes—and lock onto those light brown ones I’ve been dreaming about. I’m lost in them for a moment before snapping back to reality. He’s speaking to me.

“It’s April, right?”

I’m shocked he even knows my name. It feels like I’ve run a marathon and finally won the prize.

Every day, I’d made it my mission to pass by him—whether in the morning before history or on the way to lunch—just to say hello. And now, he remembers me.

I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Smiling, I reply, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

He smiles back. “What’s your last name?”

“Bow,” I answer, my voice steadier than I feel. He writes my name on the attendance sheet.

Facing the class, he introduces himself. “I’m Mr. Smith. I’ll be subbing for your Spanish teacher today.”

I already knew his name, of course—I’d asked Rainer, who has him for another class.

The room buzzes with chatter, but I sit quietly, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. How does he know my name? The question spins in my mind, but one thing is clear: the way he looks at me sends shivers down my spine—and leaves me wanting more.