Falling in Love is Not a Choice

"Grace Carlin...Grace?"

"H-Here!"

As Mr. Preston took attendance, he rolled his neck and adjusted his light blue striped tie. I quickly averted my gaze to prevent my already red cheeks from getting redder. I tried out for AP Language and Composition in hopes to avoid him as my Rhetoric and Composition teacher. Why did he start teaching both classes?!

On the first day of my sophomore year in high school, I made my way to my first block, English 3,4. There was a five foot eight man with chocolate brown hair with a slight beard in the classroom. When we locked eyes, he sweetly smiled and stood up from his chair to greet his new students. From the first time I laid eyes on him, I secretly thought "Wow, my English teacher is kind of cute."

Ok, ok I admit that was not my first time thinking one of my teachers looked attractive. I thought this was another teacher that I thought looked cute, but it is not like I am going to pursue him or anything because he is my teacher and way too old for me.

"Hello everyone, my name is Wyatt Preston. You guys can call me Mr. Preston. I want to get to know everyone a little better. Please use this class to write about your summer."

Why did he find out that when I was writing, my black pen ran out of ink and kindly give me another? Why did my right hand brush his hand when he was handing me that pen? Why did my heart beat a little faster? Why did his deep voice sound so good? Why did his laugh and smile warm my heart?

Why did he always say hi whenever he sees me in the hallway? Why did his cologne have to smell so good? Why did I strangely have the urge to find out what brand the cologne was?

After sophomore year, I swore to myself to forget these feelings. But having him as a teacher again, I know I wouldn't be able to handle it again. To prevent myself from hurting even more from this impossible relationship, I went to the school administration and applied for a class change. I don't want him to think that he is a bad teacher, but this is the only way to protect myself. As the school approved my class change, someone texted me. My mom said that there is heavy traffic so she will be an hour late to pick me up. I took off my jacket due to the warm weather and headed to the library to work on my homework. The humidity of the library must have gotten to me. The next thing I knew when I woke up was how the jacket I took off was on me, the smell of a familiar minty cologne was in the air, and my lips felt strangely tingly warm.

Let me reiterate, falling in love is not my choice.