The Principal

Chapter 7

The past couple of weeks flew by, and before I knew it, it was the beginning of March. Mr. Smith and I had grown closer as friends since I started visiting his office whenever I wasn't feeling well during class. It gave me a chance to help him organize things around the office, and I enjoyed the time spent with him. The way he looked at me now felt different, like there was something more beneath his polite demeanor.

I walked in one Monday morning, feeling a little more confident than usual. My hips swayed slightly with each step, the fabric of my dress hugging my curves just enough to make me feel self-aware. I handed him my pass with a cheerful "Good morning, sir. How are you?" My voice trailed off as I noticed his gaze fixed on me. I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was nearby, but it was just the two of us. His eyes were steady on me, and I could feel the warmth of his stare, making my pulse quicken.

Turning back to face him, confusion crept across my face as I asked, "Are you okay, sir?"

He chuckled, a deep sound that made something tighten in my chest. "Nothing's wrong. You just look cute," he said. My breath hitched slightly, and I blushed furiously, my cheeks warming. "Thank you," I muttered, quickly looking down at my outfit, almost as if checking to make sure there was nothing wrong with it.

I was wearing a fitted turtleneck long-sleeve dress that reached just below my knees, a maroon Yankees cap covering my frizzy hair. My lips were painted with deep maroon lipstick, and I could feel the color drawing attention to them, making me more aware of every word I said. I bit my lips, the compliment lingering on my mind.

We started organizing papers in the corner of his office, and the silence between us was thick, almost charged. The soft shuffle of papers was the only sound, but I could feel the air between us, a quiet tension building.

Breaking the silence, I ventured, "Sir, what's the most attractive thing about a girl?" I half-expected him to brush it off, but he looked up from his work, his gaze holding mine for a moment before he spoke.

"Women who are tall with long legs are the first thing I notice. Then the face... you have to have a pretty face and a nice personality."

His answer, while almost cliché, made something stir in me. I couldn't help but laugh a little. It sounded like something straight out of a magazine, but I saw how serious he was, and the intensity in his voice made me stop. I cleared my throat and stood up straighter, suddenly aware of the space between us.

He added, his voice a little lower, "I don't know if all guys feel that way, but I do. Have you always been this tall?"

I looked down, my chest tightening as the memories from 7th grade flooded my mind. I pushed them away and looked back at him. "I got tall in 7th grade."

He smiled warmly, and I felt a flutter in my stomach. "That must've been awesome, to be tall at that age."

I turned my gaze away, biting my lip nervously. "No, I was always bullied by the boys about my height." The words were harder to say than I expected, and I felt a pang of self-consciousness.

His voice was gentle when he spoke next, and it made me feel something I wasn't used to: accepted. "I like tall people."

His words made something inside me relax, and I felt a small smile tug at my lips. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly seen.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and a wave of sadness washed over me. But I pushed it aside, remembering that I still had time to talk to him later. The idea of spending more time with him today filled me with a quiet anticipation.

I packed up my things quickly, glancing at the clock to make sure I wasn't late. As I turned to leave, I looked at him and said, "Goodbye, Mr. Smith. Have a good morning."

He smiled at me. "We really need a cool handshake as a greeting."

I laughed softly, appreciating his playful side. "Maybe we can come up with one tomorrow," I said, walking out of the door.

The moment I stepped out into the hall, I could still feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on me. My skin seemed to hum with the memory of his words.

As I made my way to French class, I kept replaying our conversation in my mind, the way he'd looked at me, how his deep voice had resonated when he spoke. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to our dynamic than just friendship, even if it was unspoken.

I got to French class and sat down, trying to focus on the lesson. But the thought of him stayed with me, tucked at the back of my mind, and every time I looked up from my notebook, I found myself wondering what he was thinking.

The class seemed to drag on, but eventually, the bell rang, and I was free to go. As I walked toward the exit, I saw Mr. Smith standing there, saying his goodbyes to some students. His dark eyes met mine, and my heart skipped a beat. "Goodbye, April. Have a good afternoon," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

I couldn't stop myself from biting my lip, trying to keep my composure. "Goodbye, Mr. Smith. You too," I replied, my voice softer than I intended.

As I stepped onto the bus and headed home, I felt an odd mix of exhaustion and longing. The quiet moments we shared kept replaying in my mind. I felt his presence even now, like a shadow on my thoughts, and I couldn't help but wonder what it all meant.