Young Blood

Chapter One

 School wasn’t always something I’d enjoyed. I was a mere student of just twenty at a small university, studying for god-knows-what. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I’m pretty sure no one really does. But I was still studying, knowing that in a short while I’d be done with school for good, ready to get on with the rest of my life.

  I was on my way to class, starting up a new semester in English. English always was my favorite and best subject. I wasn’t the smartest student in class, but I paid enough attention to know what I was doing. English was the only class I could actually manage to focus in without daydreaming. The only thing I hated about the class was the teacher, a wretched old man by the name of Mr. Mustard. The class was fun, and so was the material we were covering, but he was a rude man whose teaching methods were harsh.

  I walked into class as usual, slinking by Mr. Mustard’s desk as I made my way to my seat. I sat down in my chair and let my book bag hit the floor, making a louder thud than I’d have liked. I looked behind me. I was the first one in class, as usual. It wasn’t that I was a teacher’s pet. I just liked arriving in class early. Usually it gave Mr. Mustard a good impression of me. But when I looked up, it wasn’t Mr. Mustard at his desk.

  Instead was a young man, no more than four years older than me with chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was short, but his height made no negative impact on his appearance. He was absolutely beautiful, in a way I thought a man could never be.

  Being queer, I thought it was normal to think these kinds of thoughts about another man. I knew on the inside it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it. It was just too easy to think of the new teacher like that. I figured, as long as he didn’t know I was thinking about him and his wonderful appearance, then it wasn’t quite as taboo as it normally is.

  “What happened to Mr. Mustard?” a tiny voice sprang from my throat. I couldn’t even help myself before the words were said.

  “He was replaced,” the incredibly attractive man taking his place replied. “I’m the new teacher.”

  “For how long?” For some reason, the voice escaping my throat was full of sass today. I didn’t even want to ask him that question. But, of course, my voice was speaking things I didn’t want it to.

  The teacher chuckled. “Permanent.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why? Do you not approve of me or something?”

  I smiled slightly. “No. I approve.” Shit. I bit my tongue. I had not meant to say that.

  The teacher smiled. He stood up from his desk and walked over to mine, leaning in a rather seductive way over my desk. “I’m Professor Starkey,” he said, extending a hand to shake mine.

  “George,” I replied, grasping his hand and shaking it. “George Harrison.”

  For a brief moment, our eyes connected. His glowing blue ones were caught in a pure moment where time virtually stopped, gazing back into my deep brown ones. I felt as if we were connected in a way much greater than simply a teacher and student should be, and I felt something inside my chest burning with an odd tingling sensation. It felt like my insides were glowing and melting.

  As soon as it had started, out odd little connection was broken. I looked down awkwardly at my desk as our hands broke apart, Professor Starkey returning to his desk. He sat down just as the first students to the class poured in, staring with wide eyes at their new teacher. They took their seats, and soon, class began.

  Class with Professor Starkey was exciting. He taught in ways I had never even heard of before, expressing his love of poetry, Shakespeare, and new writing techniques through his rich, educated vocabulary. I caught myself staring at him and spacing out a few more times than I’d like to admit, his blue eyes pulling me in every time we made brief eye contact. It made my heart pound and my head feel light.