Teacher's Pet

Chapter Four

As the week went on, I found myself more and more drawn to Mr Brooke's calm but powerful character. His presence sort of cast a spell on the class, and he soon became everyone's favourite teacher. When he was teaching us - well, it's hard to explain. You could tell he was interested and passionate about what he was teaching, but not in an over dramatic way. Just calm but curious. He was kind to us, and treated us more like friends then students, except for the times when someone misbehaved and he showed he was not to be messed around with, acting only strict when necessary. So everyone sort of looked up to him I suppose. Even the slightly cocky boys who talked and goofed around a lot during lessons were quieter than usual.

I've never had a crush on a teacher before, but it makes me feel guilty - somehow. As if I am committing a crime just for finding him attractive. Which is odd, because at least half a dozen girls in my class are already giggling about him outside lesson time. Kitty is a bit, but she still has a little crush on Tyler, a guy in our Physics, Maths and her Spanish class (I took French). He's one of the only handsome guys in our year, with his sparkling brown eyes eyes and beautiful black hair. Even I can admit to having a little thing for him back in Year Nine, but he's nothing compared to Mr Brooke. All boys at this age are lean and gangly from their ultra-fast growth spurts. Mr Brooke is like a Roman statue.

And I thought I was imagining it, but I think he had taken a liking to me. Maybe because I'm so passionate about books and writing, or that I have a creative streak that sometimes comes out in my essays and class work. Sometimes we'd be working silently in class, and I'd glance up at him in a daydream, and his eyes would flicker across the classroom and then return my gaze.It may have just been coincidence, but when it happened more than three times in one lesson, a little hope started to form in my brain that maybe - just maybe, he liked me back. That was silly though. He was probably at least fifteen years older than me and much more mature than I was. He wasn't some blushing school girl, he was a grown man. Common sense pulled my mind out of that curious place.

Nevertheless, if he didn't like me in that way, he sure did favour me as a student. Even Kitty started to point it out a week after Mr Brooke had first arrived.

"You're definitely his favourite student," she says casually one time, from the other side of the toilet door while I fix my hair in the mirror. Luckily, the girls' toilets are empty. "He's always giving you house points and good feedback."

"It's probably just because I do extra-curricular work," I reply. "I mean, I do write short analysis essays on books I've liked in my free time."

"Yeah, which is so weird, by the way... but whatever."

"I hand them in to him just because I like to hear what he thinks," I answer defensively. "It's not weird it's just helpful. Plus, getting a few tips from a teacher every now and then won't harm anyone, especially if it helps my grades."

"Admit it, you're just doing it cuz you like him," I hear her say teasingly.

"Of course I like him! Everybody likes him! He's far better than Mr Tate."

"Oh come on! You know what I mean."

"Can we just not talk about it? It's weird," I say, with a tone that suggests I want to change the subject.

"Okay fine, teacher's pet," she giggles, and I roll my eyes. I'm just glad she's in the cubicle right now, because I'm blushing like mad. I hear the loo flush and then she comes out to wash her hands. I immediately step back out of habit, because the taps in here come on full blast and in icy jets. Kitty shakes her hands and then shoves them under the hand-drier.

"Guess who's having a party this Friday?" Kitty bubbles up, and I groan. Not another stupid party. God, I hated them. Because at parties, everyone wants to talk to you when you'd rather be ignored - at least that's what it's like for me. Then at school, no one talks to you in class when you need help or something. And the stupid kids that get so drunk they projectile-vomit all over the coffee table and bitchy girls that smoke cigarettes and wear Gucci  so they think they're really cool or something. It drives me mad. The funny thing is, I've only been to three teenage parties in my life, since they started around the end of Year Ten, and yet I feel like I've had enough to last a lifetime.