Sunshine (Student/Teacher Romance) 18+

7

Abel

"Good morning class." I bounce on the balls of my toes as I welcome the rest of the stragglers in. The regular five who are always late, either because they've barely run through the gates, or because they spent all morning making out in the halls.

"Morning," the class barks back, variating between Mr. C and Mr. Cas. I can hear the tired in their voices, but I know by third period they'll all perk up. Third period is by far my rowdiest class, it usually tames down after that.

"You should know the drill by now as it is now week three in our senior year."

I hear some groans that meld in with the back pack zippers, buckles, and fasteners that take up the empty noise in the room.

"I know, I know." I groan back. "Barely week three—but I promise it'll all shoot by fast and then you'll never have to see me again."

"You're the only thing I ever wanna see, Mr. Cas," says Kaliyah in the front row.

I arch a brow at her, hands firmly on my hips in an attempt to seem authoritative and remind her I'm a grown man, and her teacher, but all it does is make her stare back at me like I'm a happy meal. "Open your journals."

Some students chuckle at the fact I'm not willing to engage in Kaliyah's daily back n' forth this morning. She's slowly becoming a big pain in the ass.

"Today's prompt, write me half a page—or more—describing your goals for after high school and how you plan to accomplish them. I'd also like to know where you see yourself in ten years. Fifteen minutes—" I stare at my wrist watch until it sets where I want it. "Aaaaand, go."

I pivot to my desk, siting down at the desk chair and opening my laptop on impulse. This is around the time I have to ignore all the pencil chewing teen girls who are giving me their best seductive eyes.

I'm glad to see that self esteem is high around here, thinking they can possibly seduce a teacher when half of them don't even keep their shoes tied.

I bring my mug to my lips, sitting back, when I make the mistake of looking up at the class. The entire two front rows, taken up by seventeen year old girls who are clearly not focused on their task because they're leaned forward, watching me sip my coffee.

I cinch my brows at them, a clear get to work without opening my mouth, and they all lower their heads to their paper.

I shift my eyes to the back of the room, focusing in on Ari, who similarly isn't focused on her task—but not because of me. Because she's staring out the window, eyes wide and blank. I'm getting anxiety just looking at her.

I take the opportunity to roam down the aisles. Glancing over everyone's work. Some blank pages that make me hit my knuckle on their desks to get them to write, and some completed, nicely written paragraphs that I'm actually looking forward to reading later.

When I get to the back row, Ari looks up at me, scrambling for her pencil like I'm about to scold her for not working.

I shake my head at her and mouth, Are you feeling okay?

She nods, and it may be my first year here, but I don't believe that.

I lightly tap my finger tips on her blank notebook paper before giving her a slight nod and continuing back up the row.

As soon as class lets out, I spend the short three minutes of passing period to open up Ari's book. Hoping she'll give me an idea of how she's feeling based on what she wrote, or didn't write.

Mr. Caswell,

In ten years, I see myself working at my current job as college isn't and has never been an option for me. I didn't used to be okay with that, but since I've been working at my job for the past six months, I can honestly say I'd probably be fine working there the rest of my life...

I blow out a slow sigh, clicking my pen. This kid is going to kill me.

Ms Reid,

It's great that you like your job, but college IS an option for everybody. And I mean EVERYBODY. Please come see me after class sometime if you'd like me to explain how you can still get into college no matter your economic status or whatever it is that's holding you back. You can always continue to work and go to college at the same time.

As students slowly begin filling the room, greeting me with their hello's, I open another notebook. Still no name on the front cover.

Mr. C,

In ten years, I see myself going by Mrs. Kaliyah Caswell. What do you think?

I let my back fall against my chair before scratching my head.

I think she's delusional, but I'll be constructive.

Interesting goal choice, but not what I was thinking. Also, this is not anywhere near half a page. -5 pts.

...

Ari

In all of my time at this school, I've never had a teacher ask me if I were okay—besides this one time I tripped and fell during P.E.—and that's not to say that I liked it.

I typically don't. I prefer laying low, going unnoticed as it's easier than explaining my many issues to a stranger. But for some reason, Mr. Caswell makes me feel like I could trust him. It's almost like he wants me to open up to him. Staring at a blank page every morning, a page he's put in front of me, his eyes peering up over his coffee mug before giving me his friendly smile, it's almost like he's begging me to write out my whole life's story to him.

And I want to. I want to so bad, it's awful.

Back when I was fourteen, I finally conjured up enough nerve to tell Maya everything. About my birth parents, the many homes I bounced back and forth from. Diana. Thomas. Everything. I didn't spare her a single thing, and that's only because she told me she wanted to know.

It took me two years to finally get it out to her, but when I did, we cried in her back yard for about an hour and it was then that I told myself I wouldn't tell another person. Not only because the grief from speaking it out in words was almost too much for me to go through again, but because if I tell the wrong person, it's a done deal.

My life will shatter again. And again, and again as it had all my life. Diana is many things, but she isn't all bad. She is as stable as my life would ever come to be, and if the reality of what's been going on gets out, I don't know where I'll end up.

Diana will be gone.

Life in this city will be a memory.

Thomas can rot in hell.

But in five months when I'm a legal adult, will any of that matter? Will any of that be worthy of legal action if I'm finally free of it all?