4

Here's all you needed to know about this sickening city known as Todos Santos: It's a glossy dot on a world map, but with an influence as big as the size of an elephant, hence it's home to most of the egoistical, wealthy, and entitled teenagers in the world with bank accounts larger than the whole of America. Backed by Principal Churchill's threat to have me fired, the students knew I couldn't fail them. Aside from losing this job, their parents had more than enough billions to strip me of my citizenship and banish me to Neptune where I'd freeze to death. These kids took advantage of the tight spot I was in, doing whatever crap they wanted in class, not much to my surprise though. I expected it.

But two days after the incident with Principal Churchill and her darling son, things turned around for the better.

I taught all six classes, and the first five of the day had the students so comported and attentive, I began to wonder if they'd been brainwashed or hypnotized to be that calm. Knowing fully well that this might be some ploy, I went along with whatever they had in mind, glad that for once I didn't have to battle snarky remarks or slap someone's forehead with a detention slip. But it was the sixth and most important class that held the biggest surprise for me.

I slipped into class as soon as the bell rang — and wished the ground would open up and swallow me when I saw Principal Churchill and Ryan seated in the front row, their presence eliciting a kind of invisible blanket to lull the normally noisy students to a state of an uncomfortable calm. I was shaken up, brain fuzzy with confusion. “G-Good morning ma'am. D-Did you need anything?” I babbled, holding onto the edge of the teachers' desk. If Ryan was here, it could only mean trouble.

Oh God, that Wednesday!

I considered faking dizziness and afterward, passing out but that would only help in fanning Principal Churchill's wrath which she'd unleash the minute I opened my eyes.

"No, not at all." She shoots me an insincere smile that makes my knees weak. Gesturing towards the door and turning to look briefly at a poker-faced Ryan, she ordered. "To my office. Now."

The students still maintained that deathlike silence till we were out the door. As soon as I clinked it shut, the whole class was taken by a storm, one which Principal Churchill didn't acknowledge but was very well aware of. She seemed more concerned rather if I was following her behind. "Quickly now, Mr. Cartwright. I haven't got all day. You too, Ryan. You're the cause of this."

Giving myself a mental slap for temporarily forgetting the sex god beside me, I glanced up at him reluctantly for clarifications. He seemed to be taking this a lot calmer than I was and my alarm bells were instantly chiming with the way he avoided my gaze.

Shit.

She inserted her key into the door, drew it open, and stepped aside to let us troop in before her. I felt her eyes bore into my neck like lasers. Swallowing a lump, my hand instantly clutched my necklace tighter.

Ryan plopped down comfortably on one of the swivel seats for guests while I was too troubled to move. The suspense was getting pretty serious and I hated it.

"Sit."

I slowly lowered my butt to the chair, tensed. Ryan placed a hand on my kneecap underneath the desk in comfort but I shoved it off. Now wasn't the time to be tempting.

"Mr. Sam, do you by any chance have any idea why you're here?"

I was so nervous I couldn't breathe but somehow managed a shaky, "No."

It was only two days ago I sat before her in this suffocating office of hers, receiving a scolding and risking a potential job loss. Her office, with its achromatic furniture and weird antiques of cats and snakes, scared the shit out of me every fucking time.

Leaning back onto the chair properly, arms on the rest, she closed her eyes and exhaled. "The incident that happened a few days ago at the lot with my son, Ryan."

At the mention of Ryan's name, my shoulders sagged. It was over. Rock fucking bottom.

Jokes apart, I peed myself right there and then. I was terrified, though I'd resigned myself to fate. There was no escaping this, job over.

Just like always, I screwed myself and my family up. But this time, it was all thanks to my stubborn dick.

"Principal Churchill, I can explain," I blurted out in a last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever I had left of a rotten career. She stood up in a flash too, leaned forward, and shoved me back into the chair. If I wasn't consumed with guilt, I wouldn't have let that insult on my manhood go by, respect be damned.

But what appeared, even more, appeared appalling was Ryan's blatant silence, as though he was a mere bystander watching the scene, not the instigator.

"No," She held up a hand calmly, showing off her colorful, manicured nails. "I can explain. Ryan might be a spoilt brat but what he did was in no way meant to poke fun at you. He said he never saw you crossing, hence why he ran you over. It might look irresponsible of him to drive off without checking to see if you were okay, but you've got to understand that he just turned eighteen. He panicked, which is perfectly normal. I beg of you though to not file a police report. Please. It'd leave a dent on his clear record which he needs to advance his career as a football star."

Barely allowing me to respond, she went on. "I'll write you a check for your injuries, and of course, also compensate you for the inconvenience as well. I'll be damned if I let one stupid mistake ruin my son's reputation he so desperately needs." She plucked her purse from her bag, took out her pen and notebook, hastily scribbled on it.

She didn't know about my boner, nor the kiss. All she knew was that Ryan came back home yesterday, bawling his eyes out and spewing out his twisted version of what happened at the parking lot. He knew what I stood to lose if he told her what really transpired that day, and I couldn't be more grateful.