THE TEACHER SITUATION

 (Ellie 's PoV)

The video has gone viral in school. One of the most embarrassing, degrading moments of my life captured in stunning clarity and different angles.

Silly me. I thought that maybe it would blow over, that if I just went home, ate something warm, hugged my mom very tight, that it would just . . . disappear.

It didn't. Why would it? Shame sticks.

I sat awake yesterday, reading through all the comments, watching all the edits already made from the original video until I felt like I was going to throw up in my bed. A lot of them were cruel, some of them were inappropriate, a handful of them blamed me and all of them were deeply hurtful.

And now I'm standing in front of these school doors again, the feeling of déjà vu sitting heavily on my shoulders like a boulder. Carter's in there. He’s behind those doors, breathing, walking and talking like he hasn't now become the embodiment of terror I see when I close my eyes. And I'm supposed to go in there too.

I hate the fact that he has me by the neck, already beaten down by what he's done but completely dreading what comes next, how far he can take this.

Bethany is the name of the girl Carter had get her a new phone. She asked me for my number yesterday and added me to a group chat for people under the school’s special admission program

In total, eighteen students have been admitted— three every year— since the program’s inception six years ago.

Twelve of them are still currently in the system. Four graduated, their names mentioned with pride and underlying hope, and one dropped out; quit, packed up and left the town.

One, whose name was Daniel Kieran Dao, killed himself last semester.

I haven't said those words out loud. They feel like jagged fragments of ice that would shred my resolve.

All in all, the stats are still in my favour, technically, I think. Tiny tremors make my hands shake, no doubt brought on by the thought Daniel’s name.

The school may have not forgotten but hopefully Carter would. Even if not today, even though I still have to endure a little bit longer, hopefully he'll forget about me soon.

He has way more important things to do. Cecile, a sophomore who got in this year, told me he's very involved in his dad's vast business empire. Surely working on a billion-dollar company must take up his time. Surely it must be more fulfilling than tormenting me.

“Hey!”

I jolt, my hackles rising. I whip around, all the words I just spoke to myself melting down like butter on a pan.

“Woah, calm down, Ellie .”

I force myself to breathe, to loosen my tense shoulders, and nod. It's just Bethany and Layla, a freshman— the third person to get in this year. She is small, and makes herself seem even smaller with her always looking down at her feet.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave to Layla and she gives a small wave back. She's shy too, even online; her voice was barely above a whisper on the short group call to introduce ourselves yesterday.

“Come on, class is literally about to start.”

I let Bethany take my hand and practically drag me inside. Maybe it’s because she’s used to it, having been here for two years, or maybe she's just a stronger person than I am but she doesn't seem to notice  shoes made of cement. People look at me, each stare piercing. They're not really seeing me I'm sure, but seeing that girl on her knees yesterday.

It's impossible to hear a snicker or see a smirk and not think it's about me, because it probably is. I've been reduced to an embarrassing meme with the potential of having more content beat out of me.

"It's always the day I don't come to school," a boy mutters as we pass, openly scanning me from my head to my toes.

I scan the class and my eyes immediately

find his blond hair. I know he's a senior— I asked Bethany yesterday— but seeing him lounging in his seat, tapping away on a new phone still sends me reeling.

I unconsciously start breathing harder and keep my head down as Bethany leads us to a seat on the opposite end of the room. There's a girl already there—Kim, if I remember correctly. There's this air of forced calmness around her desperately trying not to disturb the waters. I'm an expert at spotting it now, at spotting one of us.

A moment later, the teacher walks in— and my heart skips a beat for an entirely different reason. For a moment, I forget the crap that's going on in my life and feast my eyes. He's gorgeous.

His hair is cut in soft layers that brush the collar of his brown coat. He’s tall and lithe, built with soft strength. As he drops his briefcase on the desk, he smiles, and even though I've never wanted to paint before, I have a deep urge to paint him. I want to pick up a brush and attempt to capture every line that makes up his face, not only in appreciation, but so that I can stare at him for hours.

“Good morning, everyone.”

A loud bang slices through the room, the sound of someone slamming his fist against a desk. Every head snaps toward the back. Carter’s eyes are locked on the new teacher, palm still flat against the table top.

He straightens to his full height, gaze never waving from its object. “Mr. LeMonde, can I speak with you outside?”

Mr LeMonde grins, a sparkle in his eyes. “Of course, young man. Class, excuse us.”

Carter walks towards Mr LeMonde, his body taut. “After you,” he murmurs, his grin firmly in place as he gestures for Carter to go out first. He follows, shutting the door with a soft clock that seems to echo around the silent class.

“What was that?” Bethany whispers, still staring at the closed door.

“Is Mr LeMonde new?” I ask, staring at the door too but probably for a different reason.

“Yes but he taught us yesterday, second period.” Kim replies. “Oh, yeah, right, you weren't here.”

I wasn't. I spent the first three periods hiding in the bathroom, playing games with my phone.

“Did something happen in class yesterday between the two of them?”

Kim cocks her head to the side, thinking. “I don't. . . wait, Carter wasn't here either.”

The door bursts open and Carter marches into the class straight to his seat. His face might as well be carved from a stone slab for all the emotions it shows. Mr LeMonde, on the other hand, still has his grin firmly in place. I wonder what they were talking about.

“Alright, let's begin, shall we?”

He takes off his coat to reveal a blue silk long-sleeved shirt, open at the top and tucked into thick, textured brown trousers. The way the fabric drapes on him is mouthwatering. A thin gold necklace sits below his collarbone, glinting against his skin.

“Principal Mitch isn't going to like that shirt,” Bethany whispers.

I like that shirt. I haven't looked away from him since it came into view, watching his necklace twinkle as he swallows.

“I've split you all into groups of two. This grouping will be used for all class projects and assignments, to make it easy on both you and myself.”

He leans down, into his drawer to get a marker. The way the silk shifts, gaping and revealing more of the pale skin of his chest, makes me close my eyes and remind myself that he's a teacher. It's just. . . blue is really his colour.

“I've shared the file with you. Look through it and find your partner.”

I watch as he turns to the white board, raises his hand and starts writing something down. The fabric at his wrist slips away, revealing the small gold watch he wears there and more expanse of delicious skin. I really have to get myself together.

I open my phone, d******d the file and skim through. Jackson, there it is. Paired with a McShaw. Who's McShaw?

I lean over, about to ask Bethany when she looks up, alarm in her eyes. What happened?

“Bethany? What's wrong?” I whisper.

“Ellie , I . . . It could probably be changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

The next words out of her mouth stun me. At every turn, it feels like something is constantly trying to knock me down. She keeps talking but I don't really hear them. A low ringing starts in my ears and soon her words sound muffled, like she's saying them from above water that I'm submerged in.

Of all the people in class, of all the numerous possibilities, I'm paired with Carter.