What Are The Best Strategies For Teaching With Go Math! Grade 4: Common Core Edition?

Student x Teacher | Touch her and die | Steamy | Forbidden | Brother's best friend | Age Gap | Enemies to lovers | Badass FMC He hates her. She hates him. For a year already, Mr. Adkins has been cruel to Norali. Her teacher keeps failing her, keeps making comments to her and keeps her late in class. She can't seem to understand why he has such an aversion to her, but she has been equally as mean back. He is mean, strict and has every woman swooning for him. Except for Norali. The loathing in his eyes, the way his hands turn into fists and his jaw clenches every time he sets eyes on her is enough for her to see right through his good looks. Most of the time. But he is the only one teaching the subject. There's no escaping him. And that's exactly how Jace likes it. Norali is his. His to hate, his to desire... His to own. He is in every way a control freak but only wants to have complete control of one person... His student who doesn't listen. He hates her. A sexy teacherXstudent book which will have you on the edge of your seat! Fun, forbidden, light-hearted and full of sexual tension.

Falling for the school's star goalie was never the plan... especially when my father is the principal who just banned him from the ice. But getting caught in a scandal with the boy I'm supposed to 'fix'? That's more than a catastrophe; it's a death sentence. Aria Bennett is a top student with perfect grades but no social life. She is assigned to tutor the school's newest transfer student, Jason Monroe. However, Jason is consistently late to their sessions, cocky, and resistant to being told what to do. Aria just wants to get the tutoring over with. Things take a turn when she discovers that Jason is on academic probation and risks losing his spot as the goalie on the hockey team. This revelation softens Aria's perspective on him. As their late-night tutoring sessions become a regular occurrence, Aria starts to see the vulnerabilities behind Jason's tough exterior. Meanwhile, Jason never intended to develop feelings for the girl who dresses in oversized hoodies and carries notebooks. Yet, somehow, Aria is getting under his skin and possibly into his heart. "Does Daddy know you're at a party full of hot hockey players and drinking beer?" "Leave me alone," I spat. Jason grinned slyly and leaned in closer. "You know I heard you dressed up thinking you were going on a date, and the guy turned out to be gay." In a drunken stumble, Jason stepped too close and fell on top of me. Jason's eyes fluttered open slightly as he cupped my face. I froze. His hands were warm against my skin, but rational thought fled me. He gave me a look that screamed trouble. And just as I suspected, he leaned in and kissed my lips. My brain had completely shut down. It was my first kiss.

To prevent me from being jealous of my stepmother's son, my dad implemented a "family point system". Washing dishes earned 1 point, and getting a perfect score on a test earned 10 points. Accumulating 1000 points meant you could make a wish come true. When my stepbrother broke a vase, Dad said it was a sign of good luck and awarded him 50 points. When I insisted on going to school with a fever, Dad said I was trying to garner sympathy and deducted 100 points. I scrambled to scrape together every point I could, all for that exorbitant Math Olympiad registration form. On the day I finally accumulated enough points, my stepbrother cried and said he wanted a pair of limited-edition sneakers. Dad immediately emptied my points. "We're family. Your points are your brother's points too." I looked at the torn-up application form and jumped from the 18th-floor balcony.

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

On the seventh day after my daughter goes missing, I kidnap an entire kindergarten. I lock away all 27 students and two teachers in a classroom. I tell the police that if they can't find my daughter, I will kill a kid every 30 minutes. The principal falls to her knees, wailing and begging, "It's not my fault that your daughter is missing. Why should other children pay for it?" I glance at my watch. "29 minutes left. Find her." I know she's in this kindergarten.

When Eloise Garpin, my daughter, comes back from kindergarten, she tells me that her teacher, Karen Linsell, has given her class a weird assignment. Apparently, everyone is to record their mothers' menstrual week. But what makes things weirder is that whenever I'm on my period, John Garpin, my husband who's often busy with work, keeps offering to pick Eloise up from kindergarten. One day, I come across a post on a social media app. "What should I do? I've fallen in love with my student's rich father! Oh dear, I really like him so much! You have no idea that his taut and slim waist looks so seductive! Every time I see him, I can't help but moan!" Someone begins admonishing her out of fury the moment they see the post. "What the hell? Are you itching to become a mistress? You really are shameless! Goodness, you're so disgusting! I can't believe you call yourself a teacher!" Unexpectedly, the original poster doesn't care about the comment at all. She even posts a photo featuring the aftermath of her carnal fun with the man. "So what if I am? Anyway, we regularly sleep together every month whenever he picks his daughter up during his wife's period. This is so thrilling!" I'm stunned when I see the million-dollar custom watch strapped to the man's wrist in the photo. And today… happens to be the first day of my period.