Teacher X Student Reader Novels & Stories

A huge smile spread across my face as I bit my lower lip to stop myself from squeaking and tittering. “What text is making you this giddy?” The voice of the counselor interrupted from behind, and I shook in panic, hiding away my phone. I didn’t even know I hadn’t left her office. “Nothing…” I replied and scurried out. Whatever she just told me about the consequences of teacher and student relationships had vanished from my head. It really entered one ear and disappeared through the other. I was already in love with Mr. Leo, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

There was some movement again, this time I squinted my eyes to get a better look at it. "Eleanor!!" I jumped a little hearing my name and looked at the teacher staring at me from behind his glasses. There was silence as the students and teachers waited for probably an answer. "I asked you to read the second paragraph from page number 214," he said in a serious voice after he was sure I had no idea about the question he asked. I checked the same place one more time, but nothing was there. "Right," I opened the page in a hurry as I listened to the whispering of the students.

She said, adjusting her fingers. “Ohh– that's cool.” The classroom door opened and the room quieted almost immediately. Our Literature teacher, Miss Halley, walked in with her usual no-nonsense expression and her heels clicking like a ticking bomb. “Pardon my lateness, something urgent came up." "Books out. Page 132. Let's begin.” I took out my textbook, flipping lazily while she launched into a dramatic reading of Macbeth, adding so much passion you'd think she starred in the original cast.

With a last snicker, he strutted out the door. I took a few deep breaths as the class sat in idle discomfort. "OK. So today we're talking about the reading from the weekend. Everybody get out a half sheet of paper - we're going to do a quick reading check." A chorus of groans fired back at me. "Relax. This isn't a quiz; it's a reading check. If you took your notes or at least paid attention, and you finished the reading from Friday, it should be a joke."

"Fine, only cause this time, you asked nicely and didn't order me." "Good. Now help me clean the classroom before class start. We don't want to get caught in a messy place. People might get the wrong idea" I nodded. We put everything back again in a few minutes. I sat at my table and waited for everyone, he said he had to pick up something and then be back. People started to arrive, I took out the book from the library and read it til the professor comes. "Good morning students. My name is Ryan Montgomery, and I will be be teaching, Literature." He looked at me and smirked.

"It probably was for everyone except you." The crowded lecture hall came back to her. Students in the aisles. A classmate leaning close, asking if she knew who Adrian Vale was. She had not. Not really. "You did not talk down to anyone," she said. "You explained the idea without making anybody feel stupid. Everyone had described you as some brilliant student who was going to become disgustingly rich." "That part did turn out to be accurate." She nudged his leg beneath the blanket. "I asked you whether children who struggled with reading might respond differently if they learned through stories instead of exercises."

The participants, no, students now that they’re in class, were asked to read a book of recipe as Teacher Enji explained about alchemistry. Each and every one of them in the room had their own interest in joining the class. It’s not that they do not have any before, but now they were much more interested.

Everyone's tables were occupied with their large textbooks except mine. Bonnie turned to stare at me and I looked back at her, biting my lips as worry overwhelmed me. Mr Richard was someone that detest students being unserious or messing with his subject. “Where is your textbook, Isabel. You know how Mr Richard is.” Bonnie whispered as she lowered her head in front of the student sitting in front of her so she wouldn't be seen talking by Mr Richard. I glanced at her from the side, trying to mutter my responses for her, my lips twitching.

*Some of them might carry this. I look at the text. A third grade teacher who reads her students. Who has been in proximity to Mira Seca her whole life. Whose students come from the same land. Yes,I text. Some of them might. How young does it appear? she says. I look at Lucia. Eight months old. Hands on the piano bench. Reading the residue. Early, I text. Sometimes very early. A pause. There's a girl in my class, Cora says. Seven years old. She reads the classroom the way I do. I've been watching her for two months.

The person who sent seventeen readings calls on a Wednesday morning in June. Their name is Clara. She is thirty eight years old. She is a teacher in a secondary school in a northern city, and she has been carrying something alone for eight years that has nothing to do with financial methodology or criminal architecture or any of the specific content the archive documents. She lost a student.