Of me.
She didn’t even try to hide it. Just handed it over like it was nothing… like it wasn’t the most intimate thing I’veever seen.
And god help me, I can’t stop staring at it.
She got every detail. The crease in my brow, the tired slope of my mouth. The weight in my eyes I try not to see in the mirror. It’s not just a drawing, it’s an observation. A truth. It’s her, seeing me in a way no one has in a long time.
It terrifies me.
I’ve never crossed a line with a student. Not once. I built my entire sense of self on being a good man. An honorable one. Someone my parents could be proud of. And yet here I am, staring at this paper like it meanssomething.
And it does.
But not in any way it’s allowed to.
I place it back into the stack, a small piece of me wishing I could keep it.
I stare at the wall, at the medals hanging from blue tacks, at the childhood version of myself that lived in this room and thought he had the world ahead of him. He had so many dreams.
I can’t let myself spiral. I can’t let her get under my skin.
This is my job now. My classroom. She’s just a student, nothing more.
I need to remember that.
Even if it might be harder than I’d like it to be.
6
SOPHIE
Over the next week, I do everything in my power to avoid making eye contact with Mr. Hayes. If I ignore him long enough, maybe he’ll forget the whole drawing thing. Or, even better, maybe he’ll forget that night at the bar.
Not that I can.
I can’t stop thinking about that night. The music, the way we moved together, how natural it felt to laugh with him, to let myself get lost in the moment. I didn’t know he was a teacher. He didn’t know I was a student. We were just two people in a bar, flirting without consequence.
Now, I sit at a desk while he stands at the front of the room, and everything that felt so simple is suddenly impossibly complicated.
I don’t even know which part makes me want to crawl into a hole more. Him catching that stupid drawing on my desk, or the fact that I was basically draped all over him in that bar, smiling like an idiot and acting like I had any right to be there.
He handed everyone’s papers back the next morning like nothing happened. Just slid mine onto my desk without a word,without even looking at me. No flicker of recognition, no smirk, no anything.
That should’ve been a relief, but somehow, it only made me feel worse.
I shoved the drawing to the bottom of my backpack and told myself I’d burn it the second I got home. That was days ago and it’s still in there, mocking me for my stupidity every time I reach in for a pencil.
And of course, I can’t stop thinking about it. Abouthim. My brain’s like a broken record, just skipping over the same humiliating track on repeat.
Every time I close my eyes, it’s all right there. That sketch sitting out in plain sight. The look on his face when he saw it.
And before that… the night at the bar. Now it’s a mess.I’ma mess.
Avoiding him sounded like a solid plan, but it’s a little hard to pull off when he’s standing at the front of the room five days a week. I’ve done my best to steer clear, keeping my head down and bolting the second the bell rings.
But this morning, I’m not fast enough.
“Sophie? Hang back a second.”
