Page 3 of Life Lessons

Once the rest of the class arrive and they realise the teacher is not here, it doesn’t take them long to start causing ruckus. Yesterday evening, in the dinner hall, I learnt a lot just by listening to the loud musings of my new classmates. Apparently, Harley and Jackson, the most popular boys in school, are best friends like 90% of the time. The rest of the time they are fighting each other over Harriett Longstaff. She’s Willowmead’s class bitch and after what I heard about her yesterday, I’m not looking forward to our first meeting. I can already tell she’s a twat.

Harriett enjoys playing Jackson and Harley off against each other and is constantly swapping which one is her boyfriend. This current argument, from what I can hear, is because Harriett was caught with Jackson’s dick down her throat when she should be with Harley. From what I can tell through all the yelling, they are both saying they are done with her, for real this time.

Harriett clearly doesn’t give a fuck, as she is still casually leaning against the door jamb, watching them as they scuffle, not even bothering to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. She really is cold and calculating. I already know without her turning around that she has a big smile on her face and is loving the attention, even if people are calling her a slut. I can’t be arsed with this type of childish drama so early in the morning and so I pull my knees up and curl my arms around them, not even giving a shit that I am breaking the rules by putting my shoes on the chair.

Staring out of the window, completely ignorant of the fact the class has now begun, almost thirty minutes later than it should, I let the music that is coming from just the one earbud I have hidden, flow through my brain. The ultimate distraction. Until the annoying voice, which I now know belongs to Harriett, chirps up and points out to the teacher that he has a new girl in his class.

Mentally I am preparing to stand up and make the ‘about me’ welcome speech that teachers seem to love making the new kids do, but instead a gruff voice from behind the teacher’s desk croaks at me, telling me to work or fuck off. Shocked, I am literally stunned that a teacher is allowed to speak to me like that. Looking up to give him a piece of my mind, I am floored by what I see.

I am stunned that he seems to be the youngest teacher I’ve met so far; he is around early to mid-thirties. It is hard to ascertain his exact age because his face looks haggard, his complexion bordering on a grey colour, and despite having large sunglasses on that take up most of his face, there is no denying the massive black rings around his eyes. His hair is slightly longer than it should be to be professional, and it is stuck up in all directions, looking like he has run his fingers through it repeatedly as opposed to using a brush. Not that I blame him for that. I play with my hair when I’m nervous.

He flicks the sunglasses up onto his head, to give me a pointed look as though he is waiting for an answer, but I can’t help staring. Everything about this teacher seems to contradict himself. I can tell that he takes care of his body somehow because he has muscles practically bulging out of this t-shirt sleeve. Not to mention the way the t-shirt is tightly stretched across his hard abs, or the way his dark jeans grip his big strong thighs, and what I’m sure will be a tight ass when he turns around. There’s no denying that he looks fit, but I wouldn’t say he looks good.

The wrinkles on his clothes, the bags under his eyes, the gaunt expression all tell a different story, that he doesn’t look after himself as well as he should. Even the stubble splattered across his chin is short enough to let us know that he hasn’t shaved, but it’s not long enough to suggest he wears it this way the whole time. I can’t help but think he should because that bit of stubble makes me think very dirty things about what it would feel like between my legs.

Shaking my head slightly to get rid of those images, I know I am starved of male attention, at my own request, but I have always loved the feel of stubble against my sensitive areas. So, I try to convince myself that the man I am day dreaming of is faceless, just stubble, but I know I’m lying. There is no way I would ever fantasise about my teacher, let alone a teacher so lazy he can’t come to class on time, and when he does, he is quite clearly hungover. If not actually drunk.

Teacher or not, I’m not prepared to deal with this egotistical asshole. Without responding to his statement about him being the only one allowed to brood, because he doesn’t know me, I quickly put my books and pen back into my bag. I stand up and worm my way around the other students as I prepare to do exactly as he said and get the fuck out.

“You can’t just leave.” I expect this statement to come from the teacher himself, but instead, it is the annoyingly familiar screech of Harriett that pulls me back.

“You heard our piss poor excuse for a teacher. Either I open my book to a page I have already read, so it can look like he is teaching us rather than sleeping off his hangover in the corner, or I can fuck off and do something useful. Since you are not a teacher, I do not have to listen to you and I can leave,” I say politely but keep my back to her, and we both look to the so-called teacher for his response. He looks momentarily shocked, as do most of the students. Trust Jackson, the class fucking clown, to be the one to have something to say.

“Ohh, hot newbie goth girl has got spunk. I don’t suppose you want me to come with you and I can give you some more, all over your face, in an empty classroom?” he asks with a holler, high fiving Harley at the end, who is equally whooping, like they weren’t just fighting ten minutes before.

“Alright, alright. Can we stop hollering, you hooligans? You are giving me a fucking pounding headache,” the teacher says, addressing the guys in the room before he turns to me. His sunglasses are still up and I feel the full force of his gaze. I also notice him throwing the odd angry gaze towards Jackson. I don’t think he likes the word ‘spunk’ being mentioned in his classroom.

As his gaze travels back to me, I expect to see disinterest—what I have discovered just in this short space of time is his normal expression—but I am wrong. Instead, his piercing hazel eyes are staring at me with a strange intensity. He looks almost like he’s trying to fathom me out, why I’m not behaving like everyone else. Although he doesn’t stare for long or in a way that could be misinterpreted, for some reason, my body reacts differently. My skin feels warm, and naked, almost like I could feel the path his gaze took, just by the heat coming from my body.

Fuck, I know it’s been a while since I had any kind of sexual encounter, but this is ridiculous. I’m not even attracted to this mess of a teacher, although there is no denying he has the potential to be hot. If he wasn’t older, my teacher, or as messed up as he clearly is.

We are both too caught up in our stare down, like we’re in our own little bubble, and it isn’t until noises from the other students drag us out of it. I’m brought back to reality very quickly when this man opens his mouth and addresses me again, looking bored and frustrated.

“Where the fuck do you think you are going, newbie?” His rugged voice is raspy as he snaps at me.

“Are you still drunk? It was literally just five minutes ago that you said I needed to read page 116, or get the fuck out, so this is me getting the fuck out. Is there something about that you find confusing?” I ask, jutting my hip out in a way that sent me right back into my old Queen Bitch mode. But there is something about this dick that just brought it out of me. I can’t help pushing his buttons. Given the way his jaw hardens, as though he’s grinding his teeth, and he is clenching his fists, it’s clear I am getting on his last nerve. That makes one side of my plump red lips tip up into a little smirk.

“You do realise that I am your teacher, right?” he asks, sounding exacerbated and my smirk gets a little more defined.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble and I can see the matching smirk he gets when he thinks he has won, but I’m not finished. “Should I have said, are you confused,Sir?” I ask, making sure to emphasise the way I said the word ‘Sir’.

His mouth pops open and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I don’t even give him a chance to answer. I twirl around with such speed that my hair spins behind me and I stomp out of the classroom as quickly as I can. I’m sure I hear him shouting something about the Headteacher, but he is drowned out by hollers from the other students.

Hightailing it to the library, I try not to think about what will happen when I have to go back to his classroom tomorrow, or what the ramifications of my actions will be today. Right now I really don’t give a shit. I push the second ear bud into my other ear and turn my music up as I run down the corridor. I look at my watch and realise I have thirty minutes to explore the campus before I need to turn up at my next class. Given the only rooms I have seen so far are the ones I have class in, the dining hall, and my own dorm room, I figured this is the best time to explore, while all the other students are in class.

I let my legs lead, shutting off my brain, except for the odd glance over my shoulder to make sure I am not being followed or going to get in even more trouble. I have studied the map to the enormous campus of this Academy, determined to never be in a position where I need to ask for directions or am lost. So it’s not at all surprising when my subconscious takes me to the one place I have always felt the most calm, the music room. Opening the door that is labelledpractice room, I walk in, drop my bag, and head straight for the piano stool.

Sitting in front of the giant, glistening baby grand piano, it makes me feel so small and lost. As my small yet flexible fingers gently touch the sparking ivory keys, I daren’t press down too much for fear I make too much noise. I start playing a couple of starter notes, then progress to chords and the sound that escapes from this beautiful creation is amazing. It is tuned to perfection and as I start to play a song I know all too well, as much as I am blown away by the sweet music this gorgeous piano can make with my help, I know that there is something missing to the sound. Whenever I have played the piano in the past, I always had my sister as my vocal accompaniment. That’s when it suddenly dawned on me that this was the first time I have ever played the piano without her either being with me, or her singing with me.

Abruptly I stop playing and start with the breathing technique from Jane, desperate to hold off on the panic attack I could feel brewing. But before I have a chance to panic even further a figure steps out of the corner of the dark practice room and starts moving towards me.

I can’t help the little yelp I let out of my mouth when the figure first stepped out of the shadows. At first I thought it might be a small child, as whoever it is has such a tiny fame. But the more I look the more I can see slight curves, and boobs that I’m sure men and women will agree are more than big enough for a girl as small as her. When she finally steps in the light I see her hair is cut into a cute pixie style and it is coloured with pinks, purples, and blues. She looks like a pastel watercolour painting fell on her head before it dried, but actually the look suits her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Trixie, but most people call me Trix. I don’t know why you stopped playing but I am really wishing you had finished the song. It was beautiful. Every note was perfect, are you like a piano ninja or something?” Trix asks with a smile on her face.

“No ninja, sadly. Just a girl who took lessons for a long time, but I don’t play anymore. My name is Abigail, but everyone calls me Abbie,” I reply in a quiet, shy voice as I suddenly feel overwhelmed. This girl is bubbly and loud, like a wound up fairy, yet I get a good feeling from her.

“Well, I have no idea why you stopped, but you definitely shouldn’t. It is a travesty to deprive the music world of your talents. You must be the new girl everyone is talking about. The one who just handed Mr Hottie McLazy his ass in Maths class just now?” she asks, with a giant grin. She is so excited for me to confirm what she already knows that she is practically bouncing on the sole of her feet.

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