Page 17 of The Teacher of Nothing
Me: What did Jude say when you told him?
Hugo: Jude is Jude. He rarely replies to my texts and never responds to my phone calls. I’ll feel him out on Sunday.
We text back and forth for a bit while I make dinner. It’s not until he’s done chatting and I’m alone with my thoughts that they drift back to Willa.
Is that monster of a stepbrother of hers going to take more pictures?
My blood boils at the thought of him lurking over her sleeping form, moving the covers away to reveal naked parts of her. If he wasn’t seventeen, I’d whip his ass for the hell of it.
I should check on her.
Grabbing my laptop from my bag after dinner, I make my way into my home office and sit down. I have assignments to load, but first, I need to make sure Willa is okay. I open up my inbox, skip over some student questions for the time being, and draft an email to Willa.
Just making sure you’re okay. If you ever need to talk, my number is on the syllabus.
I should delete the email, not send it. But I’m not being perverted. I just want to know that she’s okay. It’s platonic. Any teacher would check in on their student after going through something like Willa did today. It’s completely normal.
She doesn’t respond, so I busy myself with my work. If I let my mind drift, I’ll get pissed at Dad or annoyed with Hugo hiding shit from me, or obsess over Willa. Once I’m finished for the evening, I grab a quick shower. I’m just coming out of the bathroom in a towel wrapped loosely around my waist when I hear buzzing from my phone. I pick it up, expecting more yammering from Hugo, but instead discover a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown Number: A little freaked out if I’m being honest.
A flash of heat ignites in my gut, burning its way through every nerve. It’s Willa. She responded. It’s such a simple text, answering my question. Benign. It assures me she’s fine. No need to delve further.
Except, I do.
Me: That’s natural. It was an invasion of your privacy, and quite frankly, criminal.
I quickly save her name on my phone. I’m waiting on pins and needles for her reply like a desperate teenage virgin talking to a girl for the first time.
Willa: Thank you for what you did today. It means a lot. I don’t have anyone who cares enough to fight for me.
Her words are a punch to my chest. How can someone so sweet and beautiful be treated that way?
Me: You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.
Willa: Good night, Mr. Park.
Me: Call me Callum when we’re not at school.
Fuck.
The dots move and stop a couple times, making me regret my last text. It’s too late to take it back now.
Willa: Does this make us friends, Callum?
My dick thickens at her text. I can almost imagine her lips curling into a flirty smirk. This is wrong. We’ve crossed a line here and I need to gingerly step back over it, creating distance between us.
But she just fucking admitted she has no one.
No. One.
Me: Yeah, I suppose it does. Get some rest.
Willa: Yes, sir.
Me: Good girl.
Jesus Christ. Do I have to keep flirting with her?
