Page 4 of The Teacher of Nothing
Me: You’re the golden child, dumbass. He’s the black sheep. Our baby brother is in enough trouble as is. Don’t encourage him into bribery or prostitution too.
Hugo: Like I’d let him go to prison. He’s too pretty for that shit.
I smother a laugh.
Me: How about I find Spence and put the fear of God in him to bring up his grade? He listens to me better than he does you.
Hugo: That works. I owe you a beer. Friday?
Me: We could always get shitfaced before Sunday dinner with Dad…
Hugo: Dinner and a show? Count me in.
Since I’m done ribbing Hugo, I set my phone down and pick up Willa’s test. Even her handwriting is sexy. All cutesy swirls and curves. I trace her name, written in black ink, with my finger, memorizing the feel of it.
As much as I want her to draw her name with the tip of her tongue all over my body, I know I have to quit that line of thinking. I’ve worked too fucking hard my entire life to be everything Dad is not. I’ll be damned if I let a sweet girl like Willa Reyes transform me into that motherfucker.
Not happening.
Not now. Not ever.
The seconds crawl toward the end of the hour. It’s agony forcing myself to look at anything but her. Like an alcoholic desperate for a drink, my hands tremble and the urge overwhelms me.
Just one look won’t hurt.
A little taste to get me through.
As soon as I give myself permission, my eyes are on her pouty pink lips, learning, memorizing, studying.
I need a distraction.
And soon.
Or else I’ll do a lot more than just look at Willa.
A helluva lot more.
Willa
Why does time fly when you don’t want it to?
It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since my…encounter with Mr. Park and it’s about to happen again. Except, this time, I have to live with the humiliation of knowing there’s nothing between us.
Just my wild imagination.
Wishful thinking is more like it. Men like Mr. Park don’t want girls like me. They want voluptuous and funny and clever.
Not shy and fearful and sad.
We might as well add awkward to that list too of what he won’t like.
Somehow, yesterday, I convinced myself that he saw through to me. The person buried so deep, alone and afraid. I’d allowed myself to paint him as my chivalrous hero, saving me from the life I hate, showering me with love and protection.
I’m a dreamer.
And it sucks when I wake up to this wicked reality.
Someone barks out a laugh in the hallway, drawing my attention. Dempsey Park is messing with his twin sister, Gemma, near a bank of lockers. They’re the younger siblings of my stupid-hot teacher. Everyone in the Park family, as far as I know, is gorgeous.
