Page 8 of Her Forbidden Teacher

Guilt at lying about wanting to hang out with my stepdad claws at me as I slide into my Audi RS-7. It’s a hand me down from my mom who got a new car this summer. It’s sleek and fast which I like but sticks out like a sore thumb at my new school.

My phone buzzes after I get the car started. I groan, hoping it’s nothing bad.

Nick: I saw the picture that caused all the trouble. Nice rack.

Blood rushes in my ears and my face turns hot.

Me: Who showed it to you?

The cops told me I was to report it if the picture started circulating because of my age at the time of taking it. Anyone in possession of the photo could get into a lot of trouble for having child sexual abuse material. When everything blew up and I told the cops it had to be Lucy, she was able to prove she didn’t have the photo on her device.

Nick: It was Mr. T. Caught him jerking off in the boys’ bathroom looking at it.

He’s such a liar. I hate Nick. There’s a reason I never wanted to date him.

Me: This is harassment. I’m blocking you now. Hope your nose doesn’t get broken again today.

It’s a threat, but I want him to know he can’t get away with this.

Before he can respond, I block him and then text Cason to tell him all about it.

On the way to school, I try not to panic about Nick’s text. Even though it sucks being at a new school, I am thankful to be away from my old one when all this went viral. Having to face the public shaming and mockery with people I grew up withwould have been much harder. At Brown High, people know, but I don’t care as much with strangers.

What about the teachers?

Mr. Langford’s face materializes in my mind. Kind, vibrant green eyes. Gentle demeanor. Cute smile.

Ugh.

Shame washes over me for even thinking his smile was cute. If I didn’t know the truth about what happened with Mr. Thompson, I’d think I have issues with crushing on teachers. But, since Mr. Thompson was fabricated by Lucy, this is technically the first time I thought a teacher was attractive.

Oh, so Mr. Langford’s attractive now?

I’m able to put it out of my mind while I grab my iced coffee at my favorite place and find a good parking spot up front at the school. As I shut off the car, I can’t help but think about Mr. Langford’s concerned expression when he saw me sitting in my car yesterday afternoon.

I sigh heavily as I grab my stuff and climb out of the car. Yesterday was just stressful. I’m sure today, I’ll look at him and realize he’s just another teacher. Not cute at all.

A guy in a pickup truck nearby rudely eyefucks me as I walk toward the school. Suddenly I’m self-conscious of what I’m wearing. It’s weird not wearing a uniform each day. Absently, with my free hand, I tug at my probably too-short shorts’ hem. These are my favorite pair because they make my golden-tanned legs seem longer and really accentuate how cute my butt is. My T-shirt is black and cropped just enough you can see my stomach if I lift my arms. It used to be one of Cason’s rock band shirts, but I stole it, cut it, and made it mine. Looks better on me anyway.

Feeling a little more confident, I lift my chin and make my way inside the stinky school building. Coach Long, like yesterday, stands sentry at his door, glowering at all who pass. I offer him a friendly smile to which he ignores.

Someone mutters the word, “Slut,” when I pass. Before I can even flinch, Coach Long overhears and saves the day.

“Detention, Carter. Today.”

I glance over at Coach Long and give him a grateful smile. He nods slightly but doesn’t smile back. When I reach the classroom, the door is locked and it’s dark inside.

The greenhouse.

I’m looking forward to playing in dirt again today. Yesterday, it was a cool break from reality. At my private school, they were heavily focused on white collar career education, so we had plenty of finance, law, and even medical electives. No shop classes or home economics or agricultural education.

When I step inside the greenhouse, the space is only a quarter full of students. Mr. Langford has his back to the class as he shuffles through supplies in one corner. As I take my seat at the picnic table, I can’t help but sneak a peek at him. I’m a people watcher and there’s something about him I’m curious of.

Where Coach Long wears athletic pants and T-shirts, Mr. Langford is in crisply starched gray slacks, black loafers, and a white long-sleeved dress shirt that he’s rolled the sleeves up on. His chocolate-brown hair is cut neat on the sides and a little longer up top. I note that he’s not as broad as Coach Long, but you can tell his back is muscular based on how his shirt stretches across his form.

A flash of heat dances over my skin.

Stop looking at him and noticing every little detail. These kids around you already have enough to talk about. Don’t give them more ammo.