Page 29 of The Teacher

I know why he’s here. I mean, come on, there’s no way he actually wants to listen in to my class. He’s here in my classroom for one reason, and one reason only; to annoy me. Piss me off. I hate him and his stupidly gorgeous face. I hate how he’s decided to single me out.

I stand in front of the classroom and shake my head at Skipper as he makes his way to an empty chair at the back of the room. He leisurely sits down and clicks his pen, then he looks up at me with an expectant face, waiting for me to start. The entire room is silent as all the kids watch him. They glance back at me, waiting for my reaction.

Is this a joke?

My God, the man is exhausting.

This must be a lot of fun for my students. It’s obvious something’s up between Skipper and me.

“Please,” he says to me across the classroom, across my class. “Please continue. Sorry for my interruption, just pretend I’m not here.”

Oh, if he wants me to pretend he’s not here then I’m going to play his game. The man just can’t come into my classroom and expect me to bow down at his feet. Not in my classroom.

There’s no way to get rid of him without causing a scene in front of my students, so I’m just going to completely ignore him. Really pretend he’s not here.

I can be irritating too, Mr. Deep.

“So,” I start up again, talking now to my students. Some have turned their attention back to me, some are still staring at Skipper in the back. “Let’s start.”

I describe the basic plot of Romeo and Juliet to the class. I talk to them about the story, the characters, and the setting. I try to make it imaginative and creative, acting out certain scenes. I want my students engaged in Shakespeare, just like I’d been at their age. I want them all to pass the big exams that are coming up. Seeing myself do well at academic tests at school was so encouraging to me when I was a student. It was life-changing. Passing those exams taught me that, if I set my mind to something and work hard enough, I can achieve anything. I want my own students to experience the same feeling, to come away from my class knowing that they too can achieve anything they wanted.

I come to the end of my overview of the play, noticing that Skipper has been writing in his notepad the entire time. I try to ignore him, but it’s very difficult when you have a six-foot-one beautiful man sitting in your back row making notes about you.

I wonder what he’s writing.

“So, any questions?” I ask. No one’s put up their hands except for someone in the back. Skipper. Of course. His hand’s raised, but I ignore him. “Anyone? Does anyone have a question about Romeo and Juliet?”

No hands raised except for Skipper’s.

Please, someone. Anyone.

Just not Skipper. Anyone but Skipper.

“I have a question,” he calls out from the back of the room.

I ignore him still. “Who can sum up what I said?”

“I have a question.”

“Anyone wants to tell me what they think of the play?”

“I have a question.”

“Does anyone like the play?”

No hands up except for his. Some kids have turned around to look at Skipper. This is really starting to turn into a scene now. He’s still got his hand up and he keeps on talking over me.

“I have a question.”

I sigh.

“Okay, Mr. Deep. What’s the question that you’re so urgent to ask?”

His face is so smug it’s perfectly ripe for punching.

“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. He’s getting comfortable. He loves making me acknowledge him in my classroom. “Romeo and Juliet is about two teenagers who are in love, yes?”

“Yes.”