Everything

by Erin Noelle

  That was before I’d experienced the Belle-effect. Now, Jayla’s act seemed immature, a bit desperate… and not in the good way.

  Billy chuckled as I rolled my eyes. “I’ll leave you to that. Catch up with you at lunch,” he snickered as the tardy bell rang then took off toward his own class.

  “Later!” I called out after him, while uncoiling Jayla’s lanky arms from around my neck.

  I ignored her huff and separated myself from her. Unfortunately, she and I were in the same homeroom, so there was no escaping her completely. At least, not at the moment.

  “Come on, go inside,” I ordered gruffly, opening the door to the already-packed classroom.

  “Mr. Templeton, Miss Rios, so nice of you two to join us this morning. Can I get you a cup o’ tea or some coffee whilst you get settled in your desks?” Mr. Carroll joked with a half-cocked grin.

  I smirked and shook my head, the sight of my teacher in a navy and green argyle sweater with khaki chinos and his damn penny loafers brought a genuine smile to my face. I seriously didn’t know how the guy pulled it off and still managed to look so fucking pimp. Glancing down at my own outfit — worn, tattered jeans with a black Billabong hoodie and my black chucks, I couldn’t ever imagine wearing some of the shit he did. I just wasn’t that guy.

  “No sir, I already had a Starbucks this morning,” Jayla cooed, flipping her jet-black hair behind her shoulders and batting her eyelashes as she passed him on the way to her seat, “but thank you anyway.”

  Tossing my backpack on the floor, I slid into my own desk, which was gratefully on the opposite side of the room from her. “We’re all good, Mr. Carroll,” I said. “Sorry we interrupted you.”

  Another important lesson I learned early on was to make friends with the teachers. Even if they annoyed the shit out of me, which Mr. Carroll didn’t, but still… teachers had the power to make a student’s life a living hell or a walk in the park. Not sure what was wrong with the idiots who acted like disrespectful fucktards in class, but I, for one, wanted to make this whole high school thing as easy and painless as possible.

  The next half hour dragged by as Mr. Carroll went over upcoming events such as the senior trip and prom, neither of which I had any desire to go to. Sorry, but I had no interest in spending spring break with my fellow students and teacher chaperones in Washington D.C., nor did I care to dress up in a tux and go to some lame-ass school dance with someone who I knew I probably wouldn’t see again after graduation. I wasn’t a pompous asshole, just a realist.

  Finally, he passed out our new schedules — the last set of classes we’d ever have in this school. As soon as each person got theirs, they eagerly scanned the computer printout, reviewing their assigned teachers and electives, and within seconds, their faces either lit up with happiness or fell with disappointment. I prayed the scheduling gods were good to me this time.

  Since my last name started with a T, I was one of the very last to get mine, and as Mr. Carroll handed it to me, he smiled brightly. “I was pleased to see your name on the roll for my third-period Poetry class, Everett. I think you’ll find it quite helpful when writing your lyrics.”

  “Cool, I was hoping I’d get in it,” I replied, as I dropped my gaze to the sheet of paper, rapidly skimming over it.

  1st period Music Theory V Johnson

  Good start to my day; Dr. Johnson and I had a good working relationship. He encouraged me to push my musical boundaries.

  2nd period Concert Orchestra Johnson

  Idiots in the class, but I couldn’t complain about two music classes to begin my day.

  3rd period Poetry Carroll

  Score! Best-case scenario for my required literature class.

  LUNCH

  4th period Economics Seville

  Bleh. Not looking forward to the difficult class or old crotchety teacher.

  5th period Marine Biology Veatch

  A joke of a class, but I needed the science credit; Veatch was tolerable.

  6th period Art History Wallace

  Another win! Easy class with one of the nicest, most laid-back teachers at the school.

  Overall, I was pleased with what I’d been assigned. Other than dealing with Ms. Seville, minimal effort would be needed to pass by with a B or C, and that was all I cared about. Sure, I could’ve probably made straight A’s if I tried, or at least the A/B honor roll had I actually done homework at home instead of in the dead-time during classes, but why, when I could spend that valuable time with my notebook and guitar?

  “I saw you also got Art History,” Mr. Carroll commented, reminding me that he was still hovering next to my desk.

  Lifting my eyes to meet his, I nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I lucked out with a good line-up this time. You and Ms. Wallace, two of my faves.”

  “Oh, it still says Wallace on there?” he questioned, pinching his brow together as he leaned down and read the paper over my shoulder. “That should’ve been corrected.”

  “Corrected? What do you mean?”

  He stood up straight as an odd look flashed in his eyes. Something that I couldn’t quite place at first. “Ms. Wallace had to take an emergency leave of absence to take care of her sick mother,” he explained. “There’s a permanent sub for the semester — Ms. Sloan.”

  “Have you met her yet? What she’s like?” I asked, hoping this new teacher situation wasn’t going to be a thorn in my side.

  “I have, and she’s…” This time when the expression appeared, I recognized it for what it was. Lust. Desire. Hunger. Whoever this new teacher was, Mr. Carroll was definitely interested, and I knew if he worked his old-school British charm like I’d seen him do before without even trying, the poor woman didn’t have a chance. He’d be “minding her gap” in no time.

  “Say no more, Mr. Carroll.” I chuckled as I folded my schedule in half and stuck it in my binder. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  The bell to go to first period rang, cutting off our conversation, and instantly, everyone jumped up and flew out the door. Everyone but Jayla, who waited for me at the front of the classroom, smirking impishly. Sighing, I hoisted my backpack up on my shoulder, called out a goodbye to Mr. Carroll, and strolled out of the room, heading toward the music wing. With Jayla by my side.

  The rest of the day passed much as I expected it to. Mind-numbing hours of listening to teachers going over class rules and grading systems, followed by around-the-room introductions. Like most of us hadn’t been in school together for at least the last four years.

  Fucking finally, it was time for my last class of the day, and I was stoked, because one, it meant I had only an hour left until it was time to go home, and two, I was interested in finally seeing this Ms. Sloan, who’d I’d heard rumblings about all day. Apparently, Mr. Carroll wasn’t the only one who’d taken a liking to the new Art History teacher.

  I stopped at my locker to drop off my Marine Biology text then strode down the hall to room four-eleven, tipping my chin to a few people on my way. I hadn’t seen Jayla since early that morning, so unless she was in the room I was about to walk into, I’d gotten lucky and didn’t have any classes with her. Billy, on the other hand, I had for Economics, which made me feel tons better. If I had to be miserable for an hour every day, at least I’d have my best friend there to suffer with me.

  Turning the knob, I swung open the door and stepped inside the classroom, my eyes impatiently searching the room for the much talked about Ms. Sloan…

  But the only person I could see was Belle.

  My Belle.

  IT WAS THE last class of the day. The finish line was in sight. My ankle throbbed from standing on it for long periods of time and my throat was dry and scratchy from all the talking I’d done, but for the most part, I felt good about the first day with the students. Mr. Carroll, or Liam as he insisted I call him this morning, had advised me to adopt a take-no-shit attitude with the kids while keeping a friendly demeanor. And though that was easier said than done, by third period, I’d foun
d my groove and became more confident in front of the classroom.

  Art History was only offered to seniors, so luckily, my students were all within a semester of graduating and not looking to cause unnecessary trouble. A few of them were a little mouthy, trying to elicit a laugh out of the class, but they seemed harmless for the most part. I’d purposely dressed in my most conservative black pantsuit, hoping to emphasize my position of authority and stave off any improper comments or looks from the students, but with the combination of my decent looks, young age, and being fresh meat in a school where the majority of the female teachers were frumpy and over forty, I think I could’ve worn a nun’s outfit and the testosterone-filled seventeen-and-eighteen-year-old boys still would’ve ogled me like I was serving them hot wings in a Hooter’s uniform. I opted to ignore it. After all, they were just boys.

  “Good afternoon. Come on in.” I stood up and rounded my desk to greet the students with a warm, welcoming smile as they started to file in, recognizing the same look of relief on their faces that the day was almost done. “Sit down wherever you like. I don’t do alphabetical order or assigned seating.”

  Most of them smiled back or said a quick hello before selecting a desk; a few stared at me strangely, obviously expecting Ms. Wallace to be standing at the front of the class instead of me. I liked watching as they decided where to sit, as if it made that big of a difference to sit in the front of the class versus the back, or that being close to the door would allow them to escape that much faster than those by the windows when the bell rang. Friends obviously grouped up, especially the girls, and it didn’t take me long to differentiate between the various cliques. Though, unlike my high school that had the preps, the jocks, the geeks, the stoners, and the wannabe gangsters, among others, the students at HSPVA divided themselves by talent — the artists, the singers, the dancers, the musicians, and the drama kids. It was quite an interesting dynamic, and with my love for both art and music, I was eager to see how good these kids really were.

  “Where’s Ms. Wallace? Is she coming back?” a tall, thin girl with the shiniest long black hair I’d ever seen asked as she slid into a desk in the front row. She was strikingly pretty, exotic-looking with her naturally-tanned skin and almond-shaped eyes, and I immediately pegged her as a dancer with her slender frame and toned legs that seemed to stretch for miles out from under her short pleated skirt.

  A twinge of jealousy panged in my stomach as I silently cursed my mom for passing along the short-people genes to me. Why couldn’t I have taken after my almost-six-foot-tall dad in that department?

  Pushing my thoughts aside, I turned my polite smile toward the girl. “Once class starts, I’ll tell everyone all at once to keep from repeating myself, but no, she won’t be back this year. I’ll be your teacher for the entire semester.”

  After eyeing me from head to toe, a frown tugged down her perfectly-painted red lips as her nose curled up in a half-snarl. “I may need a schedule change,” she mumbled to another girl next to her, who was just as tall and skinny, but not nearly as pretty. They giggled together then began whispering about something.

  I bit my tongue, holding back the words my mama used to tell me all the time when I was a kid and threatened to run away. “Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya, sweetheart.”

  Principal Gentile had originally told me that Art History was a highly sought-after elective among the seniors, which had excited me that so many of the kids were eager to learn about the historical development and stylistic perspectives of the art that told the story of humanity. However, it didn’t take me long to figure out that Ms. Wallace was the “highly sought after” part, not the material studied. These kids were all looking for an easy A, a blow-off class to propel them toward graduation.

  Unfortunately for them, I was not Ms. Wallace.

  Turning my back to her, I pivoted on my heel, wincing at the sharp pain shooting through my ankle, and strode back toward my desk. I acted as if I was going to pick up the syllabi — which I did do — but mainly I just needed a few moments to breathe deeply and calm my irritated nerves. I wasn’t sure why; maybe I was just tired ‘cause it was the end of the day, but something about that girl put me on alert right away. She exuded an aura of arrogance and superiority, and based on her appearance alone, it wasn’t surprising. I was sure she had her choice of any guy she wanted to date and her girlfriends were handpicked to her liking. I bet she wears pink on Wednesdays too.

  The tardy bell rang and the door to the room opened and closed one last time as I grabbed the stack of papers off the edge off my desk. After inhaling a deep breath in through my nose and exhaling it out through my mouth, I painted the cheerful smile back on and whirled around to address the class. But my gaze never made it past the figure standing just inside the door.

  Time stopped. The earth stopped spinning on its axis. The ground fell out from under me. And it happened all at once. The moment my eyes landed on Everett. My rockstar.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, praying it wouldn’t be him when I opened them. Maybe all of those sessions with the vibrator, pretending it was him, had started screwing with my mind. Maybe I just really needed to get laid to fix my problem. Not being able to bring myself to climax was making me delusional.

  When I opened them again, he was still standing there, still pinning me with his intense stare. Oh, God, this is not happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening to me. Unable to accept the obvious, my brain then threw out the idea that maybe he was here for another reason. Maybe he worked here too. Or maybe he was so smitten with me from Friday, he’d tracked me down for days and had finally found me, coming to tell me he wanted to finish what we’d started.

  “Everett, over here, babe! You can sit next to me.”

  I knew without looking who called out to him, but I looked anyway and watched her meanface the poor guy who sat to her right, silently ordering him to move desks so her babe could sit next to her. He hastily gathered his things and moved to another free seat to allow Everett to take the spot.

  Rage boiled in my blood, heating me from the inside out. My fingers curled into tight fists, the tips of my nails biting into the heel of my hands. I was going to kill him.

  Shifting my attention back to the door, I took note of his cleanly-shaven face and the backpack casually slung over his shoulder, and my stomach sank with dread as I watched him cross the floor to her. Instantly, I hated myself for what I’d done Friday night. For thinking the connection we’d shared might have been something unique.

  I was an idiot. The guy I’d met wasn’t anything close to who I thought he was. He was Everett. My student. My student with a girlfriend, no less. A drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend who I already disliked, but now hated for absolutely no reasons other than those. Now I’m acting like a high school student.

  Humiliation burned in my cheeks as the memories from the bed of his truck popped into my head. I’d swallowed his cock in my mouth, sucking him hard and deep. Shamelessly, I’d ridden his fingers while he kissed and licked and toyed with my nipples. I’d been minutes away from demanding he fuck me, yearning to be stuffed full of his thick, long shaft. I was going to burn in Hell for this. Or maybe prison… I need to look up age of consent laws in Texas ASAP.

  “Who are you, and when is Ms. Wallace coming back?” one of the other students called out from the back of the class, jolting me from my disturbing, borderline murderous thoughts.

  I didn’t bother with faking a smile; I didn’t have it in me.

  “Ms. Wallace has taken an indefinite leave of absence to take care of her mom. She won’t be back this school year for sure, and since you’re all seniors, it looks like you guys are stuck with me.” I ambled on shaky legs to the far right side of the room, as far away from Everett and his girlfriend as I could get, and handed the stack of papers I was holding to the girl sitting in the first desk to pass out. “The syllabus for the class is coming around now. You’ll see that I do things a little diffe
rent than Ms. Wallace did. Instead of four multiple choice tests each making up twenty-five percent of your grade, you will only have two major exams — a midterm and a final,” I paused as some of the students cheered, thinking I’d cut their work in half, but then burst their bubble when I added, “but there will also be five random pop quizzes throughout the semester and a major writing assignment due the first week of May.”

  The cheers quickly morphed into boos much like they had in the previous classes, but this time, I didn’t care that they might not like me. Not even a little bit. I could only hope that some of them — two in particular — would indeed ask for a class change to get out of here. Then, and only then, I might have a chance of keeping my shit together for a semester.

  For the next half hour, I went over the course description and objectives, classroom rules and policies, and the calendar of studies, not once looking in the direction of Everett and the girl who I learned while taking roll was named Jayla. The heat from his gaze prickled my skin on more than one occasion as I stood and talked in front of the class, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected me. Not again.

  When I finished my spiel and answered all of their questions, I allowed them to visit quietly amongst themselves until the class ended. Swiftly moving behind the safety of the oversized teacher’s desk, I dropped into the black leather chair and blew out a ragged breath, keeping my focus fixed on the lesson plan book in front of me. My brain was fried, scrambled with thousands of chaotic thoughts, some that made no sense whatsoever. I didn’t know what to do, what to say.