I sighed as I tried to gloss over my crap painting. Whoever decided that teaching a class of mostly freshmen to paint landscapes was a good idea should die. My trees looked like disgusting blobs, the sky turned out green, and the rest of it just blended together so that you couldn’t even tell what it was. Mr. Way didn’t seem to notice though because every time he walked by he would mutter something about it being really good.

I didn’t have to fake business for long before the bell rang. At this point I brought my project up to Mr. Way, “I’m finished,” I said plainly.

He looked up and smiled, “Very nice, Frank. Put it on the drying rack and I’ll grade it tomorrow.”

I nodded and did what he said. Then I got busy with what I’d been doing after school for the last month: cleaning up. The kids in that class were slobs. They left supplies on the tables, full paint trays in the sinks, and really any other mess you could think of. I took it upon myself to remedy these things. And it was only partly because that was more time to spend around Mr. Way. I knew his name by then. Gerard. Some guy in my grade had slipped up and called him it one day. It was just easier to keep my thoughts professional if I used his professional name.

This particular day I went straight to the sinks, not even wanting to worry about the tie-dyed tables. I was in the middle of a third tray when I heard footsteps behind me. Then I felt something really unexpected. A hand brushed across my ass. I felt a fire spread across my cheeks as Mr. Way appeared at my side. I looked up at him. His face betrayed no emotion. Maybe it was an accident?

“Mr. Way…” I started to ask but decided against it.

“Yes, Frank?” he asked, still not betraying anything.

“Never mind,” I muttered and went back to scrubbing. A few moments later I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stiffened. He was touching me. The hottest man in school was touching me.

“Thank you for doing this every day,” he said softly, “You really don’t have to.”

I shrugged, “I don’t have much to do at home, so this fills up some time. Plus I can’t stand lazy people. You wouldn’t think it by looking at me, but my room at home is virtually spotless.”

He laughed, a glorious sound, “It wasn’t too long ago that I was in your situation. Had people making fun of me daily for my eyeliner and black nail polish. Just…I want you to know that if it gets too rough ever you can talk to me. I’ve been there.”

I looked at him, shocked, “You? A social outcast? But all the students love you!”

He shrugged, “What can I say? I’m the new, young, ‘cool’ teacher. I get the kids more than the old farts do so they feel a connection with me. Especially the ones that knew me when I attended this place.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. You were a senior when I was finishing up junior high, right?”

“Yeah. Technically I don’t even have my degree to be teaching yet. The school was desperate and told me that as long as I finish my courses by the end of this year I can stay.”

“I envy the kids that’ll be here for that. I would’ve been way more into the art scene if you were always the teacher.” I regretted it the second the words left my mouth. He must have thought I was a creep.

Instead he nodded, “No offense, but between you and me that would have been a pretty bad idea. You’re pretty shit at art.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. A teacher had just cussed at me. Well, not at me. To me. And it was an almost insult, “Are you this supportive of all your students?” I joked as I finished up the last tray and headed for the tables with a rag.

He chuckled, “Only the ones that I know can handle it.”

We fell into a comfortable silence after that. He went back to grading or planning or whatever it was he was doing and I cleaned a bit more. Once I was satisfied with the condition of the room I threw a farewell over my shoulder and left. I felt like something was starting. And I was liking that something very much.

Notes

so...is it his imagination? that hand? find out in gees pov ;)