Wrongly Noted

Last period of the day and me being a Junior, I'm genually elated as I organize my stuff on my desk. I lay down my American Literature book first, then my notebooks on top of that, & lastly my pencil case. Pretty much, I'm trying to do anything to distract myself from staring at the door, waiting helplessly devoted to a person soon to arrive. Unfortunately, I hear someone call, "Oh, Mr. Pearson, I have a question." which sends a ton of fluttery things to my gut. It was only but last night when I laid with him in his bed. I know, I know...you're probably thinking I'm a whore, but I can't help these feelings for him. Not to mention the feelings are mutual, making it that much more unbearable to ignore. I've kept this secret for a whole year now - yes it started Sophomore year, but back then it was nothing more than flirting and private tutoring session (that were held in his classroom, with the door wide opened). Even now, as things are getting more intense, no one suspects a thing. Maybe it's because he doesn't treat me different then any other students. He'll purposely call on me, when he knows I'm not paying attention, and get 'mad' when I don't get my homework done, when he knows it's his fault it's incomplete. "Vanessa..." I hear suddenly, and my stomach drops to the floor, as if Lyla was invading my mind -figuring out my secret. Slowly, I turn to her, "What's up?" I ask, replacing my hair behind my ear. She looks my face over before blurting out, "Dude, you're freakin' pale. Are you okay?" I instantly think, 'If you can consider sleeping with your teacher and being scared someone's going to find out, okay -then yeah. I'm freakin' grand.' Instead, I just mutter, "I'm fine." She raises her eyebrows in a disbelieving way, but I just shrug it off. "Can I borrow your vocab words, since I was gone yesterday?" Her too dark eyes dart to my cheek, "That's gonna scar ya know?" She nods towards it. My fingers jump up to the deep gash I received yesterday. Long story short? Him and I were making out heavily in his garage, and I got hit with a screwdriver when it decided to dive off it's shelf. I quickly come up with an excuse, "I...um...my brother did it." She rolls her eyes, "Whatever, can I have the words please? Mr. Pearson's coming." Despite the butterflies she just sent off in my tummy, by mentioning his name, I turn around, grab my notebook and hand it back to her. She mumbles a thank you, then begins flipping through it. I focus on the floral design on my skirt, until I hear my name again. This time, from a friendly masculine (not overly masculine) voice, "Vanessa...can you come here please?" He motions me forwards. I take a deep breath, "sure." I get out of my desk, flattening my skirt in the back, because I know the guys behind me would be checking my a s s out. Once I make it to the front of the room, I make sure to stand a good two feet away from his desk. He glances at me, then his white teeth peek out from under his lips, in the smile I'm too familiar (and too fond) of, "I don't bite Miss Bloome." I can't stop a laugh from sneaking past my lips, because I know he bites. In response he chuckles, "Now you still have to make up that test from two weeks ago." My eyebrows raise in confusion, "Which one?" He glances past me, realizing that he is hidden from the rest of the class by my body standing in front of him, "The Crucible test." He winks and my mouth twitches to keep from smiling, "Oh that one. I can make it up tonight..." His face looks appalled before I quickly add, "I mean after school...you'll be here right?" His expression lightens up, "Yes I will be." I smile, "I guess I'll make it up then." He nods, "Great, the sooner the better." I turn and walk back to my seat. As he heads up to his poidum, he tells us to get our books out, I slide mine out from the bottom of my stuff, open it, then sit and stare at his young body. He's only twenty four, fresh out of college, and oh so gorgeous. His dark brown shaggy hair, hanging right above his light blue eyes. His face is decorated with a bit of a five-oclock shadow, which doesn't damage any aspect of his handsomeness. I bite my lip, remembering the way he stares deep in my eyes and whispers, "God, you're so beautiful." I smile a little, as I let my mind venture into the fantasy of him and I making love on his desk. Oh, how I would love that. "Vanessa..." I hear faintly, but ignore it -the fantasy's getting better as he takes his shirt off. "Miss Bloome!" peirces my ears, snapping me out of dreamland to stare at him right in the face. He's got his hands pressed to my desk, his expression frustrated, "Wanna share with the class, what's got your mind so far away?" It takes everything inside me to ignore my teenage hormones, and lean back farther in my chair, scared that if he gets too much closer, I'll kiss him. "Well?" He insists. I smile, "Sorry...I was just thinking about how sexy my boyfriend is shirtless." The class burst into laughter, "Wow, Vanessa! I didn't know you were dirty minded." Peter Jenkins says, then adds, "Ya know...I look pretty sexy shirtless too -I can let you decide how I look pantless." He raises his forehead, trying to tempt me, but failing miserably. Mr. Pearson looks at him, then back at me, standing up and crossing his arms, "didn't you just mention you have a boyfriend?" Unable to keep from grinning, I nod, "Yes..." He looks back at Peter, "See...she's taken." Peter smirks, "So...just cause there's a goalie in soccer doesn't mean you can't score." He thinks he's being some awesome 'playa' but in honesty all he's doing is pissing my lover off. Mr. Pearson get's red in the face, "Office, now!" he yells, pointing to the door. "Oh come on!" Peter hollers, but our teacher isn't buying it. "I said now!" Reluctantly, Peter gathers his stuff then sulks out of the room.