Ignorance is Kind

Believe it or not, the desks at school are not comfortable. At all. And having to sit in one every 48 minutes with only a four minute intermission between each sitting is fucking horrible. The one thing that makes it all better is history. I hate to admit it, but Jess is right. I like Mr. Sanders; and not in the Oh I Want To Be Your Friend way. More like in the I Totally Want To Jump Your Bones Every time I See You way. I had a feeling that my new found knowledge of Jordan’s liking of me would somehow compromise my liking of the teacher. I didn’t know how, but I knew it would.

During class, I had to use all of my self-control not to stare at Mr. Sanders the whole time he was talking. It didn’t help that it seemed that his eyes were on me most of the time either. And when he smiled? Don’t even get me started. I could fucking live in his dimples; I’d be content. Did I really have to wait two years before anything could (legally) happen between us? If so, fuck me sideways.

Sometimes being a teenager fucking sucks. I hate hormones. And don’t even get me started on that “special time of the month.” Not to mention my best girl friend knows that I like our teacher and likes to mention it whenever she pleases and my best guy friend apparently has a crush on me.

But how could I not like Mr. Sanders? I mean, look at him (hypothetically speaking; you can’t actually see him). He’s so unbelievably gorgeous. His eyes sparkle! And not just when he’s smiling. Even when he was yelling at Conner Shade for sticking gum under his desk, his eyes were sparkling. He had the most beautiful smile. He was so muscular, I felt like if anything bad ever happened to me, he could be the one to protect me. And his tattoos! God, everyone thinks I’m a goody-two-shoes just because I get straight A’s and always have my homework done. Well, guess what! I’m not! I have…feelings just like everyone else.

Mr. Sanders was walking around the rows of desks to check and make sure everyone had gotten their homework done. Yeah. He was one of those teachers. Y’know, the kind that doesn’t care if you majorly failed the homework assignment, as long as you took the time to try. He stood between my and Jessica’s desks and checked her paper.

When he picked up mine he said, “So, how was Zacky?”

I blinked up at him while his eyes read over the paper in his hands. “What?”

“When you got home on Saturday,” he said, placing my worksheet back on my desk, “how was Zacky?”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I was right,” I grinned. “Just when I walked in the door he needed an aspirin.”

Mr. Sanders grinned back. “Nice.” He began walking away then stopped and said over his shoulder, “You have good handwriting.”

My eyebrows rose up above my eyes and he chuckled. I looked down at my paper. I did have good handwriting.

*

“Dude,” Jess half-yelled as we were on our way to the cafeteria later that day for lunch. “I have way better handwriting than you. You’re handwriting is almost as decipherable as Jordy’s. Mr. Sanders is totally chasing after your jailbait ass.”
I glared at her as we entered the lunchroom and grabbed our trays to get in line. “Will you quiet down? Even just saying something like that could get him in trouble.”

“Y’know, he looks so different outside of school,” Jess mumbled.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

She stared at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s what supposed to mean? I didn’t say anything. I was just agreeing with you.” My words came out quicker than I’d intended.

She gave me The Look.

I sighed as we sat down at the same table we sat at everyday with Jordan. “Remember when I got up in the middle of the…morning when I stayed at your house Friday?”

Jessica’s face was blank.

“Right. Of course you wouldn’t remember that. You were hung over and sleepy as fuck. Anyways, I got up to get a class of water and, for some reason, went down to the kitchen instead of going to your bathroom. When I walked into the kitchen, I ran into Mr. Sanders.”

“And?”

“He didn’t have a shirt on,” I murmured.

“Oh, my God! Are you serious? What did he look like? Was he sexy?”

“I’m always sexy,” Jordan butt in, causing me to jump.

I slapped him. “Don’t fucking scare me like that, Jordan Harper.”

“Jeez,” he grumbled, rubbing his arm. “Fine, Hope Baker.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away from the table. My eyes got caught on the staff lunch table when they saw a pair of eyes staring back at me. I knew right away who it was, though I’d only really saw his eyes. Mr. Sanders smiled at me and gave a small wave. I smiled back and looked over to Jordan, who had followed my gaze and was glaring at our teacher.

*

I linked my arm with Jessica’s as we skipped down the hallway after school to our lockers. Jordan was nowhere to be seen. I assumed he’d decided to ditch us. I didn’t blame him; I’d ditch me, too, if I were him. I felt bad that I didn’t like him back. But it wasn’t something I had control over.

Jess opened her locker and I followed suit. When the door swung open, one of two things that had not previously been in there fell out. The thing that had fallen out was a neatly folded note; the thing that hadn’t was a single, beautiful red rose. It sat on top of my schoolbooks, waiting for me to pick it up.

I bent over and grabbed the note; unfolding it to read what it said.

As cliché as this is:
Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and so are you.
You have the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
Someday I’ll say Hi to you in the hallway, but you won’t know it’s me.
I hope you like the rose. A little birdie said they’re your favorite.
-Me.

I smiled at the messy, unfamiliar handwriting on the page. Today had been interesting; in the greatest way possible.