Status: searching for a muse
Bad Romance.
"i'm not going to pretend it didn't happen."
KC stutters and stumbles over her words at first, but is able to recover from the initial shock in time so that she is able to carry out the lesson without another situation where she’s tongue-tied.
She tells them a little about herself (“Some of you may know Mr. Schuester, he teaches Spanish and Glee Club; he’s also my cousin.” and “This is my first year of teaching, but I know every trick in the book, so don’t even try it.”) and a little about the class (“World History is actually an easy class. I’m not going to make you memorize dates, so if you manage to fail, it’s because you didn’t pay attention in class. So pay attention.”) and the other beginning of the school year introductory formalities.
She avoids looking at him as much as she can, but she can’t help it if kids back there have a question or comment, and each time she sees him looking right at her. But she’s also the teacher, so that might not be avoidable, either.
She knows he recognizes her; when they locked eyes at the beginning of class, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, much like her own did.
Sam doesn’t say anything to her the entire period. Nor does he approach her after the bell rings, ending class. She’s not complaining.
When her free period starts, the feeling she gets is the same when lunch would start for her in high school. She stretches and yawns and looks over her desk, wondering how she should start the lesson tomorrow, and there’s a knock from the doorway.
Sam’s in the doorway, his hand on the doorframe. Her breath hitches in her throat, but she keeps herself composed. Or at least, she tries to.
“Sam,” she greets him, standing up. “Do you need something?” She walks over to close the door, knowing the topic of what happened will be brought up.
He hesitates, and she can’t help but briefly remember when he paused his movements when he took off her underwear and looked at her, unsure of what she had wanted at the time.
“Um, my mom wanted me to go around to all of my teachers and ask about if there was any extra help I could get,” he begins, and it’s obvious that that’s not the main thing on his mind.
She’s surprised, and cocks her head to the side. “Of course, but the year just started.”
He nods and looks down at her desk, avoiding her gaze. “I’m dyslexic, so sometimes my grades aren’t too good,” he explained.
“Oh,” realization floods through her, “I had no idea. Of course, I’ll probably pick a day to stay after school for tutoring but I can help you out aside from that as well, if you need it,” she tells him. He nods again and it’s blatant he wants to say something else.
So he does.
“Listen,” he starts again, though he’s glancing up at her now. His voice gets a quieter, too. “I wanted to talk to you about two nights ago…”
She nods, biting her lower lip. “Well, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s silly,” she tells him.
He agrees with her, but isn’t sure what else to say. So he turns around and starts to head out, but he pauses when she speaks again.
“The main reason I don’t want to deny that it happened is because…you’re the only other person who’s stayed,” she murmurs, loud enough for him to hear. He looks back at her, but she’s messing with papers on her desk. So he leaves, mulling her words over in his head.
She tells them a little about herself (“Some of you may know Mr. Schuester, he teaches Spanish and Glee Club; he’s also my cousin.” and “This is my first year of teaching, but I know every trick in the book, so don’t even try it.”) and a little about the class (“World History is actually an easy class. I’m not going to make you memorize dates, so if you manage to fail, it’s because you didn’t pay attention in class. So pay attention.”) and the other beginning of the school year introductory formalities.
She avoids looking at him as much as she can, but she can’t help it if kids back there have a question or comment, and each time she sees him looking right at her. But she’s also the teacher, so that might not be avoidable, either.
She knows he recognizes her; when they locked eyes at the beginning of class, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, much like her own did.
Sam doesn’t say anything to her the entire period. Nor does he approach her after the bell rings, ending class. She’s not complaining.
When her free period starts, the feeling she gets is the same when lunch would start for her in high school. She stretches and yawns and looks over her desk, wondering how she should start the lesson tomorrow, and there’s a knock from the doorway.
Sam’s in the doorway, his hand on the doorframe. Her breath hitches in her throat, but she keeps herself composed. Or at least, she tries to.
“Sam,” she greets him, standing up. “Do you need something?” She walks over to close the door, knowing the topic of what happened will be brought up.
He hesitates, and she can’t help but briefly remember when he paused his movements when he took off her underwear and looked at her, unsure of what she had wanted at the time.
“Um, my mom wanted me to go around to all of my teachers and ask about if there was any extra help I could get,” he begins, and it’s obvious that that’s not the main thing on his mind.
She’s surprised, and cocks her head to the side. “Of course, but the year just started.”
He nods and looks down at her desk, avoiding her gaze. “I’m dyslexic, so sometimes my grades aren’t too good,” he explained.
“Oh,” realization floods through her, “I had no idea. Of course, I’ll probably pick a day to stay after school for tutoring but I can help you out aside from that as well, if you need it,” she tells him. He nods again and it’s blatant he wants to say something else.
So he does.
“Listen,” he starts again, though he’s glancing up at her now. His voice gets a quieter, too. “I wanted to talk to you about two nights ago…”
She nods, biting her lower lip. “Well, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t happen. That’s silly,” she tells him.
He agrees with her, but isn’t sure what else to say. So he turns around and starts to head out, but he pauses when she speaks again.
“The main reason I don’t want to deny that it happened is because…you’re the only other person who’s stayed,” she murmurs, loud enough for him to hear. He looks back at her, but she’s messing with papers on her desk. So he leaves, mulling her words over in his head.