Worst Cupid Ever

Teacher's Favourite

So this was what it felt like to walk into a trap with eyes wide open? Sure, Raymond hit the gym often, and his endurance was in top form, but this? Sea farming was gruelling. Though the facility they volunteered at was leagues above what he imagined, the task expected of them was criminal. A considerable distance away were separate state-of-the-art compartments that made the job semi-automated, but that wasn't the case for volunteers. No. To get a more authentic experience, they were given a fairly wide expense to farm, along with snipping tools and floaters holding baskets.

"Authentic experience, my ass." Raymond blinked hard when sweat slipped into his eyes. He had filled four baskets so far and was halfway through the fifth one. Forget his dislike for the beach. It had taken him less than ten minutes to forget he was thigh-deep in seawater. The monotony of the task and his obsession with smoothly getting the hang of his duties took all his focus. And there was another factor as well. Jamal was a slave driver.

Jamal never smiled. Or talked. All he did was inspect their progress with this... intense heavy stare. He would slush around with an instructor who did all the talking and pointing out. Getting the stare of disapproval meant the instructor would subject you to more pointers and reasons why small mistakes could lead to great economic loss. And the sun. Its heat was punishing.

No way this wasn't hell. Why would anybody volunteer for this? He glanced around. There were six other volunteers, including Genevieve. What killed Raymond was the look of enjoyment on their faces, and they wouldn't stop laughing and chatting as they went about their task. Even Genevieve. For some reason, her expression of enjoyment further ruined his mood. He was a director of a multi-million-dollar company for God's sake. What was he doing across the globe, sweating under the sun and ripping out weeds because of a former employee?

They had been at this all morning. He had placed his watch and phone in the locker provided, so it was impossible to tell the time. But he was certain they had spent at least four hours under the unforgiving sun. And he assumed Maldives' beaches were usually windy and cool. Well, not today. Smooth luck you've got, Raymond.

"All right," the instructor said in a loud cheerful tone. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. Annoyingly smiley as well. "That's two hours. Let's take a break."

Stunned, Raymond blinked at the instructor. Two hours? It's been only two hours? Unbelievable. Straightening, Raymond placed his hand on his waist and stared at his half-filled basket. He needed to get out of here fast.

Without acknowledging others, Raymond made his way to the shore. Six hours from now, they were scheduled to volunteer at the reef restoration centre. No way. He wasn't the least bit interested. He did not want to rip weeds off the sea bed or restore the reef. He was no scientist or farmer. It would be better if he—

"Hey!"

Pretending not to hear, Raymond continued walking until he reached the shore. Bending, he took off his rubber boots and emptied it of water.

"Ray, what's up?" Her voice sounded closer now, and it was bright, happy. Raymond shrugged off the straps of the rubber dungarees they were mandated to wear before kicking it off. Wearing the boots once more, sandy feet and all, he headed to the station. He would get his stuff and hightail out of this place. No one could force him to do what he did not wish to.

"Hey," her voice was gentler as she walked around him. When she stopped in his path, Raymond was forced to stop as well. Her eyes danced over his face. "You're angry."

"I am not angry." Raymond walked around her and resumed his trek.

"But you look mighty pissed though right now."

"I am not pissed."

"You totally are. Your jaws are clenched. Was it the beach? I can—"

"It was not the beach." Raymond came to a stop and massaged his shut eyes with his fingers. "It was not the bloody beach, Genevieve. How do you do it?" He was genuinely curious.