See Me After Class

wait & hope

imagine mr. styles does the it's fine, i'll wait thing and stands at the front of the room like

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i finally got home after babysitting with almost no time left in my day. my bedroom was freezing, so i changed into some sweats. the feeling of the rough yet soft fabric against my skin was one of my favorites; the warmth it brought was lovely as well. the clock flashed an ungodly time on its face, but i wanted so desperately to start the books i had gotten that afternoon.

wrapped in my softest blankets, i opened the count of monte cristo and started reading it. with each sentence, i began to wonder why mr. styles had thought to give me this particular book. i wanted to find why this book was one of his favorites, and i searched for parts of him within the words. i knew that i was digging too far into it, but i just wanted to have more of him. the few brief conversations that we'd had were great, but i still knew nothing about him. i had thought, somehow, if i found an underlined sentence or an annotation off to the side, secret parts of mr. styles would be revealed.

it was still unknown to me as to why i wanted to know him so badly. clearly, there was a small part of me that liked him, but i had shoved that to the farthest corner of my mind; that would never be an option. looking at it now, it probably had nothing to do with what i wanted, but what fate did.

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when i woke up saturday morning, i instantly cracked into the book again. i had realized very quickly that i probably wouldn't discover much about mr. styles from this story unless he was a vengeful, wrongly accused, prison escapee, but his markings on several pages grabbed my attention, and i did study them for what seemed like forever.

"ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks another."

"it's necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live."

"i am not proud, but i am happy; and happiness blinds, i think, more than pride."

"all human wisdom is contained in these two words - wait and hope."

i considered asking him why he had underlined these, and how long ago it was that he underlined them, but decided to refrain. whatever was to happen, i simply had to wait and hope.

my parents called up to my room at some point, and i noticed that the day was almost gone. they asked if i wanted to go out to eat with them, so i yelled down a yes and got dressed. as i slid out of my sweatpants, i wished that i could be back in them. to compensate for the lack of warm, grey cotton pants, i had put on some leggings and a pair of pale pink socks. the weekend had been unusually cold for early october, so i threw on a long-sleeve shirt that was somewhat the same color as the socks, then grabbed my leather jacket and a black purse. i ran downstairs with some black boots in my hand and got into the car.

i had a love/hate relationship with going out to eat. it was great that i didn't actually have to put effort into making my food, but it was also annoying that i could run into people from school. i was busy fussing over my appearance as my dad moved the car along the highway. my hands moved quickly, tugging all of my hair into a topknot. i strategically pulled baby hairs from the updo to soften the look, and fluffed the bun. eventually i gave up, figuring that i wouldn't see anyone while we were out.

we were led over to a table in the middle of the restaurant and seated almost immediately. my parents looked over the menu as i snuck out the book and continued to read. it had taken every ounce of self-control that i had to not add my own markings to the pages; i decided to buy my own copy soon. our meal went by quickly, and i was almost silent for the entirety of it until i heard my mom say,

"apparently there's a new teacher at the school. he's very young, but apparently he's a genius."

"what's his name?" my father questioned.

before she could respond, i interjected, "are you talking about mr. styles?"

my sudden involvement in their conversation threw them off, especially since i was in the middle of a book (they knew better than to expect me to tear away from a good read).

"i believe that name sounds right...do you have him?"

both of them had their eyes on me as i thought about the noodly, awkward, funny, curly-haired young man who had walked into the classroom that first day. i hadn't realized that him coming to our school had been a big deal.

"wesley?" my dad prodded.

"oh, sorry- i. yes, i do. he's actually the one that recommended this book to me," i stuttered.

i hadn't dared to mention that it was his copy in my hands, not knowing whether that was acceptable. did teachers normally give out personal copies of books? i watched as they went back into their conversation, leaving me behind in a tangle of thoughts. my parents only spoke of mr. styles briefly, but they had made me lose all focus on edmond dantès and his plot for revenge.

mr. styles tended to be a distraction for me, though i swore that it wasn't because i liked him. i didn't. i couldn't. we were nothing, and we would continue to be nothing because that's what had to happen. and though i drew a line that kept him in a strict friendzone, every mention of mr. styles made me go over our past conversations and interactions until they meant nothing to me. by overanalyzing every single thing that happened between us, i was able to make myself believe that it was okay and that there was nothing there. there was never a sign that pointed to it going where it shouldn't.

somehow, i avoided any excessive thinking of my teacher for the entirety of sunday, and almost finished the book. i planned to give it back to him by class on monday. a small part of me hoped that when i returned the book, he'd want to sit and discuss it. every part of me hoped that he'd want to sit and discuss anything. i just needed him to pay me some attention because i was lonely and desperate for a friend.

i'm not sure when i finally accepted that i craved his attention because i literally had no one else, but i honestly wasn't too bothered by it. he was one of the few people whom i respected, and i just wanted to pick his brain. i could tell that millions of things were going on behind those evergreen eyes, and i wanted to know what they were.

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a/n

okay so does she sound like a broken record?? i feel like it's just cos i'm trying to be very clear, but i feel like it might be a bit redundant. please please please give me any and all feedback! i won't be offended, i promise.

also: almost 1k reads wowowowowowwow i cannot believe. thank you to you lovelies who have been reading. i hope you continue to read/enjoy this story, and if you wanna vote and comment that'd be just lovely.

thanks so so much!

xx. ash