The Kids Aren't Alright ✓ | Peterick TeacherxStudent

10: It's Our Time Now

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"Love exists in powder, love exists in pills. We are all addicts." -Gray, Pete Wentz

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I let the sheet of paper fall from my fingertips into the basket just as the bell rang. I let out a sigh of relief. I did it.

I had actually completed every poem required for this project, on time. I had basically scored myself an A for the quarter. The effort I put into this class sort of inspired me to actually care in my other classes, too. I flipped everything around, and it's looking like I can actually manage to finish the year with decent grades.

And it was all thanks to Pete.

I sat down at my desk as soon as he walked in the door. "Alright, class," he announced as he scooped the papers out of the basket, "you're officially done with your project for the quarter!"

There was a small amount of rejoicing heard. "So, there's not much left for you to do for the rest of the marking period. I might make you read some actual poems or something, I don't know. But for now," He shook the papers, "I'm going to read these beautiful pieces of literature." I couldn't tell if he was serious or sarcastic.

"I've identified all of you except for two. Students fifty-six and fifty-seven, oddly enough. The two people left are actually in this class, so I'll get working on that. Just look busy in case someone walks in." I felt my face get red as he looked right at me, winked, and the walked to his desk directly in front of mine. And he winked again.

Stop it, I mouthed to him. He just chuckled before opening something on his computer.

I purposefully avoided looking up at his face for the rest of the period, afraid of him continuing to make sexual faces and causing me to have a problem. Instead, I pulled out my stats review book and began filling my brain with knowledge that I'll never use again in my life. I ended up getting so focused on pointless math that I got tunnel vision and didn't notice any of my surroundings. I was apparently the last person in the class to realize that Mr. Wentz was on the verge of tears.

"Mr. Wentz, are you okay?" A girl next to me asked.

"It's fine, Jasmine." He cut the girl off. "Sorry, I just-" I looked up at him and he immediately made eye contact with me, causing him to do one of those laughs that just makes you cry more. "I'm fine. It's just this one poem. Carry on."

My heart sank. Was it really my poem that made him like this? It couldn't have, it wasn't nearly as dark as some of the other poems I've submitted.

He was on my mind the entirety of the remaining period. I would glance up at him every so often, and his head would snap away as if he was already staring at me. I couldn't focus on my statistics anymore. I was becoming jittery for no reason. My hands grew clammy and cold, and I was about to fall off the edge of my seat. I wanted to be relieved of this torturous hour of having to just think about him. He was right in front of me, yet I couldn't reach him. He was so close but so far away. I wanted to hug him when I saw him cry, I wanted nothing more than to just be able to be his friend whenever I wanted.

Well, nothing other than wanting to be more than just friends.

With only a few minutes remaining in the class, he got up from his desk and made his way to the front of the board. "Alright," he had to clear his voice several times before speaking as if the words were just completely trapped in his throat. "So, I've identified the last two students. Fifty-six is Elliot, and fifty-seven is Patrick?"

We both nodded our heads and he smiled. He turned around and wrote our numbers next to our names before crossing them off the board. "Great work. The two of you, they were great poems. Very hard to figure you guys out."