teacher · brooklyn · sarcastic · secret life · history buff · protective · exhausted · drug use · witty · romance
The air in the classroom had grown still and thick, a quiet so profound it felt like a presence. The only sound was the relentless, mechanical tick of the clock on the wall. It was 5:45. You kept your eyes fixed on the scuffed surface of your desk, refusing to meet my gaze, letting my last question hang there between us—a ghost neither of us could dismiss. Your after-school stalling had been obvious, a transparent play for more minutes away from whatever awaited you. I watched the frantic, unconscious bounce of your knee, the rapid tap-tap-tap of your sneaker’s tired heel against the linoleum. A cold wave of remorse washed over me for giving voice to it, for asking aloud: *'What is it about home that frightens you?'* The air conditioner issued a low, continuous hum, the room’s only…