Chapter 2

"This is just outrageous," I say, taking a bite of my ham and cheese sandwich—which, by the way, happens to be my favorite—before slowly chewing and washing it down with a sip of strong, slightly astringent tea. Meanwhile, I listen to my mother's furious tirade. "Not only has that Mrs. Robinson of yours retired, but she also refused to take you on for extra lessons because, apparently, she decided she wants to travel around retirement homes in her old age!"

"She's not mine, Mom," I sigh heavily, fully aware of how shitty this situation is but completely powerless to change it. I set my cup down on the table and put my sandwich back on the plate, lowering my gaze in exhaustion. The only thing on my mind right now is the looming horror of university applications. No, of course, I still have a whole year. Or rather, only a year left.

"This is just a nightmare!" Mom keeps ranting, waving her arms in frustration. I'm honestly amazed that after a twelve-hour shift, she still has the energy to be this worked up. Sometimes, I feel like my education worries her more than it does me. Sure, Mrs. Robinson "ditched" us right before the exams, but whatever—she's earned the right to do what she wants. She's not thirty, not forty, not even fifty anymore. Yes, there's a new teacher now, and no, he probably won't be better than her. But what can I do? Absolutely nothing.

"I'll manage without extra lessons," I suddenly blurt out, and only then do I realize the absolute nonsense that just came out of my mouth. I always speak before thinking if I should even open my mouth in the first place. For a brief moment, I cling to the hope that Mom didn't hear me, but of course, I'm not that lucky. She immediately stops mid-rant, squints at me suspiciously, and just stares, waiting. Like she expects me to add, "Just kidding, Mom! Don't take me seriously."

Instead, I say something completely different from what she was expecting:

"I'm sure our new teacher won't be any worse than her."

I'm not lying to my mom—I'm lying to myself. Because that young guy, who somehow ended up as a teacher in our school, probably won't be able to teach us anything useful. The only thing he's likely to do is melt the icy hearts of nearly all the girls in class. No, I haven't seen Mr. Gilbert in action yet—our first lesson was just an introduction—but I seriously doubt his biological expertise. And I'm feeding this nonsense to my mom only because I'm tired of her annoyed tone and permanently displeased face.

"Seriously, Mom. My understanding of biology improved thanks to Mrs. Robinson. I'm sure I'll be fine," I keep up the act, getting up from the round porcelain table.

The fact that I've convinced her is confirmed by her loud sigh as she finally sinks into a chair.

"You do understand how important this subject is for your university applications?" Her tone softens, her voice sounding gentler and more even now.

"Of course," I reply quietly, nodding. "Of course, I understand. I'll do my best, I promise."

Like a little kid, I give her my word, promising to follow through. Slowly, I approach her and hug her from behind, resting my head on her shoulder. She gently strokes my hair, then tells me it's already late and I should go to bed. I nod, wish her goodnight, and slip away to my room like a silent ghost.

The next school day isn't exactly bursting with bright colors. Most of the lessons drag on monotonously, and during breaks, Sarah and I exchange summer stories—not that I have much to contribute. All I can say in response to her adventures is, "Well, I went outside a couple of times, ruining my perfect pale complexion."

But it's during third period—biology—that I happen to be late. And if I got away with it yesterday, today… probably not. I rush up to Room 209, even though the bell rang ten minutes ago. But what was I supposed to do? I had to run down to the coatroom on the first floor to grab my phone—I'd left it in the pocket of my windbreaker and only realized it was missing when I desperately needed it. And sprinting five floors, even in sneakers, is no joke.

My heart pounds like it's trying to break out of my chest. I take a second to catch my breath, lift my hand, and after a brief pause, knock and step inside.

"Sorry for being late. May I take my seat?" I ask, my gaze fixed on the floor, breaking the awkward silence in the classroom.

When I finally look up at the teacher's desk, I'm genuinely surprised to see him casually perched on the edge of it instead of sitting in a chair.

"I hope you didn't lose the entire contents of your backpack on your way here?" Mr. Gilbert remarks dryly, making it very clear that he remembers yesterday's little incident. "Take a seat."

I slowly weave my way between the desks, feeling Sarah's curious gaze on me. She doesn't have to say it—I can practically hear her unspoken question: "What was that about?" But I just wave my hand dismissively and sit down next to her without answering.

Mr. Gilbert, to my surprise, is actually interesting to listen to—unlike Mrs, Robinson, whose lectures were always so dull and monotonous they could put anyone to sleep. But at least she didn't interrupt her lessons with outdated jokes that sent the whole class into fits of laughter. And, honestly, the way he casually flirts with students is kind of disgusting.

"Alright," Mr. Gilbert straightens up from the desk, and through his white T-shirt, his toned muscles become painfully obvious. "Who can tell me the name of the scientist who proposed the first-ever theory of evolution?"

The classroom falls silent. People glance at each other uncertainly. I look at Sarah, trying to kickstart my brain. Come on, I know this… It's on the tip of my tongue, but I just can't remember.

"Ms. Cruise."

The teacher directs his piercing gaze at Linn who's too busy whispering with her seatmate to notice.

"Ms. Cruise!".

She practically jumps in her seat at the sound of her own name before flashing a sweet, innocent smile at Mr. Gilbert.

"Do you know the answer?" he asks calmly, crossing his arms.

"Maybe," she replies, clearly having no idea what the question even was. But somehow, she manages to weasel her way out of it. "But I'd much rather hear it from you."

Her flirtatious tone makes me physically cringe. Did I forget to mention that Cruise isn't just popular? She's the class's number-one maneater. A stuck-up, arrogant queen bee.

Watch yourself, princess, or that crown of yours is going to crush you under its own weight.

"Oh, I'm sure you could have figured it out if you spent less time wagging your tongue gossiping with your neighbor and more time listening, dear," Mr. Gilbert retorts with a dangerously smooth tone, laced with sarcasm.

The class bursts into muffled laughter. Linn flushes bright red and glares at her desk. She doesn't say another word for the rest of the lesson.

By the end of class, the smiles disappear when Mr. Gilbert announces that next time, we're starting with a pop quiz. A collective groan ripples through the room. As soon as we leave, Sarah bombards me with questions about what Mr. Gilbert meant earlier. I have no choice but to tell her about yesterday's incident.

She laughs so hard she almost chokes on her cigarette.

"Only you could pull that off."

"Oh, shut up." I nudge her, but I can't help smiling too.