Saturday mornings are always the quietest. Everyone takes a break from the work and lounge sandwiched between their bed for a couple of extra hours, takes no interest in the buzzes of the alarm or the risen of the sun. For me, on the contrary, today stars of reflecting the beginning of the day before: Waking while the sunlight slept, getting dressed and presentable (double checking that my mop of a head didn't look too much of a catastrophe), and walking out of my front door and stepping onto the ground that kissed and aligned with the horizon sun, and heading west to approach the school building.
On the walk to school, I thought of Willow and pondered on how important today was going to be for her. We planned on pacing the local boardwalk from the sun mirroring itself in the body of water until the disappearing of the brightness of the sky and water.
"There is something about lakes, and water as a whole." she said. "No matter at what time of day, hot or cold, or whatever is placed in it, the components of water will always stay H2O. This is a way I see our relationship; any time of day, romantic or platonic, placed in any kind of situation, we will always remain the same. We are water."
I imagined her sitting at the dock, legs swinging above the lake, feeding ducks bread crumbs and she laughing at them nipping at her little fingers, and I smiled a broad grin to myself. Now reaching the school, day-dreaming of Willow had soon to be put to a hault.
It feels awkward and strange wandering about the school. It is mostly deserted, apart from working staff members. The hallway stood hollow and the sound of my foot steps projected even feet away. I visioned this would be wondering; having private time with the best looking woman in the school, her green eyes locked on mine, she possibly telling me of how she doesn't have a husband, and whispering in my ear of how she doesn't like being alone while stoking the back of my neck. My hormones often get the best of me.
Reality soon smashed against me as hard as an equation when I'd entered the door. The lights only half as bright from the last time being here, and desks looking cleaner and more organized than ever. This will not be anything like I had fantasized, and the best thing coming from this could be getting at least a passing grade on the next test. Willow may have been right, choosing to come to school on a Saturday morning might have been a dumb decision.
"Nice to see you have stayed true to your word, Mr. Braun." Ms. Haven said from behind her desk, picking up her head from a pile of work after the sound of the door creaking open hit her eardrum.
"Yeah," I chuckled. I wanted to up until now, I thought.
Ms. Haven looked at me oddly. "Oh, you didn't bring any of your stuff with you" she said.
I quickly grabbed at the imaginary backpack slung onto my shoulder. "I did not think I had to."
She sighed. "It is all right. My mistake for not telling you." she said, angling her head back down at the stack of papers.
"Woah. Am I actually going to be doing that much work for me to need my backpack in the first place?" I asked, nearing closer to her and choosing a desk to be seated in.
"More like going over a lot of work." Ms. Haven replied. "Did you believe it was just going to be the two of us alone chatting with one another?" an eyebrow curiously raised.
"Basically," I joked, grinning at how unaware she was of how much truth the statement held.
"Well, I am sorry to have mislead you, Mr. Braun." she smirked.
Wishing not to get onto the topic of tutoring, I swiftly asked "Back to calling me Mr. Braun? I was getting used to h ear you say my first name."
Ms. Haven paused for a few seconds and replied. "D'you prefer being called Wyatt?"
"Of course," I said. "I'm sixteen. Since you're a teacher wouldn't you prefer to be called by Haven and not Angelika?"
Ms. Haven quickly froze, not sure of what to say. "H-h-how do you know my first name?" she stuttered, questioning me.
Then turning a slight shade of pink, "It's on my class schedule." I replied.
She exhaled, relieved. "Oh," she said. "You know, you're a lot less shy and a lot more outspoken now than you are in class."
I shrugged at this being partially right. "I'm actually not a very shy person, really. I just don't care much for talking to people I'm not interested in becoming friends with, I guess. Why let everyone know who you are if you are only their acquaintance?"
Ms. Haven stared at me with a look that shown that she related to what I had said. Her face looks vulnerable, like she has true emotions, insights, and beliefs dug deep down inside of the person she wants to cover up and hide. In this moment, Ms. Haven resembles an ordinary person. Though remaining striking, she looks of one more tied down to earth, and more realistic.
Looking back at her brilliant face, I started to think of her as Angelika, a person. Not Ms. Haven, the incredible looking math teacher that made my heart race, but a human that, even though it may not be apparent, has emotions and a soul. I knew that what I yearned to say the most would either make her open up and allow me to enter into her mind that she keeps so secretive, or build even higher iron gates around herself, wishing to keep everyone else even more far and distant.
My heart beating fast, not giving a care for my conscience's thought precautions, I long to make that plunge. I'll deal with whatever I must after taking this risk. "Why do you tend to set yourself apart from people surrounding you, Angelika?"
Eyes enlarged and a skeptical glare placed on her face, she replied. "Wyatt, I am your teacher."
"That doesn't mean-"
"Yes, it does!" her voice raised, I had obviously struck a nerve.
I don't know why Angelika insists on having no one get to know who she is on such a drastic level. Maybe she's hiding something beneath those ravish eyes. Perhaps this was her way of keeping her professional and private life separate. Though, if she truly does not care much for me learning of the real Angelika Haven, why does she seem to care for me? Inviting me here in the the first place, she could just fail me, asking of why my mouth glues shut during the hour and forty-five minutes of her class period, and wondering whether or not I like being referred to as Wyatt over Mr. Braun. It became clear to me. Crystal clear. Angelika Haven does care for me, as I do for her. Only having a rougher time accepting the way she feels, for like she had said, she is "My teacher."
