Mr Trent.
964 Words
*****
Samantha’s POV
I wiped my sweaty palms on my sleeves for the third time as I walked to my locker to get my books for physio class.
Mr Trent’s class.
My stomach twisted just thinking about it. I shoved my books into my bag and headed down the hall.
That's when I heard it. Two girls walked side by side in my direction.
“I heard, the professor and her mum are a thing” The first girl with a too-tight ponytail blurted.
“I heard it too, do you think she calls him dad or sir?” They both laughed.
I froze on the spot. And all of a sudden every giggle, every laughter from behind felt like it was directed at me.
I didn't get it. It had been two days since Cassie and I spoke and now people know that my Mr Trent and Mum are together?
Anger welled up in me. I wasn't sure who I was angry at, Mom, for whatever this was, or those two girls who couldn’t keep their voices down. Or maybe Cassie.
I clenched my jaw, held my head up high, and walked past them like I didn't care.
By the time I got to the lecture hall, the whispers were louder. I took my usual seat near the window and tried not to look up when he walked in.
“Good morning, everyone,” Mr. Trent said, his usual calm voice. I wondered if he heard it too. The rumors.
He began writing on the board, his back to us. My heart thudded in my chest.
He turned around and began to talk about something the Earth's rotation around the sun.
But my mind wasn't there. I tapped my pen absentmindedly on the desk. Thinking about the remarks from earlier. The laughter, the whispers.
This was exactly what I was avoiding.
“Samantha…” Mr Trent said, pulling me from my thoughts “Samantha... Can you answer the question please?”
Oh sh*t. What question.
A few heads turned. My heart thudded even louder. All eyes were on me.
“Sir…i”
“Go ahead,” he said with a smile on his face and a firm tone.
The words came out before I could even think.
“I don’t feel like it,” I said quietly.
The class went dead silent.
“Excuse me?”
I looked up, meeting his gaze. The smile was gone “I said I don’t feel like it.”
I regretted it the moment the words slipped out the second time, but before I could take them back, I found myself packing up my things and walking out.
“Samantha, sit down,” he said, but I was already halfway to the door.
I didn’t. I walked out.
*****
I didn't go home right away, I lingered in the school library. Sourcing through books I wasn't going to read.
I flipped through pages taking in the smell of stale books. The silence was comforting at first, but my mind wouldn't shut up. My subconscious kept whispering, You messed up Samantha.
I sighed and closed the book I couldn't understand.
When it was finally getting late, I got up and walked to the bus stop. The bus arrived five minutes late. I climbed in and sank into a seat by the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. The ride home was quiet apart from the faint chatter on the bus.
By the time I got home, the house smelled like diner and disinfectant.
She was in the kitchen when I walked in, an apron tied around her waist. She was on the phone. “Samantha,” she said, lowering her voice, “I just got a call from Mr. Trent.”
I stopped halfway to the stairs.
Her eyes were hard when she turned to face me. “He said you walked out of his class. Care to explain?”
I swallowed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” she repeated, her tone rising. “You embarrassed yourself and him. What on earth has gotten into you lately?”
My chest tightened. “Nothing. I just…”
“You just what? Decide to be rude to your professor?”
For a moment, I wanted to apologize, to say I was just tired, that it wasn’t about him. But then she said his name again “Mr. Trent…”
I felt the anger bubbling up again. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy dating him, people wouldn’t think I get special treatment!”
Her lips parted, and she looked like I had just slapped her across her face.
“That’s enough,” she said quietly.
But I didn’t stop. “Dad died, and now you’re parading around with some man from my school? You think that’s normal?”
Her brows furrowed and her tone firmed up. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
I stared at her, my chest heaving. The silence between us was deafening.
“Go to your room,” she said, pointing in the direction of the stairs. “And you are not going to any party this weekend. That’s final.”
I didn't reply, I turned and walked away angrily.
Upstairs, I shut the door and leaned against it. I let my bag slip to the floor. My eyes moved to the Mrs kay bag on the dresser.
I walked to it and pulled the pink dress out. The expensive fabric against my skin felt soft. Like something almost forbidden.
I pictured the lights, the music, the crowd, and dancing and how I am going to look. Venessa would be there.
“Oh, I’m going,” I whispered. “I’m definitely going.”
- Writer
