Mr. Elliot's gaze was hard and demanding. His tea-colored eyes read every bit of confidence, shadowed by his short but thick eyelashes.

"Why don't we start with your two-paged essay?" He asked as we advanced farther into the classroom. Circular tables surrounded us, each with supplies and sinks. He gestured at the table closest to his desk, and I sat down reluctantly, still flustered from kissing Mr. Lee.

"Uh- how do we communicate again?" He asked, turning around by his desk, scratching the side of his face. His question revealed informality, but just as easily as he said it, he shielded it by plastering a dauntless expression on his face.

I wiggled my finger in a writing motion.

"Ah- I see," he said. He bent down and began to rummage around in the drawers of his desk.

Feeling uncomfortable was an understatement. I have never used a notepad with Mr. Elliot except for a few times, so it seems that he had forgotten. Our class has always been so busy, mainly because a lot the assignments were self-explanatory and independent, so I never had to worry about being picked on to answer a question.

Mr. Elliot was clad in a violet colored shirt with a black tie and dress pants. His black hair was slicked back formally, his thick eyebrows matching perfectly.

He walked over to my table and took a seat next to me, placing a notebook and pencil in front of me.

"I'll help you out with the essay. How about the topic as the chemical origin of life?"

I awkwardly nodded and fiddled with my hands, my heart thumping loudly in the silence of the big classroom.

As time slowly ticked away, he helped me write the outline for the assignment, which oddly wasn't as bad as I had deduced. I avoided his gaze most of the time out of fear, but all the rumors I heard about him hadn't matched what was sitting next to me. Perverted? No- at least not that I knew of. Mean? Not exactly, but he was quite harsh every now and then. And although he was attractive, I didn't find his looks to be completely outstanding. They were typical, which was completely unlike Mr. Lee, who was the only man I had ever noticed with eyes the color of the ocean.

"I think it would be important for you to get all A's for your senior year. You missed the first three years of high school, and that is what a lot of colleges look at," he conversed. "And it doesn't exactly look good for me, seeing I'm the only class you currently have a B in."

I nodded again- how many times has I done that? I didn't know how else to react to him because I was the opposite of comfortable around him.

He placed his hand on my knee from under the table, my body immediately stiffening. His face gave absolutely nothing away. One hand resting on my knee, the other scribbling away with a pen. I shivered under his uncomfortable touch, his fingers awakening every nerve in my body.

However, that was all he did, and I relaxed when I realized that he was too pompous and stilted to ever do something worse. Or at least, that was what I hoped.

"We'll do this for a week, and if you finish the rest and the assignment fulfills all the requirements, I'll add in the grade which will most likely bring it up to an A."

Thanks, I wrote and showed it to him.

"No problem," he responded casually, his hand finally drifting away from my knee. I quickly got up from my seat and speed-walked out of the classroom. I shuffled down the hallway, replaying what just happened in the depths of my brain.

"Poppy?" His form came into view, and I shook my head to dismiss my overwhelming thoughts. "How did it go?" He asked, his eyebrows scrunched in concern. His glasses were perched on the edge of his nose, and his eyes were extremely dark, as if he were angry.

"It was okay," I said. Lie. It was awkward and uncomfortable.

Mr. Lee looked stressed. His hair was in its usual messy state. One of the buttons on his shirt was unbuttoned, and I long to unbutton it myself, but instead I just stared at the human form of a masterpiece in front of me.

"What's wrong?" I whispered.

"I don't like him," he said simply.

I contemplated whether or not I should tell him about Mr. Elliot touching my knee, but I decided against it. Mr. Lee looked unnerved as it is, for reasons I did not know, due to his completely unreadable expression.

"I'm going to go get ready for practice," I said, itching to get away from everybody so I could breathe heavily in peace.

"Alright," Mr. Lee said wearily. He took a step back and I took off down the hallway, feeling his eyes absorbing every inch of my body as I disappeared from his view.

Mr. Elliot had put me in a particularly bad mood. All he had done was touch my knee, but for some reason it made me feel extremely nervous. Why had he touched me? Was it just a kind gesture?

I ran alone during practice, and Mr. Lee didn't run with me, either. We looped around the track multiple times, but Mr. Lee had ended practice shortly today.

However, he did approach me at the end of practice, when sweat was dripping down my tank top and my hair was unattractively matted to my face. And of course, he had to look particularly attractive, in his camouflage muscle shirt and black shorts. His biceps glimmered with sweat, and I ripped my gaze away in embarrassment. Gawking had to be the worst thing to do in front of somebody you liked.

"Let's race each other," he whispered as the students started to pile into their cars. Mr. Falliner waved Mr. Lee a goodbye, and he returned it kindly.

"You're going to win," I whispered back. The atmosphere of the track changed. We were the only ones here, and that itself made everything else somehow seem beautiful.

The trees were slowly blowing in the gusts of wind. The grass swayed and the bugs buzzed, and our breathing mixed in with everything else.

"Go!" He yelled, taking off without warning.

"That's not fair!" I screamed and started up after him, our loud footsteps of sneaker hitting ground echoing. My heartbeat abruptly quickened when I realized that for the first time in such a long time, I had screamed at the top of my lunges.

I sprinted as fast as I could, my arms pumping steadily at my sides when I caught up next to him. I knew he wasn't trying. If he wanted to, he could have ran the track five times and still not be tired.

"Mr. Lee," I gasped for air, stopping to take a deep breath. I leaned over to catch my breath, and I felt Mr. Lee stop beside me. He was smiling, his straight white teeth being presented from his lovely pink lips.

"You screamed," he observed, a smile still on his lips.

A smile curled on my own. "I did." I said. "I did because of you."

"Do it again," he demanded playfully.

"You go first," I giggled, completely unaware that I was almost talking normally around him.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, swiping away a curly strand of brown hair that fell over his right eye.

I shrugged shyly. "I don't know."

Mr. Lee glanced at the school, and I looked curiously after him, wondering what he was looking for.

"Poppy Rose!" He hollered, his hands cupping his mouth, which enhanced the angelic and hilariously manly sound of him screaming my name.

My smile seemed to grow bigger, which seemed hardly possibly because I was full-out idiotically grinning like a little girl.

"Your turn!" He shouted again, nudging me playfully on the shoulder. My smile fell when his fist gently pressed against my bare skin, due to the fact that I was wearing a tank top, which in fact I hardly ever wore to practice. I pretended to ignore the way his hand felt on me. I bit my lip hard and breathed deeply through my nose.

"Nate Lee!" I screamed, every care I ever had at this moment flying away with my sound waves. Mr. Elliot, my mother, Vera, and my insecurities- all gone. Just like that.

I did think of my mother soon after that, though, but not in a way that made me regret screaming. It felt good.

I realized that no therapist could possibly do that Mr. Lee has done for me. I was freely talking, and no medication or therapy session was because it.

In the simplest terms, my happiness caused me to be able to talk. That is, with the exception of Mr. Lee being the reason for my said happiness.