A/N: This story is something I've been thinking about for a while. Doccubus is endgame, but that's not to say it's going to be a smooth ride. This will eventually be rated M. Just not right away. Please review with constructive (or non-constructive) criticism! I'd love to get feedback on if I should continue!

I do not own any of the characters!

Chapter 1

D-E-N-N-I-S

Bo finished scrawling her name across the whiteboard in her best cursive, then spun on her four-inch, black high-heels to face the room.

"Good morning, guys! My name is Ms. Dennis and this is fourth period sophomore English." She flashed her best smile and scanned the crowd, judging her students' reactions. Most of the girls seemed to be staring into space; most of the guys, on the other hand, were staring at her chest. She nervously tugged at the hem of her gray pencil skirt and chewed her bottom lip, glancing down at the ground and regaining her composure. She took a deep breath. "As you can probably tell, I am not Mrs. Matthews. She will be back second semester. Until then, you're stuck with me," she said, hoping for a chuckle or smile or any sign that she was making a good first impression. No response.

Sighing, she turned back to face her desk. Bo picked up a stack of papers and strolled over to the first desk in the first row next to the window. Bo smirked, noticing the way the boy sitting there had been daydreaming since he sat down. She counted out six papers and handed them to him. "Take one and pass them back." His head snapped up at the sound of her voice. He cleared his throat and did as he was told. Bo walked to the next desk in the front row and repeated, "take one and pass them back," continuing on to the next three rows.

"These are copies of the syllabus," she said, placing the extras on her desk at the front of the room and turning back to face the rows of uninterested teenage faces. "I am a harsh grader, I am picky about comma use, and I am a sucker for a good hook in the introductory paragraph of an essay. Follow those main rules and you might pass this class," she said, her voice firm. "I do not allow tardiness, gum chewing, or day dreaming. I will not be stingy in handing out detentions."

She spun on her heels again, striding back over to the board as confidently as she could muster. She picked up the Expo marker and wrote another word directly underneath her name: "insanity."

"You all read Macbeth for summer reading," she said, facing the class. "Many people would consider Macbeth's decision to kill the king an act of insanity. Whether you would say his wife manipulated him to do it, or say he did it based on his own compulsion, it was a pretty drastic move. For your first assignment, you are to write two pages on something you did this summer that some might consider drastic or even an act of insanity. Something you did that took bravery, and guts, and conviction. I want to make something clear before I give you the rest of the class to get started: I don't care about your personal lives. I care about your writing skills. Be honest, but don't feel like you need to confess your sins to me. This is just a way for you to show me how you can tell a story. Times New Roman, size twelve, double-spaced, due next class. You have the rest of the hour to begin." With that, Bo took a seat at her desk and pulled out some paperwork.

The sound of students shuffling laptops out of backpacks turned into the sound of fingers clicking against keyboards as Bo closed her eyes, rolled her chair back a little, and put her feet up on the desk. She was tired and the rhythmic clicking was putting her to sleep. Her mind drifted to her own act of insanity from the summer.

Talking to the cute guy from the bar hadn't been the crazy part. Taking the cute guy from the bar back to her new apartment hadn't been the crazy part. Sleeping with the cute guy from the bar hadn't been the crazy part. The crazy part was never getting his name. It had been two whole weeks since that night and, still, he was all she could think about—sandy hair, pale blue eyes. He'd come up to her at the bar, bought her a drink, and talked to her about the weather. Then they were back at her place, drinking wine on the floor between unpacked boxes. He was gone before she woke up.

Bo had gotten lost in her own daydream. Next thing she knew, the bell was ringing to signal the end of fourth period.

Bo didn't have a class fifth period so she decided to go to the teachers' lounge to get a cup of coffee. Once the students had filed out of her classroom, she stood from her desk and grabbed her keys. Locking the classroom behind her, Bo turned right out of the room and started walking in the direction of the teacher's lounge. She was still trying to shake the thoughts of mystery-bar-guy from her head when she heard what sounded like a woman's voice singing in the room next door. She slowed her walk. Peeking through the doorway of room 312, she saw a blonde woman, standing on a chair, trying to hang a poster on the wall above her desk. Bo chuckled.

The woman was dancing a little, bouncing from side to side and singing in French as she reached up to tape a corner of the poster. Her blonde hair was hanging loose down her back. It reached almost halfway down her light blue blouse, which was tucked into grey slacks. Bo couldn't help but laugh as she watched the woman dance around on her chair, then reach up again on tiptoe to tape the next corner.

Suddenly she started to wobble, as if about to fall. Without thinking, Bo ran into the room. She was just in time to catch the woman as she tumbled off the chair.