So, this chapter involves a little time-travel. It's four years later, and Freddie and Sam both been out of college for about three years. Later on, we'll get some more details about what happened during that time.

Present, Freddie

The first day of school has rolled around again. I remember the love-hate relationship I had with this day when I was in high school. On one end, I was disappointed to lose my free-time and to be bogged down with endless work my teachers handed out like candy. But on the other, I was happy to see the people I didn't hang out with over the summer. When it came down to it, I was kind of a nerd, and the bottom line is that I liked school.

So now I'm a teacher. Yes, a teacher. I didn't see it coming when I was sixteen. Heck, I didn't even think it would happen when I was twenty. But now I'm twenty-five and here now at my old school, Ridgeway High. Last year, I was just a student teacher at another nearby school in one of the outskirts of Seattle, but the old technology teacher at Ridgeway resigned over some sort of scandal involving polygamy. So, I got the job.

The whole school didn't look so much different than it did seven years ago. The computers were a little leaner, more advanced. The artwork was new. Some classes were added, some eliminated. There were a few new teachers, but it was mostly the same. Ms. Briggs and Mr. Howard were still here, along with my favorite teacher, Mr. Thatcher, who teaches Chemistry.

"Good morning, Ms. Briggs," I say as I pass her on my way to my classroom. My classroom. It still hasn't sunk in yet. Right now it's 7:20, about ten minutes before the school bells ring, indicating the start of the day.

She stops right in her tracks and stares at me over her glasses. She looks exactly the same. The difference is the expression on her face that she fixes on me. "Freddie Benson?"

"Yes, that's me," I reply, trying to sound friendly. I suppose I'll have to make ammends with her, even though we used to despise each other.

"I heard you were hired," she says. Now, she is studying me quite closely, and I feel extremely awkward under her gaze. "You seem different." She walks around behind me. "Maybe it's just because you're not sucking that Puckett girl's face anymore."

At my strained expression, she backtracks. "Oh, you didn't marry her, did you?"

"What? No."

"No? So... you're single?"

"Um, yes."

"Listen, Benson, I'm not your teacher anymore." She eyes me again. "But I could be. I'm quite experienced, if you know what I mean."

"Ms. Briggs—"

"Please, call me Francine."

"Francine, thank you for the offer, but... I need to prepare for class. You know, it's the first day and all. I'll see you around some time." With that, I slip into my classroom and let out a sigh of relief. That was quite possibly the most uncomfortable few minutes of my entire existence. I try to sort through my papers and to concentrate on what my first lesson plans will be. Usually, the first day of school is a bit of a wash. Mostly, it's just a recap of the rules and introducing the general curriculum.

First period is actually a planning period for me. I can relax and get all of my work together for my classes. For a few minutes, I sort out of my schedules and handouts. I'm finished far before second period is due to start, so I decide to wander the halls and get a feel for what the school is like again.

I start to wander up the stairs. I remember the crush of students back when it was me changing classes at every bell. It feels so different now that I'm considered to be a professional in this establishment.

One of the classroom doors in the hall hangs open. I figure that I should start introducing myself to the other teachers and getting to know everyone better. Cautiously, I enter the room. When I get inside, I smile because it's none other than Mr. Thatcher's room. The walls are plastered with large posters depicting the periodic table and pictures of some of his favorite scientists.

"Freddie Benson," Mr. Thatcher says with a grin. "I was wondering when we'd meet again."

Mr. Thatcher was young when he taught me, late twenties. He's still young of course, but with a little more maturity in his face. He has neat, dark blond hair and kind brown eyes. Standing up from his desk, Mr. Thatcher claps me on the back.

"You were one of my very favorite students. I always knew you'd make a great teacher," he says.

"Really?" I ask.

"Yes. You have all the elements. Patience, understanding, authority, and most of all, a love for learning and helping others. You're teaching about technology, correct?"

"Yeah, video production and some basic computer programming."

"Perfect fit. So, where did you go to college?"

"Stanford."

"Very impressive. Now, we should catch up since we're going to be colleagues. While you were off being educated, I was married." He shows me his wedding band. "We're expecting a little girl."

"Wow, that's great," I say.

"And you?"

"Oh, I'm single right now. You know, I've been very busy with college and such."

"I don't mean to pry... But you and Samantha Puckett were so close when you attended Ridgeway. In fact, this embarrasses me, but I became a bit invested in the two of you. What happened between you two?"

"We... Well, we broke up before school ended. She went to Berklee, and long-distance relationships can be so difficult. It was just the best decision for both of us."

"I know you didn't ask for advice, but I'm a bit of a sage at heart. Sometimes the best decisions aren't about what's easy or convenient. Sometimes they're hard, but if you're willing, they're still the correct ones to make."

I shake my head. "Um, thanks. But it's over and done with. I don't even know where she is." That's when the school bell rings. "Oh, I have to get back to my classroom. I'll see you later, Mr. Thatcher."

"Call me Kent," he replies. "And I think you'll find out where Sam is soon enough."

I want to ask him what he means, but I really need to get to my room. So, I give him a small wave and walk back downstairs.

When I get back to my room, about half of the Video Production students had already arrived. There's a wide variety of students: girls and boys from all grade levels.

"I heard that our teacher was some new guy," says one of the girls. "Hopefully, he's hot. God knows we could use one of them." She reminds me of some of the popular, preppy girls that wouldn't give me the time of day in high school. She's about to continue when her friend gestures towards me, and the girl stops talking.

Shaking my head to clear it, I say, "Hello, class. I'm Mr. Benson, and I'll be your Video Production teacher this year. To start things off, why don't we go around the room and you can give me your name?"

A steady stream of names followed which I doubted I would ever memorize. James, Jacob, John, they all blended into one another. One of the only I remembered was that of the girl who was talking at the start of class, Katie, if only because I was slightly frightened of her.

I passed out a stack of papers listing expectations, rules, and a basic outline of what we'd be learning over the course. Most of the kids were already zoned out, but I didn't know how to make this day any more interesting for them. At last, we finished going over all the things that I was required to repeat.

Deciding that I'd better get my students to like me better, I say, "Well, I'm new here. So, to get to know me better, let's use the last fifteen minutes for any questions."

One girl, Ally or Alice or something, asks, "Where did you go to school?"

I chuckle and answer, "For high school, I actually went here in fact. For college, I went to Stanford and studied video editing and computer programming."

"What year did you graduate?" asks another girl.

"2013," I reply. I can already see the wheels turning in her head. She's thinking, to the library, so she can check out my yearbook. I would know, after all, I used to do that too. The difference is I usually looked up my worst teachers just to see how dorky and weird they used to be.

A few mercifully ordinary questions pass. I'm hoping there would be nothing else that felt creepy or violating, but then I call on Katie. She asks, "Are you in a relationship?"

I hear a couple of giggles from around the room, and I feel myself turning slightly hot. I want to say something like 'No comment,' but I know they won't stop asking until I give them a straight answer. "No," I say quickly. "Any other questions?"

With that, the bell rings, and I let out an alleviated sigh. As the students file out the door, I don't feel very good about my first class. I don't know, I just felt awkward and like I'd never be comfortable.

Things will get better, I hope.

September, Freshman Year of College

"Huh? I told you, I'm not interested in whatever crap you're trying to sell me," said Sam, her voice rough as it traveled over the phone line. "Damn telemarketers," she added under her breath. I could still picture her. She'd be rolling her eyes, picking at her nails, looking bored.

"I'm not a telemarketer," I said.

"Oh," she said.

"Sam, it's me. It's Freddie."

"I know who it is. Did you think I'd forget your voice that easily? It's only been three months." She didn't finish the thought. She meant to say, 'It's only been three months since I ran away to Boston and didn't return a single one of your messages.'

"Sorry... It's just that you didn't react." She still didn't say anything in reply, so I continued, "I just wanted to talk to you again. Find out how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine. School's fine. Everything is fine."

"That's great. That's good to hear." However, I didn't even know if I believed that. Maybe she was fine. She was Sam, after all. Infuriating, crazy, beautiful Sam. She'd probably have a boyfriend already, a band put together, and a million new friends. Her teachers would most likely hate her. They always did. Sam usually gave them good reason. But more likely than not, she was fine; she was happy; she was doing a thousand times better than me.

"And you?" she asked.

"I'm doing... No, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. The fact is... Sam, I miss you." I hated to hear myself sound so pitiful, so dejected. But that was what I was. I was miserable without her, and I couldn't stand another night of jealous dreams about how wonderfully she was doing.

"What do you want me to do about it? So, you miss me. I don't have a private jet to fly across the country to see you. I have classes and other stuff going on."

"No, that's not what I mean. It's just... Why can't we even talk? We can still be friends at least. Right? We've been friends for years. Why does it all have to end?"

"It all has to end for the same reason this conversation is so awkward. We have nothing to say to each other that hasn't been said. It didn't work out between us. Freddie, it's better if we just drop it. It's over. We've got to move on."

"Sam..."

"I'm sorry, Freddie. Listen, I have to get to class."

Then she hung up. After groaning in frustrated, I glanced over at the clock, which read 8:15 PM. With a quick calculation, I realized that it was past eleven in Boston. Well, I guess she really didn't want to talk to me.

Present

I taught two mores classes, heard dozens more names, and felt myself growing more and more overwhelmed. At last, lunch time arrived and along with it, reprieve. Our school's lunches were actually not horrific. The salads, soups, and sandwiches were quite tolerable, so I am buying lunch today.

As I calmly stroll down the hallway towards the cafeteria, I notice another teacher walking towards me. The lanyard and attached name tag give her away. She is staring at the ground, seeming to be absorbed in her thoughts. I offer a small wave as we grow closer, but when I'm directly beside her, she freezes in her tracks.

Surprised, I stop as well and look over at her. That's when I realize it. The teacher is Sam Puckett.

Author's note: Sam? A teacher? Hopefully, you enjoyed that. So, the next day will follow Sam on her first day of school, kind of a parallel to this chapter. If you like it, please take the time to leave a review. Thanks!