Chapter 3: Closet Trepie

The truth is that I'm a closet Trepie.

And no, I'm not the one who keeps track of how many pairs of jeans she owns. I'm still trying to figure out who that bastard is.

I refuse to be categorized with the rest of them.

I don't stop Instructor Trepe in the hallways to give her coffee and offer to carry her books. Those are overused techniques. If you truly respect her, then let her do what she needs to do without getting in her way.

I don't save her a seat in the cafeteria. That's just moronic. Why would she sit with you and your friends just so that you all can make her uncomfortable with small talk and ceaseless gawking?

I certainly don't gush about her day-to-day movements on the message boards. That's crossing the line no matter which way I look at it. I delete their conversations whenever I have a free moment and tell off the ones I happen to catch stalking her around Garden, and in doing these things for her, I don't ask for anything in return.

I never expected her to notice me outside of the classroom, beyond our formal student-teacher relationship. The club bingo event has given me some kind of emotional concussion that I can't seem to recover from. I'm stumped by what I saw in that hat of names and it doesn't feel right to confront her about it. For now, I'll pretend it never happened, until I can get a better read on her.

Maybe the Disciplinary Committee is the organization that aligns with her values the most.

Maybe she's just looking to boost her curriculum vitae.

Maybe she wants to personally disassemble the Trepies, though I think I do a pretty decent job of that on my own.

…It's probably NOT because she holds a secret attraction to me, as thrilling as that would be.

I know this because Squall Leonhart is the one she drools over. Don't even get me started on the guy. One of these days, I'd like to challenge him to a duel and make him eat dust.

The thing that pisses me off the most is not her puppy love toward Squall, but the fact that we all grew up together in the same orphanage and I'm the only one who seems to remember our shared past.

Quistis. Squall. Selphie. Zell.

There was Irvine, too. I have no idea where he ended up, which is too bad, because he was the most tolerable out of the group. The kind of person I might be willing to spill my guts to over a round of drinks if I ever cross paths with him again.

Anyway, enough about my tragic past. It's a story I'll save for another day…

This morning, I'm chilling with Raijin and Fujin in the DC Room, waiting for Instructor Trepe to attend her first meeting with us.

"Is she gonna ask to see our books?" says Raijin.

"Huh?"

"Ya know, like…our accounting."

I grin with ease. "We might be hooligans, but our money's clean. Right, Fuj?"

"FLAWLESS." She pauses. "MOSTLY."

There's a cautious knock at the door.

Fujin gets up to open it.

Instructor Trepe is wearing civvies: a pintuck-pleated top and high-rise flare jeans in a medium wash with a bright pattern of bluebell fleurs running down the seam of her right leg.

Everything else about her is the same—her glasses, her hairstyle, her posture. But the outfit makes her look…

Well, fun.

Maybe that's her point.

"Good morning!"

I nod in her direction. "Instructor Trepe."

"HELLO."

"Hey, Instructor!" Raijin pulls up a chair for her. "Here ya go…"

"Thank you, Raijin."

Raijin looks excited that she remembers his name.

"So…" I casually lean back in my chair. "I assume the Garden Administration has trained you on what to do as our Supervisor?"

"It was actually a very brief training." Her tone is sanguine but there's something like mischief in her eyes. What is she up to? "They're giving us the freedom to supervise however we see fit."

"Sweet!" exclaims Raijin. "Thanks again for saving our butts, Instructor Trepe."

"It's my pleasure." Her eyes flit around the room with genuine interest. "I didn't know that a closet could be so cozy! The space feels a bit cluttered, though. Would you like me to help tidy things up?"

The three of us are taken aback by her humble offer.

Fujin seizes her opportunity for cleanliness in this male-dominated hutch. "PLEASE!"

And so we spend the next hour beautifying the DC Room.

Raijin sorts through our group inbox and defragments our computer's hard drive.

Fujin douses every corner with a mixture of non-toxic cleaning sprays.

I reorganize the shelves and furtively trash a handful of incriminating files that would expose the true extent of my Trepie-hunting pastime.

Instructor Trepe is literally on her hands and knees clearing out dust bunnies and discovering lost objects abandoned beneath various pieces of furniture: an unused mousetrap, tangled slinkies, a brand-new pack of neon highlighters, a half-eaten nutrition bar that appears to have sprouted into a jungle specimen.

The image of her bent over in those ass-defining jeans is doing things to me like you can't imagine.

She's here. She's real. She's tangible.

Like I said, I'm a Trepie at heart, and though I think of myself as being in a different class from the others, the only real difference between their lust and mine is that mine stays hidden and private, deep within my heart.

In my mind, Instructor Trepe and I have gone through just about every X-rated scenario that a healthy teenage boy could conceptualize, running the gamut from basic striptease to daring exhibitionism.

My voice of reason reminds me that there's little to no chance that she came to the DC just to get acquainted with me, but my heart is brazenly reinterpreting these scenarios so that it's Instructor Trepe initiating the acts of seduction and not me. (Well, maybe half her and half me.)

It's her sexting me at midnight.

It's her suggesting that we meet at the hotel.

It's her cuffing me to the bed and—

In my peripheral vision, she gets up from the floor, sets aside her latest loot, and taps me purposefully on the shoulder.

"Yeah, Instructor?"

"I wanted to let you know that there's an earlier opportunity to take the SeeD field exam!" she says eagerly. "I'm aware that you're planning to go for the traditional date at the start of the fall term, but the Garden Administration has decided to add a smaller exam option in April. Candidates for this exam cohort are by Instructor recommendation only, and, well…" She smiles at me with pride. "Seifer, you're more than ready to take on the challenge again."

I'm floored by her unexpected favor. "Seriously?"

I've failed two SeeD field exams already. Frankly, I'm relieved to gain an additional chance in April courtesy of Instructor Trepe's belief in my aptitude. If that doesn't work out, then at least I'll still have that final opportunity in September before I age out of the program.

She nods to confirm. "What do you think?"

I suddenly cross my arms with a hint of skepticism, even as my heart is swelling with emotion. "I have two opposing thoughts right now…"

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"First, this sounds too good to be true."

She chuckles with mirth. "I assure you that this isn't a joke."

"Hold up." A new thought causes me to scowl. "Are you recommending Leonhart, too?"

Instructor Trepe appears not to notice my tone of disdain toward him. "As a matter of fact, I am!" she replies happily.

Well, damn. Guess I'm not so special after all.

"What's your other thought?"

"Sign me up," I grumble. "Please and thanks."

"Excellent!" Her eyes are wide with approbation. "Oh, I'm so excited for you, Seifer."

Instructor Trepe is officially driving me crazy. First the club bingo, then the spring cleaning, and now the early SeeD exam. It's amazing what a woman's attention can do for a man's ego.

I have to pass this time.

Fucking up isn't an option.