"We all want what we can't have; we're fans of the forbidden."
~Mario Benedetti
"Did you hear there's going to be a new Calculus teacher?" Enid said, a hint of excitement in her voice.
A new school year at Nevermore Academy had just begun, and all the students were buzzing with the news.
Mr. Brown was a grumpy old man who spent half his time humiliating students for not understanding his lessons. Countless times, I'd argued with that man, holding back my anger every time he made Enid cry by calling her "stupid" or saying, "I should have failed you." Despite his hateful behavior, he never insulted me—probably because I was the only student excelling in his class. Maybe that sense of pride gave me the courage to stand up to him and defend my best friend.
Often, arguing with him felt unbearable, and as a result, I became a regular visitor to the principal's office. I knew the route by heart: every corner of the walk to her office, the dark oak door, the hum of the fluorescent light in the hallway, the portrait of the school's founder hanging right before you arrived… it had all become an inevitable routine. My visits were so frequent that I even knew the principal's break schedule and the resigned look the secretary would give me, understanding the situation before I said a word.
I shut my locker with a dull thud and smiled at Enid as I grabbed my books. Ironically, our first class was Calculus. And what's worse, it was a two-hour session.
Two endless hours. Hopefully, the new teacher is at least pleasant.
"Honestly, I'm glad that old grouch is gone—I couldn't stand him anymore," I said, rolling my eyes in irritation as I began walking toward our classroom.
Enid picked up her pace, falling into step beside me, slightly out of breath.
"But you were his favorite," Enid said, linking her arm with mine as we walked more leisurely down the hallway.
"Maybe, but that doesn't make him any less unbearable," I said, tilting my head, a bit unsure of my own words. Enid frowned slightly and loosened her grip on my arm as we entered the classroom.
We took seats in the back row.
"Hey Marty, have you seen Spencer? She's not answering my messages," the blonde asked, pouting at her phone and typing something I couldn't make out.
I shook my head slowly and turned on my phone. A notification made me smile at the coincidence. It was Spencer.
S: Hey, I'm staying home today. Feeling a bit sick.
Me: No worries. See you soon.
"Spencer's not coming; she's sick," I said, turning off my phone and setting it in the corner of my desk. Enid looked at me, visibly annoyed.
"She's MY friend, yet she doesn't bother to tell me anything, but she texts you," she muttered, pulling out her books and pencil case, mumbling words I couldn't make out.
"What can I say? I'm amazing," I teased, giving her a grin. She rolled her eyes in mock irritation.
The bell rang, signaling the official start of the school year, and students filed into their classes. The murmurs and curiosity were palpable—everyone wanted to know who the new teacher was. I propped my elbow on the desk, resting my head in my hand, my eyes scanning the hallway outside the window.
The faint clatter of heels drew my attention, and without realizing it, I turned to face the classroom door.
As the sound of the heels grew louder, my heart began to race, thudding in my chest with every step.
"It seems like it's a woman," Enid whispered beside me, her voice tinged with both nervousness and excitement. I looked at her expectantly, a nervous energy coursing through me.
The murmurs in the classroom grew louder until they suddenly ceased. Confused, I glanced toward the door, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of who was about to enter.
A woman—young, much younger than I'd expected—stood at the entrance, surveying her new class. She wore fitted jeans, a simple white tank top, and black heels, carrying a small backpack in her right hand. A faint smile played on her lips as she observed the students' reactions with a touch of amusement.
"She... she can't be a teacher..."
She walked into the room slowly, heading toward the desk. Sitting casually on its edge, she swung her legs lightly. The brunette smiled at us, likely trying to appear friendly.
"Hello, everyone. I'm Jenna Ortega, your new Calculus teacher," she said, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. A teacher so young and modern was completely outside of my expectations. My classmates seemed equally shocked; some whispered among themselves, unable to hide their surprise.
"Looks like this year will be full of surprises," I murmured to myself, trying to process the situation.
The students exchanged glances—some smiling, others clearly perplexed. Jenna Ortega's presence, with her confident demeanor and casual style, had transformed the classroom atmosphere in an instant. Anticipation hung in the air as we all wondered what it would be like to have such an unexpected teacher.