CHAPTER 1
Recently, a new teacher joined our school: Mr. Zade Monroe, the English teacher.
Almost every girl in school seemed to have a crush on him. He was tall, young, dark haired, and looked like someone straight out of a movie. To everyone else, he was a dream.
To me, he was a nightmare.
For some reason, Mr. Monroe never seemed to like me. He was strict with everyone, but with me it felt different. I was always the one getting called out, always the one being corrected, even when I hadn't done anything wrong.
One random Thursday, I arrived late to his class.
Another teacher had kept me back after my previous lesson to discuss something, and by the time I reached the classroom, everyone was already seated.
Mr. Monroe looked up as I entered.
His expression immediately hardened.
"You're late."
"I know, sir. I was—"
"Sit down and catch up on what you've missed."
I bit back my response and quietly took my seat.
The lesson continued as normal, but I could feel his eyes on me more than once.
Finally, the bell rang for lunch.
Students rushed out of the classroom, eager for freedom.
"Not you," Mr. Monroe said before I could stand. "Stay behind."
A few groans and whispers followed from my classmates before they disappeared into the hallway.
Soon, it was just the two of us.
I remained seated at my desk, which happened to be directly in front of his. He stood up and leaned casually against the edge of his desk, hands tucked into his pockets.
"Why were you late?"
His voice sounded annoyed, but there was something else underneath it. Concern, maybe.
I opened my mouth.
"Well, I was talking to another tea—"
"Why do you think I've always been so hard on you?"
The sudden question caught me completely off guard.
I stared at him for a moment before shrugging.
"I don't know. Maybe you just hate me for some reason."
Mr. Monroe exhaled sharply through his nose.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite frustration.
His grey eyes studied me carefully.
Then he pushed himself away from the desk and took a slow step forward.
Then another.
Soon he was standing directly in front of me, tall enough to make me feel small even while sitting down.
"You think I hate you?"
His voice was lower now.
Quieter.
"Kid, I don't waste my time hating students."
For a moment, silence filled the room.
"I've been hard on you because—"
I cut him off.
"Because what? Because you think I'm lazy? Useless? Just like everyone else does?"
For the first time, I saw him hesitate.
Only for a second.
But it was there.
He glanced toward the closed classroom door before looking back at me.
"Because every time I look at you," he said slowly, "I see someone who doesn't try."
The words weren't cruel.
They weren't shouted.
That somehow made them hit harder.
"You're smart," he continued. "I can tell from your test scores whenever you actually focus."
He crossed his arms.
"But half the time you're somewhere else entirely. You're always zoning out, like none of this matters to you."
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Because he was right.
I was always somewhere else.
Lost in my own thoughts.
Tired.
I didn't have the energy to argue.
So I simply nodded.
Then I stood up and left.
Without another word.
Without defending myself.
Without explaining anything.
Behind me, Mr. Monroe remained frozen in place.
Confused.
Maybe even disappointed.
---
The cafeteria was crowded as usual.
Students laughed loudly, chairs scraped against the floor, and conversations overlapped until the entire room blended into one endless noise.
I grabbed my lunch tray from the canteen and made my way toward the table where my so-called friends were sitting.
They acknowledged me for a second when I sat down.
Then continued talking as if I wasn't there.
I wasn't surprised.
I quietly ate my lunch while they laughed and shared stories I wasn't part of.
At some point, I realized I had completely zoned out again.
It happened often.
One moment I was sitting there.
The next, I was somewhere inside my own head.
Across the cafeteria, Mr. Monroe stood in line at the canteen.
Teachers usually ate in the staff room, but they could buy food from the cafeteria too.
A black coffee sat in one hand while a book was tucked beneath his arm.
His gaze wandered across the crowded room absentmindedly.
Then it landed on me.
I was sitting at a table full of people.
Yet somehow I looked completely alone.
Nobody spoke to me.
Nobody asked me anything.
Nobody seemed to notice whether I was there or not.
His eyes lingered for a moment longer before he looked away.
After all, what business was it of his?
I finished my lunch, returned my tray, and left the cafeteria without saying a word.
None of my friends noticed me leave.
Or maybe they simply didn't care.
---
The rest of lunch passed quietly.
When the bell rang, students slowly began returning to the classroom.
I arrived a little earlier than most and slipped into my seat.
The room gradually filled with noise as more students entered.
I reached into my bag for my notebook.
That's when I noticed it.
A small paper bag sitting on my desk.
I frowned.
I was certain it hadn't been there before.
Carefully, I picked it up.
The paper still felt warm.
Inside was a pastry from the cafeteria bakery.
Fresh.
Recently bought.
My confusion deepened.
"Whose is this?" I asked.
A few students looked up.
Nobody answered.
I checked the bag again.
No name.
No note.
Nothing.
Just a warm pastry and a hundred unanswered questions.
The classroom door opened.
Everyone immediately settled down.
Mr. Monroe walked in carrying his usual stack of books.
His expression was unreadable as always.
He placed the books on his desk and began organizing papers.
For a brief second, his eyes flickered toward the paper bag in my hands.
Then away.
So quickly that I almost thought I imagined it.
Almost.
I stared at him.
Then at the pastry.
Then back at him.
A strange suspicion began forming in my mind.
Before I could stop myself, I raised the bag slightly.
"Sir?"
Mr. Monroe looked up.
"Yes?"
"I think somebody left this on my desk."
For the briefest moment, something crossed his face.
Not guilt.
Not surprise.
Something else.
Something I couldn't quite understand.
Then it disappeared.
"Perhaps they did," he said simply.
I frowned.
"Do you know who?"
He held my gaze for a second.
Then returned his attention to the papers on his desk.
"No."
The answer came a little too quickly.
A little too smoothly.
And somehow, that made me even more suspicious.
I looked down at the warm paper bag resting in my hands.
Then back at Mr. Monroe.
For the first time since he arrived at our school, I found myself wondering if there was more to him than cold stares and strict lectures.
And for the first time, I had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.
End of Chapter One
