IVY'S POV
The moment she walked in, my heart did that stupid little jump it always did. She was holding her coffee like it was a lifeline, the papers on her desk lined up perfectly, authority practically radiating off her. Everyone else was buzzing about the trip, but I couldn't focus on their chaos.
All I could see was her.
She didn't notice me at first, or at least, she tried not to. Her eyes flicked around the room, settling just long enough to command attention before darting away, like she was dodging some invisible predator. It made my chest tighten in a way I didn't like admitting. When she started speaking about the trip, I watched her closely. Her voice was firm, calm, commanding, but there was something underneath it, a twitch in her jaw, a tension in her shoulders, a crack in the armor. I'd seen her handle chaos before, but this… this was different. She was trying to stay in control, and I couldn't stop the thrill that ran through me at the thought that maybe, just maybe, she was nervous too.
I tried to act normal, like I wasn't scanning her every move, but it was impossible. Every flicker of her eyes, every subtle gesture drew me in, like a magnet I didn't want to resist. I had to remind myself: she was my teacher. There were rules. Boundaries. Yet here I was, sitting in the back row, counting them on my fingers anyway. When she handed out the consent forms, I made sure to be deliberate in how I took mine. Our fingers brushed, just slightly, but it was enough. I saw the tiny flinch she couldn't hide. My lips curved into the smallest, victorious smile. She noticed. Oh, she noticed.
The rest of the class went by in a blur, everyone else's excitement fading into white noise around me. My mind was already racing ahead, imagining the trip. I wanted to see how she handled it. I wanted to see if the controlled, untouchable side of her would crack.
And honestly? I couldn't wait.
***THE DAY OF THE TRIP***
The bus smelled faintly of gasoline and travel snacks, a mix of excitement and chaos. Students clamored for seats, shouting over each other, while I slotted myself into the back row beside Elara. I left a small space between us and the aisle, my bag resting carefully on my lap. I wasn't here to talk. I was here to watch. She entered the bus like she owned the air itself. Clipboard in hand, authority radiating with each precise step, scanning students, reminding them to fasten seatbelts, and keeping everyone from tipping into complete chaos. I stayed still, pretending to organize my notebook, but I couldn't stop stealing glances at her.
Her presence was magnetic. Every flicker of her eyes, every subtle motion was a pulse I couldn't ignore. She walked past me to check on other students, and for a moment, I caught the faintest crease at the corner of her mouth when she smiled at a younger student struggling with luggage. It was brief, but I remembered it. Around us, the bus was alive with chatter, whispers about who would sit where, playful arguments, the rustle of bags and papers. Elara was beside me, silent, letting me sink into my thoughts. I didn't need words from her. My attention was consumed by her, by the taut line of her jaw, the way she adjusted her papers, the way she exhaled sharply when a student blocked the aisle.
A group of juniors behind us laughed too loudly, tossing a bag back and forth, and she called out in that calm but sharp tone that had always made me stop in my tracks. I shivered slightly. Her voice carried authority, but also… something else. Anxiety? Anticipation? It was impossible to tell. And I was addicted to the uncertainty. Elara shifted beside me, whispering something quietly to the girls in front of her. I didn't hear her, didn't respond. I didn't want to. I kept my gaze forward, catching the tiniest movements she made: a flick of a hand, a tilt of her head, a pause when she thought no one was looking.
A few students laughed at a joke across the aisle. One asked, "Do you think she'll be strict the whole trip?"
"She always is," another replied. "But… I think she's excited too. "I heard the words, but only half registered them. Excited. Was she really excited? I thought I could see it in the way her fingers tightened around the clipboard, in the small, imperceptible crease near her eyes. I leaned back slightly, feeling the hum of tension in the air. Not the students' energy, hers. The bus rumbled forward, and the vibration beneath us made me focus even more on the subtle details of her presence. Every time she passed my line of sight, I felt it a pull, electric and dangerous, like a magnet drawing me closer to something I shouldn't want. I didn't speak. Elara didn't speak. The silence between us was not awkward, not tense; it was intentional. I didn't need conversation. I only needed to be near, to feel the electricity of her presence, to watch the careful balance she tried to maintain
The sun was sliding across the windows, streaking golden light across the aisle, and for a moment, she caught my gaze, or maybe I caught hers. A spark of recognition, a fraction of a second, but it was enough. My stomach twisted. My chest tightened. I had to look away first, but I knew she had noticed. The bus hummed along the road, every mile bringing us closer to the unknown, and I realized with a thrill I couldn't suppress: this trip would be different. Every step, every glance, every minor interaction was a test, a subtle push and pull I couldn't resist. Elara nudged me lightly, but I didn't respond. I barely noticed the whispers and jokes of other students. Everything faded except her. I was ready to see how she would handle the next few hours, the next few days. I was ready to test the boundaries she held so carefully. And so I sat, silently, beside Elara, watching, waiting, every nerve alert. The tension was intoxicating. The bus carried us forward, and with every passing mile, I could feel the week stretching out ahead full of rules, full of students, full of chaos… and full of her.
This was just the beginning.