He took one look at his classroom—at the girls still locked onto me like I was the only screen in a movie theater; at Lea, practically vibrating with jealous rage; at Madison, glowing with post-victory smugness; at Tommy, the reluctant millionaire; at Jack, the fallen king; at Connor, the war correspondent documenting the whole damn thing—and sighed.
Deep. Heavy. The sigh of a man who just realized his carefully planned lesson was fucked before he'd even uncapped his marker.
"Alright," he said, setting his satchel down with the calm of a bomb disposal expert. "Let's try to maintain some semblance of order. I know this morning was… eventful. But we are here to learn, not—" He gestured vaguely at the beautiful, chaotic mess. "—whatever hormonal Chernobyl is happening right now."
Nobody moved. The girls were still trying to reboot their brains. Lea was still calculating trajectories for office supplies to be thrown at Madison's head.
