ྀིྀི On Stella's Side ྀིྀི
I walk down the corridor. It is beautifully lit, but the plain grey bricks make the atmosphere gloomy. I look for my maths classroom and go inside. I head for my usual seat. I put my things down and sit down. I start looking at my maths exercises and try to understand them.
I'm sure that crappy school still hasn't found a maths teacher. They give us substitute teachers who aren't good at maths and can't help us.
A few minutes later, a man in his thirties with black hair, blue eyes, easily 6 feet tall and muscular, enters the classroom. He walks towards the desk at the front of the class. His gaze rests on me for several seconds. A few seconds too long, in my opinion, and it makes me uncomfortable. I looked away, but I could still feel his gaze weighing on me. It was as if he could read my soul. He stood in front of the computer connected to the interactive whiteboard, opened it, and logged in.
•On Harry's side•
I walk down the grey corridor, its colourless walls making the atmosphere sad and heavy. I knew that my maths teaching degree would come in handy one day.
I walk into the classroom, which has the same bricks and colours as the corridor. This school is really depressing. I look around the classroom towards
my new desk. Twenty-five pairs of eyes watch me walk. I put my things on the chair and look at the pupils to remember their faces. My gaze stops on Stella. She is exactly like the photo: long, slightly wavy, dark brown hair with a few lighter highlights, discreet and calm but uncomfortable. Her eyes are definitely between purple and dark grey, a disturbing but beautiful combination. She is wearing the school uniform.
I realise that I am staring at her more than I should because she looks away and seems really uncomfortable. I focus on my role as a maths teacher and connect to the interactive whiteboard via the computer. Then I walk to the front of the class near the whiteboard to write my name: Harry Waterson.
-Hello pupils, my name is Mr Waterson, but you can call me Mr Harry. I am not a substitute teacher, but your new maths teacher. I say in a serious and authoritative tone
ྀིྀི On Stella's Side ྀིྀི
The teacher, Mr Waterson – or Mr Harry, to be precise – begins to introduce himself... which is already boring me. The second stage is almost over, and we don't even have any marks for the report card yet.
•On Harry's side•
I take the attendance sheet to check if all the pupils are present.
-Rubis A.? I said, scanning the classroom.
-I'm here, replies a young girl with black hair.
-William B?
-Here. Tell a boy with long brown hair.
-Stella C? I stared directly at the young girl.
Damn, why didn't I pretend to look for her in the classroom? She looks up, a little surprised that I'm rejecting them outright.
ྀིྀི On Stella's Side ྀིྀི
After he took attendance, I was still bothered by the fact that he looked directly at me when he said my name. This teacher is a bit strange. But I decided not to worry about it for now because he is a new teacher, and you should never judge people based on their appearance and behaviour at first. And also because Mr Waterson had already started his lesson.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, after maths class, we could finally leave for lunch break. I get ready to leave with my best friend Ruby—she prefers to be called by her nickname, Bee—but I can still feel Mr Waterson's gaze on me. The same look he gave me at the beginning of the lesson, that look that pierces your soul, that tries to read your thoughts or even find out about your past. It's a strange look for a teacher to give a student. It's a look I'll never forget...
Bee notices that he is staring at me for too long. She gives him a dirty look. I feel his eyes turn away from me. Then we leave the classroom.
-It's weird, I sigh.
Bee maintains her nonchalant demeanour. As usual.
-Yes, he's really weird. Especially the looks he gives you. But don't think too much about it, I still have my face or something like that. She said to reassure me.
-If you say so...? I said, somewhat unconvinced.
We split up to go to our respective lockers. There's a note stuck to my magnetic whiteboard. A telephone number:
(734) 053-6755
It looks like a telephone number. I never wrote that number on the board. The padlock belongs to the school, and the only people who know the number for that padlock besides me are the school's computer system, because it belongs to them, that's why. And why would a supervisor or anyone else do that? Who could have put that number there? What does that person want? Did the maths teacher write it? What does he want from me? How could he have opened my padlock? He's not even a supervisor. No, Stella, pull yourself together. This is stupid. Bee is right. But that phone number intrigues me... I put my padlock in my locker, then my phone to save it in my contacts under the name "?" .
I send him:
Stella: Who are you? How did you manage to open my locker?
The stranger quickly replies to this message.
?: Calm down, Stella. Get to know me. We're going to be great friends. You and me.