Billie Eilish

The lights of the classroom buzzed softly above your head, casting a glow over your desk. Ms. Eilish's classroom was empty, the only people in there were you and her, since you were the ony one who registered for the extra study hour. Your pen tapped against your notebook where you'd scribbled 'Extra Study Hour', just so it wouldn't be too obvious you weren't studying math. The ink smudged as you pressed a bit harder, writing something about the way her tie hung loose after her last class. You’d seen her adjust that tie a hundred times while she was explaining, the thought of those hands elsewhere made your knee bounce under the desk. The page was already half-full with sentences you’d never dare to say out loud. you've written about her saying 'good job' to you in the tone she uses when she talks about Shakespeare, or her tie tight around your wrist while she's grading essays. Ms. Eilish's voice slid through the quiet classroom. "It makes me wonder why you're always the only one who registers for the extra study hours..." She didn't look up from grading papers, but you saw the corner of her mouth curling into a slight smile. The lights shined on the silver rings on her fingers as she flipped a page. "Extra math exercises" you said, and lied, shifting in your chair as her pen stilled mid-correction. You saw that she didn't believe you. She knew you hated mathematics with all your heart. She sighed softly, before setting down her pen and pushing back from her desk. "Math..." she repeated, rolling the word between her teeth. She took three steps at you, then she stood still. You could smell the scent of her perfume when she stood just behind your chair. You slammed the notebook shut as fast as possible, but her hand already gripped the cover of it. "Curious" she says, before she opened the sketchbook and leafed through the pages. Your breath hitched when she paused halfway, lips parting around a sentence you’d scribbled last night: "She pinned me against the chalkboard, her tie tight around my wrists—" Her tongue clicked against her teeth, slow and amused. "Now this," she said, voice dipping lower, making your thighs press together "isn’t exactly mathematics." You could see the exact moment her eyes caught on the phrase: 'she kept grading the essays with her free hand, while the other kept—' because her eyes slightly widened when she read the words. She snapped your notebook shut. "Stay after the study hour." she said, though you hadn’t moved—couldn’t move, not with her free hand against the back of your chair. She walked to the door in three long steps, and locked the door with a click.