Invisible String: An Enemies to Lovers Teacher Spicy Contemporary Romance
Invisible String: Chapter 4

Trashfire – Tommy Lefroy

All was quiet on the Western Front. If the Western Front was the spare room down the hall that Ben was due to invade at any moment.

After Rob broke the news he’d be hosting classes in that room, I’d barely seen Ben around. There had been the odd sighting in the teacher’s lounge over breaks and lunches, but he had yet to venture into my department.

Not that I was complaining. The longer he spent away, the better. In fact, when days turned into a week, I’d begun to wonder if he’d decided he didn’t need the room at all. Which seemed unlikely given how he’d normally raid whatever resource he could from art as soon as he possibly could.

But alas, I’d known the peace wouldn’t hold.

I was in the middle of attempting to grade a poorly written essay on the Impressionism movement during a free period on Tuesday, when I spotted him through the window on my door, staring right at me from the room across from mine. As soon as I spotted him, his head snapped straight, his attention locking onto something more interesting in the classroom. The movement had been so fast it had me doubting whether he’d even been looking this way at all. That is, if he hadn’t half fallen out of his chair with shock that I’d looked back.

Unusually, I found myself stifling a laugh at him, almost gleeful I’d caught him so off guard. The sight was so hilarious, I almost forgot to be annoyed at him. Almost, being the key word.

While the room was usually empty, it hadn’t been the dark and dingy room he was supposed to be in. That was down the hall. Literally as far as possible from my room as you could get in this department. I’d checked on it a few days ago, to make sure it was as horrible as I remembered it was. The temperature control was completely unreliable, almost all the desks in the room were half broken, rocking annoyingly from side to side when you wrote, and to make sure it was extra intolerable, I’d even found myself down on my knees, using a ruler as a makeshift screwdriver to loosen the teacher’s desk chair screws. Somehow with my genius sabotaging skills, I’d even managed to break the height adjuster so the chair couldn’t be moved from its shortest height. I had grinned for hours after, just imagining Ben sitting down, his head barely appearing above the desk because of the broken chair.

It was a perfect hellscape, so I had no doubt Ben would thrive in that environment. And yet there he was, sitting in the wrong, perfectly functional room.

I gripped my pen tightly, trying to smother the rage that was threatening to build. Having him down the hall was one nightmare I’d learn to tolerate. Having him across the hall was like waking up from that nightmare only to realize that there really was an ax wielding clown called Wiggles chasing after you.

Breathe. I could breathe and calm down and not storm over there and demand to know why he was in the wrong room. My gaze floated to the clock on the wall.

11.51am.

Just eight more minutes, and the bell would ring for lunch. I had to hold out for nine–wait, no–eight more minutes.

I looked down at the paper in front of me, the pile higher than I would’ve liked considering I’d been at this for almost an hour. I had to get through some more or I’d end up having to take them home.

I read the first sentence.

‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement characterized by relatively small…’

Then again, the words were not being processed at all.

‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement characterized by relatively small, thin, yet visible brush strokes, open composition, emphasis on accuracy…’

I felt that burning need to look again. Maybe this time I could really make him jump out of his chair. Maybe he’d be looking back at me again–but what if he wasn’t and he caught me looking over at him? I could see his face all twisted up with a grin and that familiar, stupid smugness.

I couldn’t let him win. Not again. Never again.

My eyes floated to the paper again. First sentence. One more time.

‘Impressionism is a 19th-century art movement…’

The bell rang and I jumped out of my seat, flinging myself out of the classroom and towards the hall. I realized my fatal flaw too late as I headed straight for his room, the door to which was wide open, but weirdly none of the students had moved an inch since the bell–something I thought was a physical impossibility. Normally students practically fled my class as soon as the bell rang, but this class had stayed in place. Maybe he was one of those teachers who forced their students to remain after the bell under threat of death or extra homework. ‘The bell is for me and not for you’–the kind of teacher I’d learned to despise while growing up.

“So, it doesn’t mean the world is tied together with strings?” I heard a student ask, all eyes still on Ben, who was leaning casually against the front of his desk facing them. I was about to knock, interrupting the conversation, when he reacted, smiling at the question before he shook his head. His hair caught the sunlight from the nearby window, the brown coming alive.

“No, that’s not what string theory is about. It’s a different way of thinking about how particles work. Instead of imagining these electrons and protons as small spheres, string theory suggests they are more like loops of vibration, each with its own individual frequency that helps identify what it is.”

The class was silent for a moment as they processed the information–hell, even I found myself thinking for a moment, rewriting the information that had been stored away and forgotten about since my own high school education.

“And this is like… real?” Another student piped up, and Ben let out a small laugh, a different laugh I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him. And it was then I realized this was my first real look at Teacher Ben.

I’d always imagined him to be everything I hated about my own science teacher: old and dusty and boring as hell to listen to. But, here he was, engaging an entire class well into their lunch time, answering questions that seemed too advanced for the syllabus.

This was a Ben I’d never known–one who was pleasant, and maybe even fun to be around. And his smile…there was a lightness to it I couldn’t quite identify.

“Oh God, no, it’s not proven. String theory requires at least ten dimensions whereas our universe has four.”

I figured from the silence of the class they were as lost as I was on dimensions. I tried to think back to what superhero films over the last decade had taught me about the universe, but I doubted that had much relevance.

“But it’s our best unifying theory for quantum mechanics and general relativity, two theories that are widely accepted, with one dealing with the big stuff, the other the tiniest,” Ben went on. “But they break down when we try to describe the Big Bang and the depths of black holes. String theory ties them both together–excuse the pun.”

Puns! Teacher Ben told puns! Who was this man?

“But it doesn’t work,” another student spoke up, before wildly waving their hands in the air, “in this universe.”

“Not yet,” he grinned. “But it’s still our best guess.”

It was then he looked my way, eyes dancing over me as I stood in the threshold of the classroom. He turned back to the class, dismissing them for lunch, before returning to me and beckoning me in with a slight nod of his head.

“Fancy running into you here, Ms. Davis,” Ben said, his back turned to me as he walked around to the other side of his desk. Students began to shuffle past me as they left, some familiar faces smiling up at me, while others narrowed their eyes, before whispering to friends. I only took a few steps inside, keeping the exit within easy reach.

“You mean across the hall from the room I teach in for seven hours a day?” My voice was dripping in sarcasm, but it did little to erase the grin growing on his face. Why did I feel like I was walking straight into a trap? “What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be down the hall.”

That caught his attention, his head snapping up from his desk as the last of the students walked out, leaving us alone.

“Did Rob not tell you?”

“He did.”

His shoulders eased as he replied, “So you know precisely why I’m slumming it in here.”

“I meant here,” I clarified, motioning to the room around us. “This isn’t the room you were supposed to be in.”

“I know,” he said, his attention returning to the papers on his desk.

Frustration stirred within me, but I tried to remember my promise to Rob. I had to be better than him. That had to be easy, right?

“Can you move there next period?” I don’t know why I bothered to frame it like a question when I should have told him he was moving, taken control and commanded him to move.

“No.”

Briefly, I imagined leaping over the desk and wrapping my hands around his neck. If only he knew that this space was for his own good.

“Why not?” I watched as he pulled a battered leather satchel up from under the desk. The green material of his shirt went taut on his arms, subtly hinting at what muscles the rolled up sleeves hid, and despite the frustration, the anger, I found my eyes glued to the movement, found myself wondering exactly what that material covered, what he looked like…

“Call it a hostile takeover.” He finally looked up at me, my gaze instantly snapping back to his face, hoping he hadn’t caught me staring. The playful glint in his eyes told me there was a chance he had.

“I’m serious, what if another class was supposed to be in here?” I tried to claw back any embarrassment I might have caused myself with my wandering eyes.

“Then it wouldn’t have been empty, would it?”

How could he be so cocky? So self-assured? I’d love to wipe that smirk off his lips, take the playful glint in his eyes and turn it all around on him.

“That’s not the point,” I argued, my cheeks burning slightly “You can’t… you can’t just come in and start using the wrong room.”

“You can’t have been serious about that room, it’s barely bigger than a closet.” He shouldered his bag and picking up his phone from the desk. “And it was completely unsuitable. Not that this room is much better, but at least the lights work.”

“Well, I use this room.” I didn’t dare mention that I only really used it to escape my classroom when I felt like screaming at my students; he didn’t need to know that. “Besides… there’s rules.” That argument was lame, even as I said it, I knew. But I was very quickly running out of options as he slowly started to inch closer and closer to me, my mind struggling to focus.

“Oh, and what sort of rules should I expect to have to follow?” His voice dropped an octave as an eyebrow twitched upwards. My train of thought fell right off the end of an unfinished bridge, like in an old western, crashing uselessly into a wreck at the bottom of a ravine. There was hunger in those darkened eyes, looking at me like I was some tiny delectable French dessert.

My back stiffened defensively as a knot pulled inside of me, an old familiar urge coming to life again. But… for him? Maybe I really needed to get laid.

“Well for one, don’t take over a room without talking to me.”

“And what’s going to happen if I do that, Ms. Davis?” Closer and closer he stepped, every inch that disappeared between us causing an ache inside of me to grow slightly. “Because as far as I can tell, you can’t stick me in detention. And I’ve had my eye on this room all week. It’s been empty the entire time so I know you can’t use it that often.”

“I could tell Rob.” Even as the words left my mouth, I knew that wasn’t an option anymore, knew we both were aware that wasn’t an option anymore. Not with both of our clubs in the balance. We had to get along, or the little funding left for the club would disappear, along with any chance to save it. Not to mention the promotion. I doubt they’d want to give the job to someone who couldn’t get on with other members of staff.

And then finally he was right in front of me, so close I could smell cologne that I’d later hate myself for wondering the brand of. Cursing the difference in our heights, I tilted my head backwards to hold his gaze, kept looking into those eyes until slowly, and in a voice that was so quiet it was barely a whisper, he said, “I don’t think you will, Ms. Davis.”

My cheeks burned at the obvious truth of it, and the curve that grew across his lips told me he knew he’d caught me in the lie. Without saying another word, he stepped past me heading for the exit, before stopping turning.

“Are you coming or are you going to hang out in my classroom for the rest of lunch?” He spoke.

I didn’t even bother to answer him, the embarrassment too uncontrolled to hide as I followed him up the hallway.

We were near silent as we made our way down the hall, side by side. I tried to slow down, to put some space between us but he’d just slow down with me, shooting me a strange look that had me glancing away awkwardly.

As soon as we made it to the teacher’s lounge, I practically ran straight for the fridge where there was a salad waiting for me. I sat in mine and Hanna’s usual space, a small round table with two seats sitting opposite each other and waited for her to appear. Overwhelmed by hunger, I began shoveling leaves into my mouth, stomach growling as I did. I tried to ignore it, telling myself that I’d reward myself with a burger later, –but for now, health.

Then something weird happened. Ben, of all people, pulled out the second seat, and plonked his butt down, opening up his lunch–a pre-prepared sandwich–and peered over at mine.

“You don’t look much like a salad girl,” he remarked, and I was almost stunned into silence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I finally shot back, still reeling from shock.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, his eyes going wide as he thought his words through, probably realizing what I had heard. “Just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eating anything green before. Or even remotely healthy for that matter.”

“People can change,” I replied with a shrug.

It was true, people could change. I, however, hadn’t. Over the summer, my living situation had changed, so now there was somebody at home insisting on prepping my lunches. And sure, they were remarkably healthier than my lunches that I used to purchase from local food trucks with offerings from delicious authentic burritos stuffed with slow braised beef and chorizo. But did salads, no matter how fresh and crisp, really hold a candle to a deliciously seared burgers loaded with chilli, cheese and onions? I was yet to decide.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you have even noticed what I eat, Ben? Obsessed much?” The last bit was a joke, but I watched his gaze flicker up from his own food for a moment, just a single moment, and I could’ve sworn I saw something close to panic before he pulled himself together and shrugged. He took a bite of his own lunch.

“Why are you here?” I asked, my fork still hanging from my hand in midair.

“I’m eating lunch,” he answered slowly, keeping his eyes on me as he took a bite of the bread.

I rolled my eyes, before clarifying, “Why are you eating lunch here?”

“It’s the teacher’s lounge. Isn’t this where we eat lunch?”

“You know what I mean.” I swear to God we had just had this exact same interaction a few minutes ago. “Would it kill you to actually answer one of my questions? Why are you sitting with me?”

He sighed, putting down his food to look at me properly. “I know this is a high school, Olive, but you don’t need to be so dramatic.”

“I am no-” I immediately went to deny, but the look he shot at me made me reconsider. I was arguing with him over a chair, but it was the way he was about it. All difficult and not ever giving me a straight answer. I took a breath in, trying to sooth the irritation he caused before trying again. “It’s just… that’s Hanna’s seat.”

“And she can’t sit anywhere else?”

My answer fell out of my mouth, a simple, short, “No.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, before he retorted “Can’t she pull up one of these other spare seats, and eat with us?”

The word clanged round my head like a bell. Us? Who was us? I didn’t get a chance to ask as a flash of black curls appeared, chair dragging on the thinly carpeted floor behind her.

“Hey, how’s your day going? Murder any students yet because I was this close to telling Theo Brady to eat ass,” Hanna spoke, surprisingly cheerful.

Meanwhile, I was in a frozen state of anger, as Ben leaned back, the smugness painted on. It was unbearable.

“My day’s been swell so far,” he answered, not taking his eyes off me for a moment. Swell? Who was he? Ned Flanders? My hand gripped my fork even tighter as he continued speaking. “New classroom with AC that actually works. Couldn’t be better, thank you.”

I didn’t bother to even look up from the table where I scowled at one small crumb left behind. One crumb that was just going to stay there and accept the wrathful vibes I was mentally sending its way.

“And new hallway neighbor,” Hanna reminded with a smile, as I imagined stabbing her lightly with my fork for the reminder, my gaze shooting up from the crumb and up at her graceful face, a glint of sick pleasure at my torture in her eyes.

“Yes, that too,” Ben said, looking over at me with a wide grin that could rival the Cheshire Cats. “And she’s already been over to yell at me.”

“I didn’t yell,” I finally retorted “And if you’d just use the right room, maybe we wouldn’t have to talk at all.” I wasn’t sure if I misread him, but I could’ve sworn his back stiffened at my words, the playful look faltering, for a moment before an unreadable mask covered it up.

“And what a challenge that will be.” His words had an unmistakable sharp edge, all jokiness gone. “Anyway, I’ll see you both around.” Without much argument from the two of us, he gathered up the rest of his lunch and finally left.

“What was that about?” Hanna turned to me as soon as he was out of earshot, eyes narrowed on me.

“I have no idea, he just sat down and started talking to me.” Relief at her picking up how awkward that entire interaction had been washed over me.

“No, not him. You.”

I gawked at her, almost offended.

“Me? What did I do?” My voice came out as a shriek before I remembered to keep it down, not wanting anyone nearby to overhear.

“He seemed like he was trying to be nice, and you shut him down.”

“Hanna, you didn’t see him. He was being difficult and annoying. I swear that man doesn’t have a nice bone in his body.”

She looked away from me with a small shrug of her shoulder. “You seemed… I’ve never seen you act this way with anyone. Even before the summer, you’d always try to be nice to him. And now you have the chance to work with him and wear him down with your usual Olive shine, it’s… it’s like you would rather be anywhere else than here.”

My grip on my fork loosened involuntarily, forcing me to place it down on the table as my stomach churned uncomfortably.

“I… I don’t know, Han.” I could barely hear the words myself, something deep down inside of me cracking open. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll try?” She asked, putting out a hand to meet mine. I almost flinched at the touch, managing to still myself before she could react to the sudden movement.

I swallowed, trying to replace the words, the strength to talk. For a moment, I scanned around the room, making sure nobody else was paying attention to our conversation. It was one thing to open up to Hanna, completely different for another co-worker to overhear.

“It’s like… ever since school started up again, everything bas become so hard. I knew it would be difficult coming back but I expected it to be more of a distraction from her.”

“But it’s not.”

“I feel like… like I’m failing on all fronts, and everything I do to try and fix it is wrong.” I finally choked out, trying to keep my voice quiet, keep anyone from actually hearing me.

“Has it felt like this since we came back?”

I shook my head, my gaze floating down to the table again. All summer I’d done nothing but sink further into this murky feeling, this exhaustion. She was asking where my light had gone, when I’d stopped feeling joy. But I wasn’t even sure how to be happy without feeling a giant wave of tiredness and grief crashing into me, pulling me back down.

“Since she passed?”

Dad had called when he was on his way to the hospital, telling me that Mom had an accident, that it was serious, and I should meet him there. I’d been out, having a few first days of summer celebratory drinks with friends. I’d been smiling and having fun while she died.

Another small nod of my head answered her question.

She sighed deeply, her hand on mine squeezing softly. I didn’t want this, didn’t want to talk or discuss this. I could be nicer to Ben, hide away from this conversation and be left alone.

“Have you spoken to a doctor? Or thought about it?”

I pressed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath before replaceing some remaining strength to look at her again.

“A few weeks ago, they… They gave me anti-depressants. And I take them, at least, I do try to remember to take them. They make me tired–more tired than I already am. But I need to take them for longer before they can start to help.” I remember they told me that, along with a long list of rules of things not to do, and an even longer list of terrifying side effects.

She nodded along, before asking, “Have you spoken to anyone about this? Your dad?”

“No, he’s… he’s doing better.” I stumble through the memories of those first few weeks, the funeral. I’d never seen him like that before, without his smile and that little crinkle in his forehead. It broke my heart. “He’s doing better, I don’t want to put this on him.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her throat bobbing from words unsaid. She looked away from me for the first time, and I could practically hear her next words before she had even said them. Before she had a chance to argue a counterpoint, I cut her off.

“I can handle this, Hanna. I’m handling it.” I kept my voice strong, unwavering, despite the unease in my stomach, despite my fingernails digging into the palm of my hands. “I need to give these meds some time to help, it just takes time.”

She softened, relenting slightly as she replied, “Well… if you ever feel like you might…”

“I know.” I forced a smile, making sure to meet her gaze and squeeze her hand. She returned it, a bit more unsteady than my own, but enough to know I could finally change the subject. “Anyway, I heard you were planning yet another night out.”

She waved a hand at me. “You know we love a night out.”

I stifled a chuckle, but never bothered to argue. It was true, we had a great turn out whenever there was a staff social; whether it was a birthday or a leaving party, almost everyone except from some of the more reserved members of staff attended. It always helped that Rob would bankroll the first round too.

“Besides it’s a good way to integrate the new teachers,” she added, eyeing up some of the newbies to the staff, who were keeping to themselves and looking a little too reserved. The sooner everyone became friends, the better.

“True.”

“So, are you going to come along?” She placed her elbows on the table, resting her head on top of her hands as she gazed lovingly over at me. I raised an eyebrow

“I’ll see.”

“No! You have to come, there’s karaoke!”

“God, another reason to stay home.”

“You love our duets,” Hanna whined as I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her.

“I love you,” I corrected. “I don’t exactly love embarrassing myself in front of the entire faculty.”

“Get enough tequila in you and you won’t know the difference.” A smile broke out of my lips, despite my reluctance.

“Trust you to turn to alcohol.”

With a knowing smile and a soft shrug, she replied, “What can I say? Don Julio is my partner in crime.”