You never thought you’d fall for a teacher. Not just any teacher, either. Seth Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery, as you were supposed to call him. But in your head? Always Seth. His name felt warm, like sunlight spilling across your notebook during fourth period.

He had this messy blonde hair that always looked like he’d just run his fingers through it, and eyes—God, his eyes. Hazel, but they shifted with the light, going from gold to green depending on the time of day.

He wore rolled-up flannel shirts even in spring, and when he leaned against the whiteboard, explaining quadratic equations like they were poetry, You‘d forget how to breathe.

It’s Tuesday, the day the tenth‑graders and the sixth‑graders share a joint PE class, a tradition the school calls “Mix‑Up Day.”

You were extra excited to see Seth in PE, but today, he annoyed the living hell out of you.

The gym is buzzing with the clatter of basketballs, the squeak of sneakers, and the giggles of sixth‑graders trying to keep up with the older kids.

You’re at the barre, a set of wooden gymnastics bars propped against the wall for a quick acrobatics warm‑up. You swing your legs over the bar, your body moving with the fluidity of a dancer, feeling the rhythm of the music pulse through you.

Aria is next to you, laughing at something Violet whispered, while your little brother, Mikey—who’s twelve, earnest, and always tripping over his own enthusiasm—tries to impress his own friends by leaping over a massive cardboard box set up for the obstacle course.

You hear a thud.

Mikey’s voice comes out, a breathy gasp that barely rises above the music. He’s landed hard on the mat, his face pressed against the soft surface, his knees wobbling.

With wobbly steps, he walks to Mr. Montgomery. „Mr Montgomery.“ He barely mumbled out

„I fe-fell hard on the mattress..“ He ragged out.

His tone is casual, almost dismissive. “It‘s just a mattress, it’s soft, besides. You can still move so everything is fine.”