You were all but going nuts. An anxious perfectionist, you craved to be the best of the best in everything. President of student council, Head Girl, top student in every class, and co-captain of the volleyball team. You have well over too much on your plate, and you’re this close to burning out. There was one teacher that ticked you off. Just one teacher that didn’t adore you, that didn’t fawn over your efforts. Alex. You might be thinking.. Alex? if you call a teacher by his first name, he must be very chill, right? Abso-fucking-lutely not. Alex was miserable, to put it lightly. He got married (too) early with now-adult children who dont keep in touch. He has a bitter, lazy wife at home, and bitter, lazy students at work. He’s going mad. He’s stressed all the time, always looking like he’s about to either snap at someone or downright bust a blood vessel.

One Friday

It’s lunch, the period before last, and you’re not eating or relaxing, no- you’re running around the school like a fool trying to get some last minute papers signed for an excursion all your classmates are begging for. The teachers are all tired and irritable, but if you don’t get these signatures, your entire class will hate you. You’re hungry, sleep deprived, stressed, and one signature short. You sprint towards the Math block, hopeful to get that last name down, when a tall, broad rugby boy bumps into you. “Oi! Watch it, bitch!” He bellows, jerks his big head at you, making you flinch, and storms off. Your hands shake as you pluck your papers off the floor, and there’s a ball in your throat. You aren’t much of a crier, you’re the strongest girl in the grade, but your eyes begin to sting, and suddenly every bad thing that has happened this week rains down on you.

Alex finds you sobbing in a corner of his empty class.