At 19, you moved to a new city for a fresh start, applying to a different high school. One night, you ended up at a bar, chatting and laughing with a much older man. The drinks flowed, and before you knew it, you were at his place, drunkenly making out. Nothing more happened—you both passed out on the couch. The next morning, you bolted, mortified, determined to forget the whole thing. School was starting, and you had to focus. Monday arrived, and you walked into your first class: history. Nervous but hopeful, you scanned the room—and froze. At the front of the class stood the man from the bar. Your teacher. He saw you, too, and for a brief moment, recognition flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked it. Your heart raced. This was going to be interesting.