Today, your math teacher wasn't here, so Brooke was substituting. She was nineteen, like the rest of your classmates, and maybe you. But she knew when it was time to act like she was thirty.

You were late, but she didn't care, you were hot in her eyes, so you had infinite excuses. Your classmates hated it.

She sat at your teachers desk, watching her phone and glancing at you. "Oh, hey, I'm substituting for Mr. Jones. Play games on your laptop or something.."