"Whatever, Mr Grey." He winked, and I returned the look.
What on earth he was on about, I would never know. I watched as they left the class before responding to Jain.
Miss Martin,
Thank you. I have spoken with Miss Oldstein. What is your fault? My demeanour or the fact you are making my students late?
Mr Silver
I sighed as the students for my next class filed in, bright-eyed and raring to go.
God bless year sevens. So full of optimism and energy, all-new uniform and immaculate books, new pencil cases with sharpened pencils, and a can-do attitude.
This is what I should have stuck to, primary school age. Then I wouldn't have ever met Jain, let alone fallen in love with her.
As the class began to copy down the paragraph from the board with correct punctuation, I noticed my email ping again.
Evan,
Drop the formalities.
Is it my fault you are grumpy? If so, let me make it up to you.
Jain.
What exactly was she suggesting?
Miss Martin, sorry, Jain with an I,
Are you still getting married in less than a week? Otherwise, I see no point.
Evan Silver.
My heart pounded in my chest whilst I waited for the email that would answer my one burning question.
Would she leave him for me?
Evan,
I have to be honest when I say I have no idea anymore. It is killing me even looking at you. I can't deny how I feel. I'm just in deep, and I feel awful.
So, in answer to your question, probably not, but I'm going to have to make a decision I've been avoiding for some time.
Can we talk after school?
Jain.
I reread the email, my heart in my throat as the sea of faces staring at me expectantly. This was their favourite class, the readers, the aspiring writers and journalists, thetime to escape from one world to the next by the art of language and literature.
I smiled, typing up another paragraph, this time making it incredibly difficult yet fun. Their little faces exchanged looks with one another before they got stuck into it.
Jain,
Tutorial as usual, after school.
See you there.
Evan.
