First Man by Ava Martell

just want to hear him say my name in that sexy accent. I like to read books too! Now take off your shirt.’”
    I shrugged. “You’re not wrong. That accent gets me every time.” I sobered immediately though, well aware that even joking about something like that could get my favorite teacher in big trouble. “Seriously though, I like the project. I don’t care if I get credit. Hell, I can probably save the paper and use it for some class in college if I major in English. So I’m just planning ahead.”
    Angie scoffed, and nibbled daintily at the bland approximation of pizza the cafeteria served. “So what’s he like, outside of class?” she asked.
    I didn’t need to clarify who “he” was. “About the same as in class, I guess,” I replied. At Angie’s unimpressed look, I added. “It’s still a class, Angie. It’s just a lot less formal.” I paused, considering my words carefully. “He’s a lot more relaxed. He laughs more.”
    “And?”
    I shook my head. “That’s really it. It’s still school.”
    That wasn’t it, though. I could have told them that Adam was so different in our meetings that he might as well have been another person. The buttoned up stiffness that colored his usual lectures had vanished, replaced with a quiet intensity about the material that made him impossible to ignore. Something stopped me though, and it wasn’t fear of Angie starting a rumor about just where Adam focused his intensity.
    I simply didn’t want to share. Our daily sessions might have just been debates and discussions, but they were our own, and I had no desire to invite any interlopers into that quiet world, even my best friends.
    “I think it was a good idea,” Brian said, finally speaking up after his taco had been successfully devoured. “Study halls are worthless in this school. Ms. LaPorte actually yelled at me for reading a magazine.” Brain’s lip curled in disgust. His rants about Ms. LaPorte were becoming a near daily occurrence. The skinny chemistry teacher who facilitated study hall apparently had a nefarious plan to make Brian’s life miserable.
“I didn’t have any homework!” he grumbled, “But I guess it’s a better use of my time to stare vacantly into space.”
    “But I thought you were good at that,” Angie said, innocently.
    The bell rang, cutting off Brian’s reply. I stood up and followed the crush of students out into the hallway and to my next class.

    I didn’t plan to kiss him.
    It’s easy to say that now, but it really was the truth. I walked into his office brandishing a finished copy of my first draft. I knew it was rough and my ideas still had a tendency to run away from me, but that didn’t keep me from being absolutely giddy with pride. At close to forty pages, it was the longest and most detailed paper I’d ever written.
    Beaming, I dropped it on Adam’s desk.
    He looked up at me, surprised. “I thought you weren’t planning on finishing this until next Monday?” he asked, flipping over the cover page and scanning my intro.
    “I was, but I was on a roll this weekend, and I just kept going.” I’d spent the entire weekend shut up in my bedroom, furiously scribbling notes, editing and re-editing endlessly until the ideas started to come together in a real semblance of cohesion.
    Now came the nerves.
    “Ember, I’m sure you don’t want to sit here and watch me read this,” Adam said, flipping the cover page back over. “Why don’t you take a walk for a few minutes? I’ll write you a hall pass in case anyone stops you. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll do a quick read through, and I’ll read it over thoroughly tonight.”
    I reluctantly agreed, even though I knew expecting him to read a thirty-eight page paper while I stared at him was a bit silly. Adam handed me a hastily written hall pass, and herded me out of his office. Faced with the sudden freedom, I pushed open one of the side doors and walked out into the courtyard.
    March had arrived and