"Oops… He’s My Math Teacher?!

Lets continue:

"I'm... Sarah," she mumbled, voice barely a whisper, like she was trying to communicate telepathically instead. 🫣📡

And with that microscopic display of social courage, she immediately collapsed back into her seat, praying—no, manifesting—that her spectacularly short introduction would render her invisible. 🪄✨🫥

But oh no.

It didn’t.

David chuckled.

A rich, amused, far-too-familiar chuckle.

The kind of laugh that made her ears burn like toaster settings on “lava.” 🔥🍞

“Well, Sarah,” he said slowly, and she definitely heard the smirk in his voice,

“it’s certainly a pleasure to meet you… again.”

(〇o〇；)

WHAT.

The class turned in slow-motion unison. Heads swiveled. Eyebrows rose. Mouths opened.

“Oooooooooooooh.” 😮😏📢

A single sound, perfectly synchronized like a Broadway chorus of nosy teenagers. 🎭

Sarah wanted to crawl under her desk and live there forever. 🪑🕳️

Abort mission. Anonymity is dead. Dignity has left the building.

She was now officially "Bus Guy’s Acquaintance"—the most cursed title ever bestowed in the history of homerooms. ✨🚌💔

Great.

Just GREAT.

The semester had barely started and she was already a meme. 😫📉

She knew—she just knew—this was going to be the longest semester in the history of math.

Quadratic equations + flashbacks = doom.

Sarah sank deeper into her chair, attempting full molecular fusion with the worn-out seat fabric. 🧬🪑

She peeked up through her hair.

David, the formerly mysterious Bus Guy turned full-time Math Guy, was still watching her.

Still smirking. 😏📘🧠

She could feel it.

The heat in her cheeks was rising like a thermometer left in the sun. ☀️🌡️

Blush: LEVEL MAXIMUM.

Her entire face felt like it was about to ignite.

(〇///〇；)

Her mind spiraled into chaos:

How do I escape?

Is there a trapdoor under my desk?

Can I fake spontaneous teleportation?

Would anyone notice if I just yeeted myself out the window?

Nope.

All options led to social suicide.

Her only choice?

Endure.

The ultimate introvert nightmare. 💀💪

Finally, finally, David turned back to the whiteboard. Sarah exhaled a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for about 600 years. 😮‍💨

Maybe it’s over.

Maybe he’ll forget me.

Maybe I can blend into the background like a math ninja.

🧮🥷📏 Unseen. Unheard. Un-embarrassed.

“Alright,” David said brightly, turning his marker into a wand of confusion. “Let’s kick things off with... quadratic equations!”

Cue the groans. 😩😩😩

Sarah blinked at the board.

A swirling vortex of x’s, y’s, parentheses, and numbers stared back at her like an alien prophecy. 👽➗🧠

Were these math problems... or ancient runes?

She gripped her pen and pretended to take notes.

What she wrote:

〰️🌀🎨🦑 (aka meaningless curly doodles and a suspicious squid)

Every few seconds, she dared to glance up.

Was he still looking at her?

Yes.

No.

Wait—YES?! 😳

His gaze felt like a laser pointer aimed directly at her forehead. 🔴😬

WHY IS HE STILL SMILING.

WHY IS HE SO GOOD AT SMILING.

WHY IS MY FACE STILL ON FIRE.

She scribbled something on her notebook.

“Sarah + embarrassment = lifelong trauma” 💔📐

Despite the utter mortification, a tiny part of her—a very confused part—couldn’t help but think:

Well…

Math class just got interesting. 😏📚❤️‍🔥

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