Your POV
A tremor ran through me, a nervous energy that felt like static electricity under my skin. He’ll be furious. I knew it. But I had no other choice. Standing frozen in front of the classroom door felt like an eternity. I turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly, each creak a drumbeat against my anxiety.
Empty. The classroom was eerily silent. Was Mr. Baldi late too? He always prided himself on punctuality, on being precisely on time.
“Y/N! Twenty seconds late!”
I whipped around, heart leaping into my throat. Where did he *come* from? It was as if he’d materialized out of thin air, right behind me.
“Mr. Baldi! I… I was just coming. I swear I can explain!” I wrung my hands together, knuckles white. Mr. Baldi didn’t respond, didn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he grabbed my hand, a surprisingly forceful grip, and pulled me into the classroom. The door clicked shut behind us, and he turned, fixing me with a glare. I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. I was terrified.
“You better have a damn good explanation, Y/N.” He marched toward his desk, his voice low and dangerous. “Haven’t I told you yesterday? Did you forget everything? Did I not make myself clear?”
Of course. It was always like this. I braced myself.
“I… I was in detention. I was running through the halls. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was trying to explore the schoolhouse, I thought I had plenty of time. There were other people in the building, they distracted me. I was trying to get to my classroom, and OH god…” The words choked off in my throat. I felt a wave of shame, of utter worthlessness. I covered my face with my hands, and tears began to fall.
Baldi’s POV
Enough. Just enough. This girl was impossible. She couldn’t listen to a simple instruction. I didn’t become a teacher for this. I rubbed my temples, a familiar ache building behind my eyes. But then I heard it: small, muffled cries coming from Y/N. She was crying. Why? Was I truly that awful? Had I pushed her too far? Was I too harsh?
Ugh. I sighed and moved to her desk, hesitantly placing a hand on her shoulder. I didn’t want weeping students in my class. I didn't want *any* students weeping.
“Hey… look, I’m sorry. I was a bit rude, yelling like that.”
“No, *I* should be the one to apologize,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “I should have listened to you. I just keep disappointing you. I’m sorry, but I feel like I don’t belong here. If I can’t learn math, I can’t. I’ll just live in the streets.” She grabbed her notebooks and stood up, her eyes red and swollen. “Sorry to waste your time, sir.” She snatched her backpack and bolted toward the door, ignoring my call.
Fantastic. Just fantastic. I had been looking forward to seeing her improve, to watching her grasp the concepts. I wanted to be the best math teacher she could ever have, to help her succeed. I wanted another chance.
I’m giving her another chance…