The Teacher

Mr Styles is different. ©


5. Five

"You can't wear that," Chris shook her head, taking a sip from her tea.

Chris had invited herself over to my house so we could plan what I was going to wear out tonight with Mr Styles. 

"Why not, the dress is fine. It isn't like we're going on a date."

"You look like the most conserved girl I have ever met. How about you try on this?" she held up my last choice.

"Chris I may as well not wear anything then. My boobs will fall out and so will my arse-"

"And you think Mr Styles will care about that?"

I rolled my eyes and squeezed into the dress. Chris and I spent the next half hour waiting for Mr Styles. I had started to think he wasn't going to come when the clock hit 6:37 then 6:43. 

"Where's your friend?" my mother asked as Chris departed from my home.

"I don't know where he is."

"Is that him?" my mother pointed at the sleek black limousine that pulled up outside our house.

"No, he drives an Audi," I let my jaw slacken when Mr Styles stepped out of the car. He had an all black suit and shirt with white ruffles. A black tie was loosely draped around his neck.

My mother raised her eyebrows before hurrying into the house and retrieving our bags. I stepped down to meet Mr Styles's outstretched hand.

"You look beautiful," he kissed my hand, opening the limousine door.

"Why are you putting on such a show? It's an art gallery downtown with some champagne and wine. We aren't going to a red carpet event."

"I like to outdo myself. Ah, Mrs Miller, please to make your acquaintance. You look stunning," Harry flashed a charming grin whilst I almost puked in my mouth. He was sick for being such a gentleman.

The evening went by well, Harry and I spent the time discussing things over wine. He seemed like such a different person, but maybe that was because my mother always had a watchful eye over me.

"So since you have enough money for an Audi and a swish limousine, why are you stuck at our school teaching PE?" I sipped at my red wine.

"You're too young to be drinking. You're a minor," he raised his eyebrows.

"Thank you for your thoughtful supervising, but I am fine. Now let's go admire the artworks because that is what we came for," I began to walk off to an artwork that looked as if a five year old could have painted it. 

"I prefer to look at you, you're much prettier."

"You have been dying to say that all night, haven't you?" I laughed.

"Pretty much," Mr Styles flashed me an award winning grin before pretending to be interested in the artwork.

We headed home four hours later. Mr Styles held the door open for my mother and me. He held onto my mothers hand.

"It was lovely, thank you," he politely shook my mother's hand for the fifth time tonight.

"No, thank you, you kept my daughter company for the night, something no one seems to be able to do these days," my mother laughed and Mr Styles joined.

"Okay bye! Must I remind you he is still my teacher," I dragged my slightly intoxicated mother back into our house, waving at Mr Styles as he left. He winked at me before driving off.


The whistle met my ears. Mr Styles was biting the end of it with his pearly white teeth. His left dimple was showing.

"Go on, say what I did wrong," I huffed.

"Nothing, the game is over."

I heard a few girls giggle behind me as I headed off to the change room. One day Mr Styles hated me and the next he was constantly saying flirtatious comments. I pulled my shirt off and began changing back into my normal clothing.

"He is making it really obvious. I suggest you waltz your arse down to his office and set things straight," Chris sung.

"Mm, no thanks," I pulled a white shirt over my head and shouldered my bag. "Now, let's go to French."

Chris and I sat together in the back of the classroom. Mrs Field began her monotonous repetition of French vowels. I looked out the classroom door and Mr Styles caught my eye. He stopped, listening to the class.

"Ms Miller, are you paying attention? Please repeat what is written."

I glared at Mr Styles who was cackling to himself. Chris nudged me and I repeated what was on the board. My eyes wandered back to the doorway, but he had gone.

"May I use the bathroom?"

"Say it in French," Mrs Field pursed her lips. 

I inhaled my frustration. "Puis-je utiliser la salle de bain?"


I rolled my eyes and walked out, seeing Mr Styles turn to head into his office.

"Ms Miller, are you following me?" he caught my hand as I reached the door that had Mr Styles on it.

"I don't know, I was going to ask you the same question."

"was getting coffee. You are getting out of class to come talk to me."

"I am so sick of your cockiness. Not everything is about you, maybe I needed a wee," I nodded, brushing past him only to feel a strong grip on my wrist.

"I am detecting a very high level of sass from you."

"Oh really? That's because I'm trying."

Mr Styles shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. Then he did the typical nose crinkle I had noticed always followed his hair adjustment. "I'll see you on Monday."

"I'm sure you will miss me."

"I will, I definitely will," Mr Styles chuckled as I walked off to get a toilet pass. Hopefully by now Mrs Field wouldn't think I was severely constipated.


I hated the concept of the weekend. I used to love it, but now there was something that had me wanting to be in those cheap, rank school corridors. More like someone, actually. I had managed to finish all my maths and French homework I was given and was relaxing on my bed texting Chris. When she didn't reply like the rude person she was I decided to take a lovely stroll outside. 

"Bye mama, I'll be back soon," I called before closing the door. It was a warm day outside with a hint of a cool breeze. I pushed a pear of sun glasses onto my face and began walking.

As I was getting into my music I felt a huge impact on my back, then the ground beneath me. I was in too much shock to get up, so I lay face-down on the pavement.

"Are you alright?" an arm yanked me upwards. "Scarlett?"

I opened my mouth multiple times to speak, but nothing would come. "Mr Styles?" I watched his green eyes search my body for signs of injuries.

"I am so sorry I ran in to you, I wasn't looking where I was going," he rushed, running his hand through his hair.

"Mr Styles?"

"I'm very glad you know my name, but are you okay?"

I searched my body, looking down at my grazed and bloody knees. "Yes, just winded and a bit scratched up. I'm going to go home now."

"Of course, I feel so bad," Mr Styles tipped my chin up, looking into my eyes. What was he even doing? "You aren't concussed?"

"What no? Good day to you," I hurried off, looking back at Mr Styles who was standing shirtless and confused. I hadn't even taken the great opportunity to check him out. I turned onto my street and began to run home, tears pricking my eyes. It really stung, but there was no way I was going to cry in a hundred metre radius of Mr Styles.

I spent the next thirty minutes trying to stop my knees from bleeding. I stuck two miserable bandaids onto my knees and proceeded to text Chris about the incident.

Chris: he just ran into u?

Scarlett: yep, like a bull

C: damn it's getting physical

S: -.- ur so annoying

C: u love me. did he look really sorry?

S: idk I just wanted to get out of there

C: very understandable, do u think he knew it was u?

S: don't put that idea in my head. I don't want to think he's stalking me.


Sometimes the thought crossed my mind, however. I saw him running at the park when I was with my friends, at Three Beans and now a street away from my home. Plus, he ran into me. I shook the thought away, he wouldn't be so clingy. Even if he was, he didn't strike me as the type of person who would show it that much.



Okay Scarlett, you believe that... 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...