Masks Always Fall

Chapter 7

My heart raced as I stared at my phone screen, reading those unsettling words over and over.

"So, you're stalking me, Miss Hart."

Ms. Clarke knew. She knew about me liking her photo, while in my late-night panic scrolling through her profile. Now, she was confronting me, and I dreaded facing her and everyone else at school. My secret was exposed, and I wondered what she'd think, whether she'd tell other teachers or worse, my parents.

I slammed my locker, leaning against it, eyes closed, hoping to escape the reality. Knots churned in my stomach, and I wished I could turn back time and undo my impulsive mistakes from the night before.

With the warning bell ringing, I had five minutes to brace myself for what would likely be the most embarrassing class ever. I couldn't avoid Ms. Clarke, and I had to keep my anxiety in check. Stepping away from the locker, my feet felt heavy as I headed to class, nerves making every step a challenge.

Oh, no. She was already there, waiting for me.

Approaching the classroom, this wave of dread hit me hard. Ms. Clarke stood by the door, her usual polished appearance intact – long blonde hair, those sharp blue eyes, and that professional black pantsuit. It felt like a punch to the gut, freezing my lungs, turning my heart into shattered glass. She knew. Her eyes seemed ready to expose every secret I desperately wanted to hide.

I tried to slow down, postpone that inevitable eye contact, that looming confrontation. But no luck. Our eyes locked from across the hallway, and it felt like my heart stopped. A whirlwind of emotions crossed her face - surprise, confusion, maybe a hint of amusement. But there was something else, a look I couldn't quite figure out. Pity? Disgust? I wished I could disappear. Too late to run now.

The tardy bell jolted me into the classroom, driven by sheer desperation to escape that penetrating gaze. I hurled myself into the farthest desk at the back, my heart still pounding in my throat.

Sinking low into the unforgiving chair, I forcefully cracked open my notebook, fixating on its blank pages, scribbling aimless doodles with intense concentration. Anything to avoid lifting my eyes, to dodge the person entering behind me.

The click of Ms. Clarke's heels echoed as she moved to the front, her presence pulsating like a palpable force while she organized her notes. My cheeks burned hotter than the sun. I refused to look at her, denying her and everyone else the satisfaction of witnessing my utter humiliation.

The less I saw of her face, the easier it became to convince myself this was all a terrible dream. If I could delay that icy blue stare a bit longer, maybe my wildly beating heart could regain composure, and perhaps the ground would stop threatening to swallow me in the bitter maw of shame.

As Ms. Clarke dove into Shakespeare's tale of star-crossed lovers, I hunched over my notes, scribbling like a mad person to give off an air of intense focus.

Truth be told, I absorbed nothing from the lesson. My senses were on high alert, glued to her every move at the front. It felt like her gaze, a magnetic force, would drift my way every few minutes, probing and questioning. In my mind's eye, I couldn't shake the image of her blue eyes peeking through strands of silk-blonde hair.

Each imaginary look sent shivers down my spine, winding my nerves even tighter. I shut my eyes, clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to meet that intense stare. My heart raced, urging me to face the impending confrontation, to get it over with in a burst of tears and truth.

No way. I refused to give in. With Ms. Clarke, my goal was to stay invisible, as mysterious as the scrawls on the page before me.

When the sweet sound of the dismissal bell echoed, I hastily crammed my untouched papers into my bag and shot out of my seat as if it were on fire. Glancing around briefly to ensure I was first, I power-walked toward the door without breaking into a full-on run.