Page 134 of Teacher's Pet

I was nothing to him.

I see that now. I see what I really meant to Noah Ackerman.

Nothing more than his plaything.

Walker lingered after it all went to hell, spewing apologies like they meant anything, thinking his weak little "I’m sorry" could somehow erase the absolute piece of shit he really is.

I played nice.

Some pathetic part of me wondered if being civil with Walker would somehow make Noah call me.

Weeks bled into months.

And his silence? It persisted.

By the fourth week, it was solidified. Noah meant every word he said.

He is a user. A manipulator.

That’s all he’s ever been.

Walker, on the other hand, has no shame, openly cozying up to Cole and Erica like nothing ever happened, laughing with them, eating with them, posting with them on his socials as if he hadn’t played a role in ruining me.

Still, I play the game. I give him the occasional smile in classes like this one.

When Noah left, people were confused.

But Walker? He looked thrilled.

Trying to figure out why isn’t my problem anymore.

So I drowned myself in pints of Ben & Jerry’s, listened to Norah Jones on repeat for weeks, and finally started to feel something close to normal.

Tapping my pencil against my desk, I skim through the incoherent mess Mr. Zimmerman scrawled across the board yesterday.

God, they really do just give teaching degrees to anyone, don’t they?

"Hey."

That grating voice.

Peering up, I find Walker standing over me, flashing that same easy, infuriating grin, eyeing the seat next to me like he expects an invitation.

Please, for the love of god, go away.

“Hey.” I force a smile.

He doesn’t move.

“Still trying to rationalize Zimmerman’s notes?” he jokes.

Cute. You think we’re close enough for casual conversation.

“As best I can,” I sigh, feigning amusement. “Honestly, I think he should just admit he has no clue what’s going on and spare us the wasted paper.”

Walker chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Well, nothing can be worse than Mr. Ackerman,” he grins.

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