My dear teacher

It was another day like all the others. The same mediocre people, the same boring environments, the same old routine. As usual, the overeaten geography teacher gave five pages of homework, and woe betide anyone who didn't bring their homework the next day. Hateful little geography class. And just when I thought that nothing could make it more detestable, along comes this disgusting being with his polished bald head and his belly button pants. In short, I really hated Mr. Hammings.

The annoying bell rang, announcing the beginning of another biology class, and the second to last class of the day. At least Mr. Suan didn't suffer from sexlessness like Mr. Hammings. He didn't look like he should be suffering, with those broad shoulders, that experienced smile, and always relaxed, as if nothing could take that tranquility away from him. Apart from that haircut that gave him an air of 20 when in fact he was ten years older. A beautiful face that drew sighs everywhere he went, and a confident voice that caught the attention of all the students and made them understand the most complex subject in the world in a second were the last details that were missing to make him the perfect teacher.

For me, he was a great educator. Resourceful when speaking, patient and very well informed about everything, he knew how to eliminate all possible doubts from his students with a smile on his face and simple words. My facility in biology gave me plenty of time to analyze his way of talking, walking, gesticulating and acting, instead of paying attention to the subject. Which I loved to do, even without wanting to. Like now.

• Good morning, teacher," I heard the voice of the retarded Kelly Smithers groan as soon as I could see Mr. Suan's hairy head enter the class. Just like that hello-I'm-a-bitch-I-want-to-give-you-in-the-teacher's-room way, while chewing his gum in that vulgar way that most people at that stupid high school used to do.

• Did you know, Ms. Smithers, that a person who chews gum with his mouth open swallows a lot more bacteria than a person who chews gum with his mouth closed? - Steve Suan, my biology teacher, said, as he placed his material on his large desk.

I held back my laughter with a smile, practically eating that man with my eyes. I loved the way he simply put that slutty Smithers down without lowering himself to her level. And amazingly enough, she continued in her same shallow way, furiously chewing her strawberry gum, while her friend made a shocked (bitchy) face. The only reason I didn't continue to be amused by her tiled face as she was being consoled by her friend was because there was something much better to be observed in that room. Something that had a name, a last name, and a dazzling smile.

You must be thinking that I am the biggest pervert on the face of the earth. But you only say that because your biology teacher is not the most beautiful guy you have ever seen in person. Having to endure 50 minutes a week with a man like that without having thoughts like mine was impossible, trust me. I knew it was wrong, that I could never get the attention of a man like Professor Suan, but I tried hard to be his best student. And of course I succeeded.

• Where did I stop, Velarde? - I heard his firm voice ask as he approached my desk with an animated smile as he leaned one hand on the back of the desk in front of me and bent down to read my notes.

• In the last class you started the explanation of genetics," I answered, inhaling the smelly man's perfume that I loved to smell whenever he was around. I have always been told that these nature-connected guys have kind of hippy tendencies, i.e. they don't shower and consequently stink. Steve Suan was living proof that this was pure myth. Or else he was a beautiful exception.

• Any questions about what I've already explained? - he murmured, with his usual sympathy for me. He always asked that same question when he started a new content, as if he needed my opinion about the quality of his lesson. And I always answered the same thing, with a gentle smile on my face:

• None, professor.

By the way, I have one: when do you intend to become a pedophile?

The biology class went by without any news. The perfect teacher explaining the subject that I already knew by heart while Smithers looked puzzled, still swallowing zillions of bacteria. Things flow so well during Mr. Suan's class that he always does everything he needs to do and there are still about 10 minutes left for people to talk or ask more complicated questions. If I told you that I never had any questions and I hated practically everyone in my class, you would probably think that I don't fit in either of these two options. But if I told you that part of the school faculty sympathizes with me, you might understand what the ends of my biology classes are like.

• Geography again? - I heard that older man's voice ask behind me, in a friendly tone, and I took my eyes off the notebook where I had just finished copying the Hammings' subject. I saw those two bright brown eyes staring at me, accompanied by the smile of someone who has not yet realized that he is beautiful anyway, and it took a lot of self-control to just smile normally.

• Yes, it's becoming routine," I answered, going back to writing to prevent my drool from running, "No matter how hard I try, I can't read this scribble.

• I can't say much, my handwriting is not the most legible either," he laughed, sitting down at the desk now vacant in front of me and standing aside to talk to me, "But I at least try to spare you from understanding what I write.

• You never write anything on the blackboard," I said, laughing a little and looking at him. Really, tell me how you can stay pink like that 24 hours a day?

• That's right," Mr. Suan smiled, giving me a wink that made my heart have an epileptic seizure, "and I know that even if I wrote something, you would be the last person to copy it.

• Why do you think that? - I asked, almost offended, and he just answered calmly:

• Because you practically know as much about biology as I do, and copying what I write would be a waste of paper, ink, and your time.

I got this little popsicle smile on my face, and all I could say after a while was:

• Let's think positive... At least I would be avoiding the deforestation of some trees by saving paper.

Mr. Suan, who before was looking at the sleeping Amy Houston, closed his eyes and laughed at my bad sentence. As if he didn't already have worse crap to put up with, I still said such shit.

• If I didn't know that you could formulate better sentences, I would give you a participation point for your brilliant conclusion," he sneered, smiling in an amused way before getting up and going to wake up Houston so she wouldn't start snoring louder. Need I describe the state of deep melancholy in which I found myself after that moment? I knew I wouldn't need to.