TEACH ME TO LOVE YOU AGAIN

YARA

“Wipe that smirk off your face and start cleaning, or the next thing you'll be wiping is your academic record from this academy.” My voice echoed flatly, cutting through the collective gasp of thirty filthy-rich teenagers.

Gabriel Smith, the son of a shipping tycoon whose family name was stamped on the library building outside for their donations, leaned back in his chair. He glanced at the steaming coffee puddle around my black flats, then at my soaked white blouse.

The coffee had spilled when he deliberately tipped his mug over the edge of my desk as I turned to grab the attendance sheet. The heat still stung my chest, and the wet fabric clung uncomfortably to my skin.

“Did you say something, Ms. Jenkins?” Gabriel folded his arms, his mouth twisting into a lazy, confident grin.

“It was an accident. My hand slipped.” His friends snickered while girls in the second row exchanged amused looks behind their manicured nails. They were testing me.

It was my first day at Kensington-Lyle Academy, where tuition cost more than my entire childhood home. Apparently, these students wanted to discover how quickly their new teacher would break.

Without a word, I walked past Gabriel, reached the classroom door, and turned the deadbolt. The sharp click silenced the laughter and cut off the hallway noise.

“What are you doing?” Gabriel’s smirk flickered, his shoulders tightening as I turned around to face him.

“Establishing rules,” I walked back down the aisle, stopped in front of his desk, and leaned down until we were eye-to-eye.

“Your father's money might bought your seat in this room, Gabriel. But it didn't buy the air I breathe, and it certainly didn't buy you the right to disrespect me.”

“You can’t lock us in here,” a girl named Harper called out from the side, her voice rising in sudden panic.

“My mom is on the school board!”

“Then your mom can read the incident report I’m writing after class,” I shot back without breaking eye contact with Gabriel. I grabbed a roll of brown paper towels from the sink counter and threw them directly into his lap.

“Clean it up. Now.”

“No way,” Gabriel sneered, shoving the paper towels off his lap so they rolled across the floor.

“You’re a nobody. You’re even lucky to even be working here. If I call the dean, you’ll be packing your bags before lunch.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, unlocked it, and opened the academy’s internal portal. My fingers moved quickly across the screen.

“Gabriel Smith. Level three behavioral infraction. Intentionally damaging faculty property and creating a hostile classroom environment. Effective immediately, your honors placement in Advanced Literature is revoked, and your recommendation letter for Columbia is deleted from the faculty server.” Gabriel sprang from his chair, sending it rattling against the floorboards.

“You can’t do that! That letter was already signed!”

“It was signed by the previous teacher,” I deleted the file right in front of his face and turned the screen toward him.

“Inside these four walls, my dignity rules absolute. You want that recommendation back? You want to keep your elite standing? Pick up the paper towels, get on your knees, and start wiping.”

Silence swallowed the room. Gabriel stared at me, his face reddening with anger as he realized his family name couldn't protect his average grade point from a teacher who didn't care about his money.

Slowly, with trembling hands, he reached down and picked up the paper towels. “That's better” I muttered.

By seven in the evening, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving me exhausted. I sat in the passenger seat of Maya’s white convertible, my head resting against the headrest as the night air whipped through my hair.

We were parked outside a loud nightclub downtown, its bass vibrating through the car.

“Come on, Yara, just look at it as a fresh start!” Maya leaned over, throwing her hands up in the air.

“You’ve been a total ghost since the breakup. You need a drink, you need a loud room, and you seriously need to meet someone who doesn't think a library date is a good time.”

“I don't want a loud room, Maya,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. My chest still tightened whenever anyone mentioned Daniel.

“I want peace. I want to go home and read.”

“Home? Your apartment is the size of a shoe box!” Maya rolled her eyes, pulling out a lip gloss and applying it in the rearview mirror.

“My dad can get you a penthouse lease by tomorrow morning. You don't have to live like a starving artist anymore. You teach at Kensington now! You need to start dressing like it, acting like it, and hanging out with people who actually matter.”

Her words struck a raw nerve. Maya loved me, but she couldn't understand how suffocating her billionaire world felt. She believed every problem could be solved with a credit card or a VIP table.

“I like my lifestyle,” I gripped the handle of my purse, opening the car door before she could stop me.

“And I like my space. I’m taking a walk.”

“Yara, wait! Don't be dramatic!” Maya yelled over the music, but I was already stepping onto the pavement.

“Go inside, Maya. Have fun.” I called back, turning away from the neon lights and walking toward the edge of the entertainment district.

Three blocks away, I found my battered old silver sedan. I needed control over my life and the freedom to make choices without my wealthy best friend's pity or her family's financial validation.

I started the engine. Its familiar, rough rumble calmed me, and instead of returning to my small apartment, I headed toward the edge of the city.

A secluded park overlooked the river, far from the high-end bars and valet parking. It was quiet, dark, and entirely mine.

As I left the city lights behind, the road descended along a steep slope lined with thick trees. I lowered the window slightly, letting the crisp air clear my head.

Ahead, the road curved around a blind hill. My headlights suddenly caught a massive reflection in the middle of the lane.

A sleek, matte-black sports car stood horizontally across the road, blocking both lanes on the unlit curve.

My heart jumped into my throat.

“What the hell is he doing?” I muttered, my right foot slamming down hard on the brake pedal to avoid a collision.

Nothing happened.

The pedal sank to the floor without resistance. My car kept plunging downhill, gathering speed as the sports car loomed closer through the windshield.

Panic surged through me. I pumped the pedal furiously, but it remained limp. The steering wheel shook as I tried to aim for the narrow dirt shoulder, but the car's momentum was too strong.

“Oh god, no—my brakes are completely gone!” I gasped aloud, bracing my arms against the wheel as the distance vanished. My voice disappeared beneath a bone-chilling crunch of tearing metal and shattering glass.