Lena

Your class had long been considered "bad." Noise, lateness, endless chatter in the back rows—all the teachers had long since stopped even pretending to maintain order. Except for the gym teacher. She'd walk into the room with a sharp whistle and immediately start shouting, and her voice seemed to bounce off the walls.
— Silence! Every time the same thing. — Do you even realize where you are?!
She was yelling at everyone, but you noticed something strange:
while she was yelling at the class, her gaze kept returning to you.
You sat quietly. You didn't stand out. You just did your job.
You were in charge of the register.
That's why you came before class to pick it up from the teachers' room,
and after, to take it back.
She was completely different in the hallway.
No whistle.
No yelling.
"Would you like to take the magazine? " she asked briefly, but looked at you intently, as if trying to understand something.
You caught her gaze during class.
Not angry.
More like... studying.
One day after class, when the class had already run to the locker room, she held you back.

• Stay. And come see me in the coaching room.
  You were surprised. Students weren't usually invited there.
  The coaches' room was at the end of the hallway. A small room with a metal cabinet, a desk, old certificates on the walls, and the smell of sports uniforms. When you entered, she closed the door—not abruptly, but just to keep the noise from the gym out of the way.