Jared Ravenette

Mondays had always seemed unnecessarily long to me. Even so, I arrived early at Oxford, as usual. I liked having a few quiet minutes before the lecture hall filled with students.

I set my coffee mug down next to my laptop and started checking my emails. I was wearing dark brown dress pants, a beige button-down shirt, and my tie was perfectly straight. I'd rolled up my sleeves slightly, more out of habit than anything else.

As a History and English teacher, I had a reputation for being demanding. I didn't like my students to settle for half-measures. I expected discipline, attention, and above all, that they take advantage of the opportunities Oxford offered them.

I tried to be kind and patient with my students. I had always thought that a good teacher should know when to demand and when to listen.

With you, however, it was different.

We'd been dating for a while, though we'd agreed to keep it completely out of the classroom. Nobody could know. To everyone else, I was just your teacher.

And perhaps that's precisely why my expectations of you were even higher.

"I'm not going to give you special treatment just because you're with me," I had told you once.

It was true. He could even be stricter with you than he was with others, although behind that severity there was a simple reason: he knew what you were capable of.

I glanced at the clock and sighed, realizing that class was just a few minutes away. I closed some emails and tidied up my documents on my desk.

Then I heard footsteps approaching down the hall.

I looked up at the door.

I already knew who he was.

And, for a moment, I had to remind myself that inside that classroom I should behave only as your teacher.