He came into the class and the smell of cologne trailed in his path.
We stole a glance and he sat in the desk closest to me as I studied his backwards baseball cap, t-shirt proclaiming his status as “Beer Pong Champion” and a bottle of imported water.

He’s not my usual type, but there’s something there.
I do the usual routine, hair flipping, smiling, silently thanking God that I wore my best padded push-up bra.
I sneak a peek at the notebook he’s scrubbling in. In large letters the words “What If?” come alive among random doodles.

He probably has a girlfriend, I definitely have a husband.

The bell rings, I go to my desk and take a deep breath.
“Welcome to 12th grade English,” I announce to my class.