Hot For Teacher (gxg)

chapter twelve: the culprit

As I was returning my book to the locker, I noticed Carl approaching me. This made my body tense up because we hadn't spoken since I confessed my feelings for someone else. Was he planning to come talk to me about the incident? I smiled at him, trying to erase that idea from my head.

"What's the matter? You seem agitated."

He sighs deeply and smacks his lips.

"Can we talk alone?"

I knit my brows in confusion. "Is it really that important?"

"It's quite urgent," he mentions with a sense of urgency, yet in a gentle manner. "There's something you need to know."

"Okay," I said, closing my locker and picking up the bag. "Follow me, I know a place."

I shut the door after us while we settled in an empty classroom that had been untouched for about a year. According to a student, a teacher passed away here, and the thought of it is becoming more unsettling. I sat on the chair and observed him moving about with a sense of fear, like a child.

"You know, if you don't tell me what's wrong, we might be stuck in this room for the rest of our lives—"

He took a paper from his pocket and handed it to me. I oddly took the piece of paper and stared at him, absolutely perplexed. What exactly is this?

"Read it," he insisted.

I opened the paper and mumbled some words that were written on it: "I will get you into UCLA if you do not go near Solace again. Respectfully, A.E.Y."

"Wow, they have the guts to put their initials on this paper."

"Elaine, please."

Who the hell would have the audacity to write something like this? I thought to myself. I shook my head and added, "Carl, I'm sorry you're getting these things again, but I'm not sure who is doing it."

"That's the thing, you don't know who it is," he said, shielding his crimson face. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little bit anxious. I don't even care if someone helps me get into UCLA; I don't need anyone to do it for me. It is you, Elaine, that I am concerned about. And I know we had a terrible ending, but I still care about you."

When he tells me he cares about me, I try not to wince. Amelia was the one person who should give a damn about me—a woman, to be precise. Even though I read the article over and over again while leaning against the back of the chair, I was unable to think of anyone.

I tried to read the letter and said, "Maybe some perverted man wrote this. "  Or a schoolmate? I'm not sure. Maybe we should to make a report about this to the principal—"

He firmly uttered, "Bad idea. And you know that, Elaine. The principal is not going to take any action about this issue. Also, we shouldn't include anyone else in this."

"You're scared; we need to at least let someone know. Have you told about this with Francis?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, she's the only person I know who can tell who's stalking you," I reached for my phone, and he laughed, prompting my head to raise. "What's so funny?"

"El, I believe we're in the wrong here."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked while straining my eyes as if I couldn't see him.

As Carl pointed his index finger in my direction, he stated, "You are the one who is being stalked. If you weren't being stalked, I wouldn't be getting these fucking letters or weird text messages."