THE TEACHER

Chapter one

Her knuckles were red and sore, but somehow she still wanted to throw a second punch. Just another one, to teach the little asshole a lesson. Amongst the chaos, the blood gushing out of the kid's nose, and the other students shouting around her, she couldn't even remember why she had snapped just a few moments before.

"Abigail Brooks, please report to the principal's office," said an annoying static voice, in the intercom.

"Fucking shit," the brown-haired rolled her eyes. "Again?"

"If you stopped punching people, maybe you shouldn't have to go."

A terrifying angry gaze was more than enough to make Robbie Wilson shut up and step back.

Abigail sighed, but slowly started walking up to the principal's office, while fixing her hair and her clothes to make it seem like she hadn't started roughhousing just minutes before meeting the principal again.

She had already gone there a few times from the beginning of school, and she hated the place. She didn't hate going to the principal's office – which she knew she deserved –, but she hated being in it. The walls were too white, too empty, and everything in the small place made her uncomfortable beyond reason. There were a few plants, but they were sadly drooping, standing by themselves in a little corner; they were begging to see some sunlight, but it was constantly denied to them, as they were doomed to forever stay in the dark.

The plastic chairs outside the principal's office were empty, as they were most of the time: the few visitors that had sat on them since the beginning of school were some of the parents and – of course – Abigail, for the fourth time in just two months.

She didn't even bother to knock on the door: they were waiting for her, and she was immediately welcomed into the unwelcoming office that she hated so much. Every time she came out of that room, she would vow to stop getting into fights and start behaving properly, just to avoid seeing it another time; promise she would break almost immediately, as soon as someone started to get on her nerves a bit too much, playing around with her patience because they were sure to be able to get away from her fury.

"She's waiting for you inside. What'd you do this time?" Mrs. Cook – the school's secretary – grinned at the girl.

"Dickson got on my nerves."

"Well, he is a dick," the woman chuckled. "Good luck."

Behind a dark brown wooden desk sat the principal, with her hands locked in a tight grip in front of her and, as always, a serious expression on her face that could only describe one feeling: pure disappointment.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lingerman," Abigail fake-smiled, letting her body fall emotionlessly on the chair in front of the woman.

"Why again here?"

"I don't know, you called me," Abigail shrugged her shoulders carelessly.

"What I mean is, how the hell is it that you are here once every few weeks?"

"I just love this place," she rolled her eyes, sarcastically.

The not-so-amused look on the principal's face made Abigail decide to sit up straight and stop playing any more games, facing the hard truth as it needed to be handled. What she needed to decide, though, was how she wanted to play the part: the sad girl that's been affected by her parents' feisty divorce, or the supposedly though one that has lost all her feelings when her father left the state and moved away.

"I know that you're going through tough times, but it's no excuse for the way you're acting."

"Excuse me, could you describe the way I'm acting?"

"Child-likely, stubbornly, violently."

"Thank you."

"Abby, I know that you could be a brilliant student if you wanted to, and that you're an even more brilliant swimmer, but if you keep acting the way you do, your academic value will be overshadowed by your attitude."

The girl had to reprime a yawn. She nodded and smiled, pretending to care about the meaningless words spit in front of her, which she didn't care about at all.

"If we are done now, I'd like to go to the pool for swimming practice, so that I can be the academically valuable student you all expect me to be," said Abby, already halfway up and on her way to the door.

"If you don't improve your grades, including your conduct, I'm afraid we'll have to cut you from the swimming team."

Those words finally caught her attention and hit her like a train at full speed. She couldn't see her life without swimming in it, as it was the only thing that she felt hers after all the unbelievably terrible things that had happened in the last four years.

"You can't do that."

"It's the same as every other sports team here at school. You're student-athletes, not the other way around. School comes first, and seeing a lack of dedication from you, I'm afraid that this would be the thing to do. Also, if you don't improve your grades, no good college will offer you a scholarship, and then you'll be sorry."

Abby was quick to sit back down, and stare at the principal with pure rage in her eyes.

"I object. You know very well that if you take swimming away from me, it'll be like taking away my oxygen. I'm competing at a high level this year, I'll be going to the Championship."

"I am aware of your attachments to the sport and how good you are at doing it, but your particular situation doesn't exclude you from following the rules."

"My 'particular' situation has changed me during these four years. You know that. My teachers know it. Why can't you make an exception? I'm asking you on my knees, please don't take swimming away from me."

"I'm sorry about your current home situation, but there's nothing I can do apart from asking someone to guide you, if you desire it."

"I can handle this alone. I've done it for the past four years, might as well keep doing it," she almost mumbled, over the entire conversation and only looking forward to letting out some of the anger she was keeping quiet.

Without adding anything more, Abby got up and reached the swimming pool. She was already late for her practice, so she changed as quickly as she could and jumped in the water immediately.

"Sorry coach, Mrs. Lingerman had to talk to me."

"I know, I heard on the intercom. Warm up, eight laps, then we start for real."

Silently and quite swiftly, she started freestyling up and down the lane, next to her other teammates. Abby was the best on the team for speed, but she really didn't have the patience to try distance. Sometimes she would swim for a long time, but it was only to clear her head and not think too much about stuff for a while, just like she was feeling the urge to do at the moment.

Abby's head got out of the water for less than a second, but it was enough to notice someone that she had never seen at swimming practice before: a young girl, around her age, that was talking to the coach. Although, she didn't have a bathing suit on, and disappeared after a few minutes, just as Abby finished her warmup and her coach started giving instructions to his team.

Despite still being half underwater, Abby could swear to have seen the girl smile at her, before going out of her eyesight.