THE TEACHER

Chapter four

Despite her feisty attitude and her inclination to do bad things, Abigail didn't get sent to the principal's office or get stuck in detention for the rest of the week. She was so busy thinking about Alex's suspiciously good flirting and her curious and unexpected date coming up on Saturday, that nothing could have killed such a chirpy and careless attitude.

Every day, after school, Abigail would take her bike and ride back home or straight to the gym, not without getting some hard feelings when going back to the place she had slowly learnt to call home. She thought of it only as the place where she slept and ate her breakfast, and considered her true home the swimming pool at the school, where she would spend most of her days.

Friday afternoon, right when the bell rang and signaled the awaited end of the school day, Abigail quickly freed her bike and, with swift and rapid movements, distanced herself from school, riding so fast that a few cars honked at her careless riding.

After stopping in front of her house, she quickly looked through the backpack she would carry around with her every day, looking for her keys. It contained some proteins bars, her water, a lot of swimming caps and a few books, and quite unsurprisingly it wasn't tidy at all. She found her keys only after searching for some long moments, and was finally able to open the front door, to reveal the hated place that she wanted to have nothing to do with.

"Hello?" she asked.

She would always make sure to be home alone, even when she knew that no one was there with her. It was just an old habit, learnt the day she walked up to her parents having a fight and mistakenly learnt about their divorce, leaving her paralyzed at the front door with a dirty backpack and tears streaming down her face.

Quietly, Abigail put down her stuff in the bedroom and started listening to some music on her record player. She had the entire weekend to do her homework, and just wanted to take her mind off that full and crazy week; she lay down on her bed with her eyes closed, humming along to the lyrics, and let her body rest ahead of the big weekend.

"Abigail!"

The awfully loud shout coming from the entrance was a clear sign that her mother was home, and given the irritated tone of her voice, she wasn't happy at all.

Shit, Abigail thought, putting down her headphones and slowly walking out of her room.

"What's up?" Abby nodded, greeting her mother in the most awkward way possible.

"We have to talk."

"Could you do that quickly, please? I'd hate to have Mr. Tough-Guy present here while you get all angry."

"Too late. He's in the driveway, parking the car. And I'd really appreciate you stop referring to him with these stupid nicknames, you can call him Stephen... or dad."

"Ha! I'd rather swallow a pound of gravel down my throat than call that jerk my father. I already have one."

"Who left his family after the divorce and now lives in Nebraska."

"Correct, and I have a mother who married an asshole as soon as the divorce went through and lets him order me around like a war general. You're both pretty fucking terrible, but hey, at least dad hasn't been ruining my life for the past four years, so I personally would choose him over the lousy couple you and Mr. Dickhead make."

The front door opened, and the big man entered. He was still wearing the dirty jeans he had to wear to work, and a sweaty plaid shirt, half unbuttoned to reveal a white t-shirt underneath.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Stephen," smiled Abigail, bowing with her head down to show an ironic form of respect that she obviously didn't mean at all. "Or shall I call you, your highness?"