Louis Tomlinson Imagines

Teacher (Part 1)

[Teacher]

Louis' age: 25
Your age: 17

______________

"Shit!" You hissed under your breath as you looked down at your graded papers.

A C minus. You got a C minus for your grade. Oh Jesus, your mother is going to kill you. She's all about perfect grades and perfect appearance and perfection.

And a C minus is going to look pretty ugly on your report card.

"Hey! Check this!" Your friend leant over and practically shoved her grade in your face. Recuperating yourself, you pushed her hand back to be met with her solid A grade.

Lucky. Very, very lucky.

Narrowing your eyes at her, she grinned widely as you let her pull her papers back.

"You fucked the teacher didn't you?" She burst out laughing at your flat toned question that even you wouldn't take seriously.

"No way! I just proved that life can't fuck me over!" With her small victory dance and high fives from others sitting in front of us, the teacher caught the classes attention.

Mr Tomlinson as he was known.

It wasn't that he was a bad teacher -you take full responsibility for your shitty grade- it was just that he was one of those teachers that were laid back you know? If you wanted to pass this class than you either need to motivate yourself or cheat off somebody who's motivated.

Simple.

"Alright class, that'll be the last due assessment you have this term." Various acknowledgements of joy were heard throughout the classroom as you face planted onto your desk. "If any of you have any concerns about the grade I gave you then please don't hesitate to see me after class."

Well... if you really screwed up your grade than you better find out why.

. . .

The class time flew by pretty quickly and you soon found yourself standing behind Mr Tomlinson's desk. He was rubbing off the whiteboard that the class had previously been using for celebrity heads as you stood awkwardly.

Well you guess you better change that.

With a clear of your throat, Mr Tomlinson turned around and smiled warmly back at you.

"(Y/N), how can I help you?" He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together on the desk.

"My grade," you began and pulled a chair up to his desk, "it's bad." Mr Tomlinson's brows furrowed as he held his hand out. Giving him your papers, you slouched back and began to ramble; your nerves hitting you as he looked over your grade. "I know I'm not the best writer in this class, but can you at least spare me some details on why I sucked? I need to know because my mother will kill me if I don't have an explanation on-"

"Stop." He interrupted causing your mouth to zip closed and for your brain to mentally begin cursing at you. "I remember grading this." Oh great, then he'll remember cringing at it too. "It wasn't that bad actually."

"Well my grades say otherwise..." you mumbled to yourself as Mr Tomlinson pushed your papers back to you.

"Don't let your grades define who you are." He began as you took your papers and held them on your lap. "And don't let yourself do something uncomfortable just to impress others." Where was he getting at?

"But sir, my mum-"

"Your mum likes you to have perfect grades. You mentioned." You bit your lips and awkwardly fumbled with your fingers. What else were you supposed to say now? "You have a talent for writing (Y/N)." You burst out laughing at his statement before realising that he was being serious.

"Sorry." You mumbled as he stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I graded your papers at the beginning of the year (Y/N). And let me say that they were..." he emphasised silence as he leant beside you onto the desk. "Jesus they were amazing." He chuckles as you smile a bit. He liked them did he? "But, as you progressed through this class," his smile faltered and so did yours, "you've just handed me in plastic words that I'm not drawn to anymore."

He was right. You felt restricted on what you could and couldn't do anymore. It must have been reflected into your grades. All of them.

"You're right. I'm sorry." Putting your face into your hands, you tried hiding away the clear shame on your face.

"No, no, no." Mr Tomlinson leant down and put a hand on your arm. "We can fix this before term is out. I promise you."

Looking up at him through the cracks of your fingers, he broke a smile onto his face at how innocent the small action was.

"H-how?"

Standing up, he took the papers from your lap and brought them back to his desk; stacking it away with his other paperwork.

"Let's make a deal," He leant his arms on the desk as you blinked up at him, "you come in every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday afternoon after school and I'll help you resubmit your final."

Your eyes widened up at him as he playfully grinned at you.

"You can do that?"

"I can do whatever I want with your grades. This is my subject. My students and my rules."

You stood up and eagerly shook hands with your Authoritive English teacher.  This deal could work as long as you put the time and definitely the effort into this second chance.

As long as your mother didn't find out about this bad grade, it didn't matter. Because soon it wouldn't exist.