Anthony, Wed Jan 14th 2015

Dear fucking diary,

As you can see, I'm in a good mood today. I still don't know why I'm talking to a stupid notebook like it was a real normal person, but the shrink said it would help so here I am. Again. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I had nightmares last night. Again. You could have guessed since I only write to you when that happens. But you're a dumb journal anyway.

It was more or less the same one as usual, so I don't really need to describe it to you, you should know it by heart now. It woke me up around 4 and I don't need to tell you that I didn't manage to doze off after it, you know how fucked up my sleep patterns are. Hence the feisty mood.

I don't really understand why I'm still having those nightmares. I mean, it's been more than two years and a half now, and I moved on. I think. Still, last time I had one of those was more than two weeks ago when it used to be almost every night. That's better right? Ugh! I'm so frustrated with myself for being so pathetic. Like the anxiety attacks I kept having during the holidays. Again it was probably not the best idea to go back to France if I wanted to avoid having them. But seeing the family was nice... -ish.

My research doesn't really move forward. It's like I'm always stuck with the same ideas, turning in circles and circles. I have practice at the dojo this evening, so it will hopefully exhaust me enough to be able to have a normal night of sleep; I can't even remember last time I had one of those.

Anyway, I don't have much time. I've talked about my emotions with you as if you were a real person, as if you would care, and I have to conclude with my hopes for the next days. So here they are: a good night of sleep, no more nightmares, no more anxiety attacks. Oh, and if I could get laid as well, that would be nice.

I close the diary and put it back in my bag, sighing once again. I don't feel any better after doing this, I should just stop with this stupid exercise. I then go back to grading my student's homework. Yeah, I'm a teacher. Math. I know, you always hated it, I get that a lot. Obviously I didn't, let's move on.

I teach at the Lycée Français in New York. They could say French high school, but that would be less snobbish. As you have certainly guessed from the name it's a bilingual school, mostly for the children of rich French expatriates here in NYC, but not only. It's like an episode of Gossip Girl, just with a bit more French in it. No I exaggerate a bit. Most of the students are actually decent human beings, and they are usually serious and very motivated. Oh and even if it's called a high school, it actually begins with pre-K and ends at twelfth grade.

A tap on my shoulder interrupts me from my work. I remove my headphones then look at one of my colleagues. She teaches Art in middle school, I think... I don't even remember her name. I'm not really a people's person.

"There is a student looking for you, Anthony." Well apparently she knows mine!

"Thanks!" I reply, and make my way out of the staffroom. I instantly let out a heavy sigh when I see who is looking for me: Aurore, a girl from one of my eleventh grade class. She got a bad mark at one of her assignments she completely screwed up last week, and already came to see me twice to ask me to redo it. This time though, she obviously decided that flirting with me would help her case, seeing that she closed just the right number of buttons of her white shirt to leave no part of her cleavage to imagination.

Too bad for her, I'm batting for the other team. Yep, I'm gay! Always have, as far as I remember. It was kind of obvious when guys in their underwear in the locker room would turn me on, whereas girls didn't attract me in any way. Of course she doesn't know that. For obvious reasons I prefer to keep my sexuality to myself while at school. In fact, the less people know about me, the better I feel.

"Thank you for seeing me, Sir," she begins. "I just want to tell you that I redid that assignment, and I would really, really appreciate it if you could review it, just to tell me if I've done it right this time," she says, showing me a piece of paper and literally trying to shove her breast in my face. This one should probably be perfect since one, I have already given a detailed correction; two, she has a private tutor to help her. She only messed up in the first place because she did it at the last minute, too busy with whatever those crazy teenagers are doing now. Ugh! I really don't want to deal with that today!

"I will be happy to have a look Miss de Brovières," I answer in a detached voice. Yes I call my students by their last name, I'm that kind of teacher. "But as I already told you, twice if my memory serves me correctly, I can't change your initial grade. It just wouldn't be fair to your other classmates."

"But please Sir, I really need to make up for the last test in December." Her voice almost breaks down at the last words. Seeing seduction didn't work, she is now going for pleading and tears, and damn she is good. No, I don't think she is really crying, she's more of a I-make-the-others-cry kind of girls. And whereas some students can get a bit intense about their grades and genuinely be upset when they screw up, I know she doesn't belong to that category.

"Then you'll make up for that test with the one we have next week. If you worked really hard on that assignment, it shouldn't be a problem since it's going to be on the same subject." If being the key word. I'm almost sure she let her private tutor do all the work and copied it without understanding a word, that wouldn't be the first time. Too bad! She is actually a very smart girl, she just hasn't decided to apply herself to math.

"Now if you will excuse me," I conclude, "I have a class in a few minutes." Well I still have plenty of time, but I don't really want to continue this conversation. "See you tomorrow."

She doesn't reply and storms off, her teary expression gone in an instant, replaced by the rage of not having what she wants. That must not happen very often...

I go back to the staffroom to grade a few more papers before grabbing my stuff and going to my next class. Luckily it's the last one of the day, since I'm definitely not in the mood to be here today. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching, but the lack of sleep is taking its toll, and I really want to test a few new ideas I had under the shower this morning for my research. I'm trying to prove some hypothesis that was formulated by a mathematician 150 years ago, and that's keeping me busy during a lot of my free time. That, aikido training twice a week and watching a few TV shows, plus the occasional meetings with friends.

Anyway my research allows me to continue doing advanced math since the curriculum I teach isn't very challenging for my brain. No offense to my high school students, but I have studied math for way longer than them! I could have gone to the private sector and do some applied research or computer science, like my best friend Paul, but I really love explaining things. I find very rewarding the feeling you get when one of these teenagers was stuck with some concept, and finally understands it with one of your explanations. Paul doesn't really get it, and always make fun of me, saying I'm overqualified to teach here, and should work in a big company to make a shitload of money like he does.

We met at one of the top math universities back in France and quickly became best friends. Sadly he left for New York just after his PHD to go work for Google and we only saw each other two or three times a year. When I had to leave Paris, he was the one who found me an opportunity to work here in the big apple, and I was really glad to reconnect with him! That was a very bad period of my life, during which he helped me a lot to get better. I will be forever grateful to him for that.

Going back to the present, my class is going by pretty well despite my tiredness. Until I spot one student texting, his cellphone on his knee. I'm not sure why they all think it's more discreet to use their mobile like this. There are few activities involving the use of one or both hands beneath the table, and they are all pretty suspicious.

"Mr. Wells, cellphone on my desk please!" I order.

He looks up at me with his beautiful green eyes, his blond hair in a carefully controlled mess, and his mischievous face. This boy is one of the most gorgeous students in this high school, albeit a bit too young for my taste. He is your perfect student: straight A's, captain of the swimming team, takes part in the orchestra... His father is clearly grooming for one of the Ivy League's colleges.

"I'm sorry Sir, I let myself be distracted since you were explaining the same thing for the second time and I understood the first time," he replies while standing and making his way to my desk. Did I mention he was a bit of a smart mouth too? And he also takes part in the occasional fight, as I have seen him several time with bruises he tried to hide.

"Are you saying that my class is boring?" I ask icily. Well he did, basically, I just want to make sure.

"No Sir, I wouldn't dare," he answers, putting his phone on my desk. A few students chuckle, catching on his sarcasm. What catches my attention though, is the smell of his breath and the bit of red in his eyes. Of course he is high... As if I wanted to deal with that today... And it's neither the first nor the second time. I have let it pass since I believed he was just being a stupid brat, but I'm sensing a dangerous pattern there and I feel I have to do something about it.

"You will come and see me at the end of this class, Mr. Wells," I say while he returns to his seat. The rest of the class goes undisturbed, and I am soon alone in the class with the little junkie. I could just give him his cellphone back and pretend not to have noticed that he smoked pot just before going to class, several times on top of that, but I really can't stand it when a brilliant student throws his future away, so I feel compelled to do something. Sometimes I really hate my conscience!

"You will get you cellphone in a bit, Mr. Wells," I begin, "but first, I would like to impress on you the severity of what you did."

"Oh come on Sir!" he quickly answers. "I know my comments were a bit out of line, but I didn't say anything wrong!"

"I'm not talking about the fact that you replied to me like a brat, although you should watch that smart mouth of yours, but about the fact that you came to class as high as a kite."

"I don't know what you are talking about," he lies, but the fact that his body tenses is a bit of a confession in itself.

"Don't take me for a fool, Mr. Wells. You're reeking of pot, and this is not the first time. If I were to report this, and a search were to be conducted in your belongings, are you sure nobody would find anything?"

"Please don't do this!" he pales. Of course he has his marijuana on him, or in his locker... Teenage boys can be so stupid sometimes.

"Although I don't find this habit particularly healthy," I continue, "I couldn't care less about what you do on your free time, outside of school." Key word: outside! "Should another teacher have found you in this state, and reported this, do you have any idea how it could have compromised your plans for college?"

"I'm really sorry Sir, I won't do it again," he mumbles.

"Would you like to explain to me why you felt the need to smoke pot before going to class?"

"Not really..." he sulks. "You're right, it was stupid."

"You will have to do better than that, young man. Unless I have a valid explanation and if I don't see you take actions to not let that happen again, I will notify your family." That would be mean of me, of course. But come on, I need a bit more than an empty promise to let him off the hook.

"Please don't tell my father!" he answers, now completely livid. "He is out of town anyway." Yeah Dad is almost always out of town when the teachers need him. Pretty convenient if you ask me...

"Then talk to me!" I don't know why I'm pursuing this. It's really not my problem if he is behaving like a spoiled kid and throwing away his future. But there is something off with him, I can't pinpoint what exactly, so I feel I have to act. Did I say I hate my conscience already?

"I just had fun with some friends... I'm sorry, and it won't happen again," he replies shyly. Now Luke Wells shy, that's not something I see every day!

"That's what I thought the first time I saw you high in my class, and just because I didn't say anything does not mean I didn't notice it. Now that's the third time I see you in this state. For all I know, you are smoking at every lunch break every day, and my colleagues just haven't remarked anything." He shifts awkwardly in his seat. This reaction is all the proof I needed... Now I really can't let this go and I sigh inwardly.

"There has to be something to trigger this kind of behavior, so please talk to me!" I try more gently. Of course that was wishful thinking, he just sits there, eyes lowered, twisting his hands and staying mute.

"Then you leave me no choice, Mr. Wells," I sigh again. "I will have to call your father." I really don't want to do that. For all I know, his troubles could come from home and telling his dad could be the worst thing to do.

"Please! Not my father," he replies, looking up and tensing again, his eyes pleading and watery. It seems I was right again, but sadly I don't know what else to do. His mother died, when he was born if I remember correctly, and I don't know if he has any other relatives. "Could you... Could you talk to my big brother instead?" he pleads. "He is older, a bit like you... not that you're old Sir, sorry... What I meant to say is... he is an adult."

I ponder this for a moment. That's not the worst idea! An older brother, that he trusts enough to bring up in this situation, could be exactly the right influence to put this kid back on his feet. Yes, the more I think about this, the more I find this is the perfect solution.

"Alright. Arrange a meeting with this brother of yours at 4pm tomorrow or the day after." That seems to relax him a little. "But if I'm not satisfied with the solutions your brother has to offer, I will report this. I want this kind of behavior to stop, do we understand each other?"

"Yes Sir!" he answers with a small voice.

"You're dismissed," I conclude, handing him his cellphone back. As he gets out of the room, I let out a heavy sigh. I'm not sure if I handled that the best I could, but I'm quite pleased with the conclusion. I wonder what exactly is going on in that little head of his, but he just can't continue smoking pot like this. It will affect his focus in class and I'm surprised his grades haven't dropped already.

Speaking of smoking, I'm in dire need of a cigarette, so I quickly head outside to indulge myself with my fix of nicotine. I have just lighted the death stick and taken my first puff when my phone rings and I recognize my best friend's number.

"Hi Paul! How are you?" I answer in French; since it's our first language, it would be a bit awkward to speak to each other in English!

"Good and you?"

"I'm feeling great!" I lie swiftly. He has already done a lot for me, and since he found a new boyfriend five months ago I have tried to bother him less with my own troubles. "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"Definitely!" he replies. "But that's not why I was calling." And he begins to explain to me his latest problem with math to which I answer as best I can. "Thanks, bro! You're a lifesaver!" he tells me when I'm finished. "I still don't know what you are doing teaching in high school with that big brain of yours!"

"Well at least it hasn't shrunk like yours!" I tease. "You should really have found the answers to those questions by yourself!"

"Not everyone has the time to work two hours or more every day on advanced math!" he counters. Yes I know, I don't have a life. No need to remind me...

"Speaking of which, I have to go work on my research before my practice tonight," I tell him, trying to hide my sudden sadness.

"Sorry, that was a bit insensitive," he responds. Apparently I didn't hide it very well. "It's great that you keep on working on this problem," he cheers, "and I'm sure you will manage to solve it one day!" Or not. After all, who am I to believe I could succeed when generations of mathematicians way smarter than me failed? But I won't stop trying in any case, since it has become an obsession of mine.

"No hard feelings!" I reply, trying to convey more enthusiasm this time. "I'll see you tomorrow night!"

"See you Anthony!"

I'm just reaching my flat when I hang up, feeling like shit. It's very convenient that the eastern part of the Upper East Side is one of the cheapest neighborhood of Manhattan. That way I can afford an apartment at a ten-minute walk from my work. Of course it's a small one – that still costs me a third of my salary! – with just one living room, one bedroom and one bathroom, on the sixth floor, without elevator.

I don't really mind having to climb the stairs each time I come home, that helps me to keep in shape! The worst thing is not having a washer inside, so I have to go to the laundromat every weekend, like when I was a student.

As soon as I close the door behind me, the feelings of doubt and self-disgust I was trying to contain after that phone call hit me with full force. How do you get your life back when you have gone through hell? I wouldn't know; it has been two years and a half and I barely survive each day. Oh! I pretend I'm alright, teaching my classes, working on my research, going out with my friends, hiding behind a mask of normality. But this is just a facade. I can barely sleep most nights and often have nightmares that leave me drenched in sweat. My life is just plainly pathetic...

Published on Apr 23rd 2017

Soooooooo! This is it! This is the first chapter of my story! I am very excited to present it to you and I hope you will like it.

In the next chapter, you will meet Ethan!