I failed again the next day.

I didn’t even bother pretending to try. When Mr. Harlan called me to the board I wrote the wrong steps on purpose, hand steady, pulse already climbing. The class watched. He corrected the work in silence, then looked at me with that same unreadable expression.

“Office. After the bell.”

My stomach tightened with something that felt too much like anticipation.

When the room emptied I walked straight to his door. He locked it the moment I stepped inside. The sound sent a fresh pulse of heat between my legs. Mr. Harlan leaned against the desk, arms crossed, and studied me for a long moment....