2. Bohdi

Chapter two

Bohdi

Lansing, MI

O ctober I pause to soak in the moment, taking a deep inhale as I observe the classroom. I'm here. My fresh start is finally here. I moved to Lansing in February, but before starting my new job, I had to get myself in the right mindset. From my new desk, I see the empty seats waiting to be filled by students. I hoped for a sign this morning that would make me nervous and confirm that this was the right choice, but there was nothing. No nervousness, no excitement, no eagerness. Just a consistent numbness for the past fourteen months. Rolling my shoulders and craning my neck, I wait for the satisfying crack with each movement. You've got this. Finally, the fresh start you've been longing for. It's here now. Own it. Live in it. As I contemplate my inner thoughts, I am interrupted by the sound of distant voices filtering into the classroom, as students hurriedly take their seats and steal glances at me. The majority of them go up high, but a small number walk in the front row. I rise from my desk and position myself in front of it. Leaning back on my desk, I cross my arms and legs. I don't have to pretend or put on a false display. I am who I am; I'm relaxed and easygoing. Respect me and I'll respect you in return. I aim to create an environment where my students feel free to ask me questions without thinking I'm uptight. I carefully observe every student that enters my classroom. There are approximately thirty, so it's not a large number. I was informed that I might receive additional students as the term progresses, but to be honest, I'm out of practice and thirty is already more than sufficient. I quickly survey the students. Girls occupy the front row while the guys opt for seats in the back of the classroom.

"Good morning, all. Allow me to introduce myself as your new marketing management teacher, Mr. Stiles." I ensure my gaze flickers across as many students as I can. The wide-eyed, grinning faces in the front row slightly distract me, but I ignore it. Denny informed me that the female students would constantly seek my attention when I accepted this job. Being both the hockey coach and relatively young, he had to endure it for some time. I expected this, but I didn't think it would happen so soon.

"Hey, professor," a few girls in the front row say while fluttering their eyelashes. I maintain a tight-lipped smile while nervously rubbing the back of my neck.

"That's another thing. I would appreciate it if you could refrain from calling me professor." I extended my hands in front of me. "I admit, it's the norm, but it makes me feel old and I despise it," I chuckle, as a few students, both male and female, join in laughter.

"What do we call you then?" someone in the front row says.

"Mr. Stiles or Sir will be fine." I clap my hands together, eager to continue the class.

"I understand it's a typical icebreaker, but I'd like everyone to briefly share their name. Will I remember? It's unlikely, but I'll give it a shot, anyway." This leads to more laughter from the students. I direct attention toward the girl on the far left at the front as she introduces herself, along with the following individuals. I attempt to remember all the names, but I must confess, they all blend together. I noticed a guy ignoring his turn, too engrossed in his phone, when the last person finished.

"You with the beanie," I say. Several individuals in the front face backward, and the guy briefly lifts his gaze away from his phone, stares directly at me, then returns his attention to his device. There's always fucking one.

"Introduce yourself," I simply say. He completely ignores me, and the guy next to him, who I believe goes by Kal, nudges him. Beanie boy casts a sidelong glance at his friend and then shifts his focus toward me.

"Brayden," he murmurs, before diverting his attention back to his phone. I'm not going to call my students out on the first day, but I will be if he continues to act like this going forward. I make a mental note and proceed with the class. I distribute the Syllabus to the front row and tell everyone to come and grab a copy. A few individuals from the back walk forward to collect their paper, but I realize Brayden is not among them. He sits slouched in his chair, staring into space. Another student, who I believe was called Trayton, walks back to his seat on the other side of Brayden and smacks the syllabus playfully in Brayden's face. It's then I see a small smirk, but only for a moment before he's back to looking straight faced and moody. I can already tell that he's going to cause problems. Unfortunately for him, he will discover that I don't tolerate disrespect, especially from a student.

"OK, in marketing management, I will provide you with an all-round understanding of marketing, studying key areas including consumer behavior, marketing communications and global markets. You will study all aspects of Market research and gain a practical understanding of how marketing and advertising work in an organizational context." I pause. Happy with how I put that across. I try to maintain eye contact with different students. Some seem keenly interested; some appear as if they're ready to go to sleep. Marketing is known for being tedious to learn, but once you begin experimenting with it, you'll uncover a wealth of intriguing concepts. "To prevent putting you to sleep or overwhelming you, let's start with the basics and gradually explore more. What is the purpose of marketing and why is it necessary?" I continue by elaborating on everything while quickly going through the slides I created during my break. Surprisingly, the class concludes faster than I thought, and shortly after, students begin to leave the classroom.

"Hey, Brayden," I shout. He stops momentarily while walking down the steps, about to leave. Snapping his head up at me, his jaw tightens with a flicker of tension. "Can you hold back a minute?" I remark as I close the slide displayed on the screen.

His voice, dripping with sarcasm, floats through the room as he asks, "Why?" I raise my eyebrows in surprise as I glance up from my laptop.

I force the words out, "Because I asked," trying my best to suppress my temper. One aspect of being a teacher is requiring patience, which unfortunately I lack. His friend pats him on the back, lowers his head, and leaves the classroom. I move closer to him, but he barely acknowledges my presence. I clear my throat and his gaze gradually meets mine. My breath hitches and a burning sensation sears through my chest. Holding my stare, he watches as my eyes flickers between his. The eyes transform from crystal blue to thin slits. His eyes are just like- so blue, they are—No. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and regain myself. Fuck. "Don't really feel like talking, huh?" I assess him, opting to move nearer to him. At that moment, I observed that one of his eyes was surrounded by darkness. A black eye. He dropped himself into the chair near the front, casually kicking his leg. He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, seemingly indifferent to this class or me, and there's one thing I won't stand for: disrespect. The moment I'm about to tell him, the classroom door suddenly opens.

"How did my boy's first cla—" I swing my attention to the door; Denny saunters in, clearly thinking I'm on my own, but then sees Brayden.

"Apologies." He raises his hand, but instead of leaving, he approaches me.

"Brayden," He nods to him. I notice Brayden's change in expression, and he quickly adjusts his posture, his eyes widening as he tracks Denny standing by my side. I observe him gulp, and instantly, he resembles the ideal appearance of my students. Intriguing. With a scowl and crossed arms, Denny stands next to me, keeping a close eye on Brayden. It's interesting to see how Denny's role as a hockey coach brings out his intimidating side, despite his soft demeanor. It's evident that Brayden is a hockey player, and Denny strongly disapproves of his players not paying attention in class.

"Brayden, care to explain your presence here?" Denny snaps. I remain silent. I position myself to the side, patiently awaiting Brayden's words. Glancing at the desk, Brayden's hand instinctively goes to his neck. He doesn't make any effort to speak. I give Denny a firm pat on the shoulder with my hand.

"It's good. During class, he raised a question about the syllabus. I was breaking down the explanation of its meaning for him." As I observe Brayden, he appears slightly taken back, but still nods in agreement while turning his attention to Denny. To be honest, I'm not sure why I lied. Something in those eyes of his tells me he could use a break.

"Brayden, I hope everything was clear to you. My email is at the bottom of the Syllabus if you have any more questions before the next class." Which I'm pretty sure he crumpled up and chucked in his bag. The sight of his wide blue eyes stirs up a dull ache in my chest once again. I can no longer bear to make eye contact with him. I gesture toward the door, signaling him to leave, and redirect my attention to Denny.

"Don't be late to practice." Denny clicks his finger and points at Brayden.

Without even sparing a second glance, Brayden picks up his bag and exits the classroom after mumbling, "Yes, Coach."

"He's a little shit, that one, watch him, and if he gives you lip, tell me," Denny quips as soon as the classroom door closes. "He's the one player who could give me gray hair before my time."

I quickly glance at Denny's disheveled hair, with hints of gray, which seem to defy gravity in various directions. Possibly because of his habit of tugging on it while coaching. "Don't say a word," he grits before I say anything. I burst into laughter, raising my hands simultaneously on either side.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"How did it go today?"

"Uh—"

"Actually, what are you doing tonight? Fancy a couple of beers?" he interrupts before I have a chance to answer. The thought of going out after work doesn't really excite me, but a pub visit usually entails meeting women. Now, all I can think about is losing myself in someone for the night, which makes me immediately answer Denny.

"Sounds good. Give me a time and location, and I'll be there."

He snaps his fingers at me. "You got it, man. I'll catch up with you later. I've got to go get ready for practice," he says as he runs out of the classroom. I collapse onto my chair, lean back, taking off my glasses, and sigh deeply, soothing my tired eyes and tilting my head. The familiar feeling quickly sinks in as I find myself alone in an empty classroom once more.

Numbness.