The Beginning of Trouble

Zoey Jane Devon wasn’t what you’d call a model student. In fact, she was the kind of girl you’d find sleeping in the back of the classroom, phone in hand, pretending to take notes when the professor wasn’t looking. A college freshman at 18, Zoey had a reputation that preceded her mischievous, lazy, and always a little bit on the edge. She had perfected the art of skimming by, of never really doing anything that was required of her unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, she’d leave it to the last minute, always adding her own flair of chaos to the process.

Today, however, Zoey had a feeling that something was going to change. And, of course, she’d been right but not in the way she expected.

The moment she walked into the lecture hall, her eyes were instantly drawn to the front of the room. Ms. Agatha Monroe, or “Aga” as her friends called her, was already standing at the blackboard, writing equations with confident, practiced strokes. Zoey couldn't help but notice how elegant she looked. Even with her dark-rimmed glasses perched delicately on her nose, and her long, straight hair pulled back into a neat bun, Ms. Monroe radiated an aura of control, of intellect, of authority things Zoey was rarely interested in.

Zoey let out an exaggerated groan as she made her way to the back row, throwing her backpack onto the seat and settling in, half-heartedly pretending to get comfortable. This class, like all the others, was just another one to pass the time, to kill the hours before she could head to her dorm, check her social media, and fall asleep.

But as Ms. Monroe began her lecture, Zoey felt an unexpected tug in her chest. She hadn’t anticipated how captivating her teacher's voice would be, calm but with an underlying strength that seemed to command attention. It wasn’t just the voice. There was a stillness in the way Ms. Monroe carried herself, an assuredness that made Zoey feel like a misfit in the middle of a storm of discipline and grace.

“Zoey,” came a voice from the front of the room, cutting through her thoughts like a knife.

Zoey blinked, quickly realizing her name had been called. She snapped her gaze to Ms. Monroe, who stood at the front, waiting for her response. The entire class was staring at her now.

“Would you like to share your thoughts on the topic of today’s discussion, or would you prefer to continue your… nap?” Ms. Monroe’s words were laced with sarcasm, but it was delivered so smoothly, it almost felt like a compliment.

Zoey sat up, heart pounding, realizing she had been caught zoning out. The class waited expectantly, and a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of Zoey’s lips.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Zoey said with exaggerated confidence. “I think, um, the formula is totally wrong because, you know, math is just a series of numbers trying to confuse us. And clearly, whoever wrote this equation just didn’t understand that we’ve got better things to do than calculate infinity.”

The class burst into a few nervous chuckles, but Ms. Monroe didn’t crack a smile. Her gaze was sharp, piercing through Zoey as if seeing right through her lazy antics.

“I think,” Ms. Monroe began, her voice now cool and measured, “that you’ll find this equation quite useful if you plan on ever graduating from this university, Zoey. And I’d suggest you pay attention, because life doesn’t care about how bored you are.”

Zoey felt a strange heat rise to her cheeks. It wasn’t just embarrassment. There was something else, something like… challenge? Maybe even a little thrill. She had expected Ms. Monroe to be the typical teacher—dull, easy to mock, predictable—but this woman was something else entirely. She was sharp. Unyielding. Strong.

Zoey’s brain fought the feeling, but it kept creeping back in: the sudden fascination with Ms. Monroe, the way she carried herself. How could someone so serious and focused make Zoey feel like she was nothing more than a puzzle to solve?

“Are you going to be part of this class, Zoey?” Ms. Monroe’s voice cut through her thoughts once again.

“Uh… yeah, sure, I’ll try harder,” Zoey muttered, not quite meeting her gaze.

Ms. Monroe didn’t respond immediately, but there was a slight shift in her posture, like she was making some kind of silent judgment. Zoey couldn’t tell if it was approval or disapproval, but it definitely made her feel something she hadn’t expected. The usual ease of laziness that defined Zoey felt… out of place.

As the lecture continued, Zoey’s mind wandered, but it no longer felt like just another boring hour to waste. There was a shift happening within her, a tug of curiosity, even a sense of wanting to impress her teacher, which was new, and frankly, terrifying.

After class, Zoey gathered her things slowly, stalling, not quite ready to leave. Ms. Monroe was at her desk, scanning papers with such intense focus that it was almost like she was in her own world. Zoey debated making her exit as usual quick and unnoticed but then she hesitated. There was something she had to say. Or maybe, there was something she wanted to find out.

Before she could stop herself, Zoey stood up and approached the desk. Ms. Monroe looked up, surprised, but there was no hint of amusement in her expression.

“Ms. Monroe?” Zoey said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yes, Zoey?” Ms. Monroe replied, still holding her gaze.

“I, uh… I don’t really get what we went over today. I mean, I get it, but I’m just... not getting it, y’know?” Zoey half-said, half-asked. She couldn’t believe she was admitting this, but there was something about Ms. Monroe that made Zoey want to be real for a moment, for once.

Ms. Monroe regarded her silently for a moment, her eyes sharp and calculating, and then, to Zoey’s surprise, she pushed back from her desk and stood.

“Come by my office after hours. I’ll help you catch up.”

Zoey’s heart skipped a beat, her mind swirling. It wasn’t just the promise of help. It was the fact that Ms. Monroe had offered to spend time with her, outside of class.

“Okay. Thanks,” Zoey said, voice a little more breathless than she intended.

Ms. Monroe gave her a small nod, then returned to her papers, her attention fully back on the task at hand.

Zoey left the classroom feeling strange, like she was walking on a tightrope. What had just happened? And why did it feel like the beginning of something she hadn’t planned on?

One thing was for sure: Zoey’s college life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

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