On my way home, I’m already mentally mapping out the plan for my first class. I need to do something special, something that will grab the students’ attention right away and showcase my professionalism.
Stepping into my tiny apartment, I kick off my shoes and settle at my desk. My laptop hums to life, and I start flipping through the materials Gary Michaels gave me. The presentations are decent, but way too dry and academic. I need to add more visuals, maybe even some animations...
Time slips by unnoticed. It’s already dark outside, and I’m still deep in work. Suddenly, my phone pings with a message. It’s Mom:
"How did your first day go? Have you met your students yet?"
I smile and type back:
"First class is tomorrow. Prepping now. Everything’s gonna be fine!"
Though deep down, my knees are shaking at the mere thought of tomorrow.
***
The next morning, I wake up before my alarm. My heart’s pounding like a wild bird trapped in a cage. No amount of tachycardia meds could help with this. I carefully pick out my outfit—a formal suit to give me an air of authority. After all, I’m a teacher now.
I arrive at the university an hour before class starts. I want to double-check my presentation and set up the projector. In the hallway, I run into Gary.
Gary Michaels…
The guy looks ridiculously young—I’d peg him at no more than twenty-five. There’s not a single gray hair in his curly locks, and his face doesn’t have a wrinkle in sight. He looks more like a senior student than a curriculum coordinator. Calling him “Gary Michaels” almost feels comical, like someone’s trying to add gravitas to a freshman. Still, he’s genuinely kind and approachable—you can sense it right away.
Maybe that’s why they hired him for this role: he’s great at connecting with young people.
“Whoa, you’re here already!” he says with a grin. “Nervous?”
“A little,” I admit.
“Nah, don’t sweat it. You’ve got this. Third-years aren’t high school kids anymore. And by the way, I checked your classroom—all the tech is working fine.”
I thank him with a nod and head toward the lecture hall.
Man, what a laid-back guy... He wasn’t this casual around Dr. Peterson.
On my way to the classroom, I start feeling so hot that I decide to take off my blazer. I stop to wrestle with the sleeves when suddenly...
BAM!
Someone barrels into me at full speed, nearly knocking me over, like they’re sprinting for the last train out of here.
In an instant, something hot spills all over me. Turns out, the stranger was holding a paper cup of coffee, which is now completely soaking my perfectly ironed white blouse, leaving huge dark stains. I freeze in place, struck dumb, unable to believe this disaster is happening to me—on such an important day, no less.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” I hear a gruff male voice snap instead of an apology.
I look up and see a tall brunette. The stubble on his face and his sharp, piercing gaze give him a cocky edge. He reeks of cinnamon coffee—the same stuff that’s now decorating my blouse.
Wait, isn’t this…
“Excuse me?!” My voice trembles with indignation. “You’re the one who crashed into me!”
“Yeah, right. You’re standing in the middle of the hallway like a deer in headlights,” he rolls his eyes. “Now I’m out of coffee because of you. And I’m late.”
I feel my face flush with anger. Not only did this jerk ruin my blouse, but he’s blaming me? On my first day of work?
“Listen here, young man…” I start, trying to hold onto the last shred of my composure.
“Whatever, get lost,” he mutters, shoving past me and deliberately bumping my shoulder.
I stand there, feeling the hot coffee seep through the fabric. My first class is in forty-five minutes, and I look like I just stumbled out of a coffee shop—not as a customer, but as a failed barista.
I rush to the nearest bathroom, frantically trying to salvage my blouse with paper towels. My hands shake from nerves and outrage as I turn on the cold water. Maybe that’ll help...
It doesn’t. Coffee stains on white are a total disaster. I stare at my reflection in the mirror in despair: wide, panicked eyes, trembling hands.
Two girls walk into the bathroom, whispering to each other and throwing sideways glances at me. One of them pulls out her phone—probably about to post something in the university group chat about the “weird teacher washing her blouse in the bathroom.”
Ten minutes until class starts. I dig through my bag in a panic—maybe I’ve got a scarf, a shawl, anything! But of course, there’s nothing.
Who would’ve thought I’d need a change of clothes on my first day?
Another student walks in, stops, and stares at me with wide eyes. “Sorry…” she mumbles before quickly turning and leaving, as if she’s just seen a ghost.
Tears prick at my eyes. How am I supposed to walk into a classroom looking like this? What will the students think? You only get one chance to make a first impression, and I can already see my authority crumbling before I’ve even earned it.
And that jerk! He didn’t even apologize! Just crashed into me, spilled his coffee, snapped at me, and walked off, leaving me to deal with the mess. The memory of his smug look and rude words makes my cheeks burn with anger.
Oh God, please, not this...
Five minutes until class. I try to pull myself together. I wipe down the blouse with paper towels, but that only makes it worse—now, on top of the coffee stains, there are bits of white paper stuck to the wet fabric.
Time is slipping away. I check my phone—two minutes until class starts. I’ll have to go as is.
I take a deep breath, exhale, and fix my hair, trying to put on a confident expression. I slip my blazer back on and button it up all the way.
Well… at least I’ll never forget my first class.
I grab my bag and folder of documents and step out of the bathroom. The hallway is nearly empty—everyone’s already in their classrooms. My footsteps echo in the quiet space, and my heart is pounding so loud I swear it can be heard across the entire floor.
Here’s my classroom. I can hear the murmur of voices behind the door. I pause for a moment, gathering my thoughts.
Just don’t show that anything’s wrong. Walk in confidently, start the class like nothing happened...