Mr. Gallagher escorted his date down a long brick road, flanked with bright lamp posts and old, towering trees adorned with christmas lights. Snowflakes drifted lazily, tickling his nose, cheeks, and lacing his eyelashes. The colors from the lights on the trees and the lamp posts reflected off the ground, throwing the road into a myriad of colors. A cool winter breeze stirred the trees and snow drifts, snatching up the folds of the girl’s skirt flirtatiously.
He thought she was beautiful, more so than the Christmas scenery around them. Blue eyes-more vibrant than the clearest ocean, her skin whiter than the snow and creamier than milk. Ruby lips, plump and inviting as she laughed, puckering when she talked. Black hair, falling in voluptuous curls at her waist. Red dress, slinking along her body, she wore it like water.
As the night drew on and on, he found that he only wanted more and more time from her. However, he had her home at eleven as promised. She would go upstairs and slip into a comfortable cotton nightgown, he was sure of it, and she would sink beneath sheets of silk, he just knew it, and she would fall asleep instantly. Meanwhile he would return to his apartment, he would not change, and he would not fall into a bed of silk-he would sit in his chair, looking out over the street he’d spent so much time at earlier that night. He would imagine her dress flowing around her legs as she danced and walked, he would imagine her eyes sparkling as she laughed, he would imagine kissing her mouth he’d tried not to look at so much. He would imagine the secrets they would share.

Harrison School stood tall and lonely on the other side of the city. It was wrapped in a gigantic courtyard filled with shrubs and stone walkways for its students. Mr. Gallagher didn’t mind the commute or early work hours because of how beautiful the building was.
He took attendance in his first period theatre class, droning out names as if he’d been programmed to do so.
“Todd Bell?”
“Present.”
“Anna Smith?”
A beat.
“Anna Smith?”
“Oh, present!”
“Emily Tate?” His eyes fell on the girl in the front seat.
Her hair, black and braided, draped loosely around the side of her neck, her blue eyes twinkled as she smiled up at him. “Present, Mr. Gallagher,” she murmured as she traced her ruby lips with the end of her pencil.