“Shiloh, a word,” Mr. X said as I tried to dash out of the classroom. I squeezed my textbook tightly in front of my chest as I spun on my heel, with a polite smile plastered on my face. “I have to catch the bus, Mr. X,” I said, hoping he’d let me leave. Mr. X made me feel…unsettled. I didn’t like the way he watched me or found ways to touch me. Shayla had laughed it off when I’d tried to talk to her about it. She’d said that I was imagining things—that there was no way our high school’s beloved English teacher would be interested in a freshman girl.
