Read Creepy Teacher: A Psychological Thriller for Free Online Page B

forward again with a grin. Not the BJ queen of the cheerleading squad .
    Mr. Renly was being especially strange today, moving on the balls of his feet at the chalkboard, jouncing side to side as if he needed to crap his pants, and saying something about mating Beluga whales in reference to advanced quadratic functions.
    He was trying to be funny, Bailey decided, although it wasn’t working.
    Everyone just stared at his posterior creepy side with screwed up faces, trying to follow along, or ignored him completely.
    The X and Y were apparently male and female Beluga whales, respectively, C squared was Captain Hook’s Pale Beluga Whale Ale, and Z was the number of Beluga babies that popped out nine months later.
    Idiotic!
    Last night, Bailey had told Eric about Mr. Renly’s creepy comments—about her blessings and about her being more than just a lilac scented body —and Eric had suggested she report it to principal Jenkins. No, probably not, Bailey had answered. She didn’t want or need that kind of extra attention, which would probably only start rumors and teasing, such as being called “Renly’s Blessed Lilac Child” or something similarly stupid and embarrassing.
    Besides, she was already back to wearing her plain, over-sized t-shirts anyway.
    *     *     *
    In English class, students got to use “technology” if and when—and only if and when—reading a digital copy of the book being taught. At present, said book was Great Expectations , by Charles Dickens. Almost every student’s preferred reading device was their smart phone. And almost every student had their smart phone ready for action on their desk.
    Go figure.
    Switch to silent.
    Texting engaged.
    Bailey Howard rarely screwed around during class, although today her mind buzzed with more interesting topics than the poor orphaned lad, Pip, who dared to dream of someday becoming a gentleman. Plus, her phone kept lighting up with messages from Jany Fry.
    “What did he talk about?” the first one read.
    “Who?” she answered.
    “Never mind, I’ll just text him.”
    “Please don’t.”
    “Then tell.”
    “He talked about me,” Bailey replied.
    During the second half of today’s English class, students diligently typed Charles Dickens-related search queries into their smart phones—yeah, right!—and gathered internet research on the man—yeah, right!—for a paper due next week, meaning next Friday. In reality, most students would begin to think about the paper next Thursday night.
    “What did he say about you?” Jany asked.
    “Ask me later.”
    “No. Tell now.”
    “He likes my smarts.”
    “Liar.”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “Smarts?”
    “My word, not his.”
    “What else?”
    “I’m brave.”
    “Laughing my ass off now…”
    Bailey turned to Jany, sitting in the desk beside her. While Jany mimed a laughing fool, Bailey made a face.
    Jany dove into her phone again, tapping furiously, and touched send. Her text came one second later.
    “His party?”
    “Going with him.”
    “Shopping tonight?”
    “Yes, please.”
    *     *     *
    Bailey used her lunch break to call her mom at work. Her mom was the daytime assistant manager at Office Megastore, and she got her lunch break at eleven forty-five.
    “Mom, a guy named Eric Cady invited me to a party at his parent’s barn tomorrow night. It’s a barn on Hwy 8, right out in the open for the entire world to see. Both of his parents are doctors, and Eric will not be providing alcohol. Can I go? I need to tell him yes by study hall.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I want to.”
    “Why?”
    “Mom…”
    “Call your dad.”
    “Mom…”
    “Will his parent’s be there?”
    “Who throws a party with their parents?”
    “Call your dad,” her mother said again.
    Her parents always did that, passed the decision back and forth to each other. It was so annoying, especially because the only vote that mattered in the end was her mom’s. Her dad’s standard answer