<<The easy bores, the difficult attracts, the impossible obsesses.>>

The weeks are not passing quickly, more! Three years have already passed since the fateful Italian exam, in the end I got a 9+ and I am the happiest person on the planet, literally. Comparing myself with my classmates, I discovered that I was the one who got the highest grade of all, which filled me with joy and made me so proud of myself. My mother, as a sort of reward for the effort I am putting into my studies, bought me a book that I had wanted for a long time and a new pen with a little pink flower on it, which I lent to Signorelli at her request. Needless to say, it has become a sacred relic, as well as being my favorite pen. The famous theme was about family: what it means to us and the positive and negative aspects of it. I had the opportunity to vent about my father, because, in the end, I chose to open up - even just through written words - to Signorelli. You left a sentence next to the vote, which left me shocked. The sentence is: "if you need it, I'm there for you. You can talk to me about anything, you know." I never spoke to her about it again, but not because I didn't want to, but rather because it still hurts to think about the open wound of my past, and then because I have a sort of block with her: if I talk to her for more than five minutes about something outside of what he teaches me, I stop and turn all red. I tried in every way to control myself, but nothing: it's the effect this woman has on me. Overall everything is going well between us, today is Thursday and I will have an hour with her; the time has been changed a bit. In fact I see her for an hour on Monday, an hour on Thursday, and two hours on Saturday.

After a very boring hour of religion, I ask to go to the bathroom and, when I return to class, I find Signorelli sitting at the chair. I stay staring at her like a fool from the jamb from the door, for what reason?

First point: because her beauty paralyzes me, second point: because she cut her hair! But she has not only made a small change, but she has cut her hair above her shoulders, and she is of a disarming beauty. Incredibly, even more than before, it leaves me breathless. There's still a low buzz in class, which means he hasn't started class yet...

Did she wait for me to start...? I have to compliment her for this new cut, but it would make me feel uncomfortable to be felt by others, so I approach her. Unintelligent choice, since its perfume stuns me for the umpteenth time. She is aware of the effect she has on me, and this makes her even more attractive in my eyes.

The only thing I can whisper to her is:

<<teacher, um... Good morning, he's... he's really fine with this cut. >>

She scans me from head to toe, dwelling with her gaze on the strip of skin that is left uncovered by the crop t-shirt I'm wearing. The same part of my body is filled with chills, as if his eyes had the power to touch me.

He nods his head and gives me one of those smiles that could give me in less than two seconds. I feel the chills rising down my body. My companions shut up in a short time - I hate them when they do this at the wrong time - and she thanks me without modesty: she accepts the compliment, but without showing pride.

I sit with trembling legs and that very strong scent of his that clouds my mind.

While she explains I take a lot of notes and she seems to be very interested in what I write. In fact, at a certain point, he gets up and leans on the chair right in front of me: an action that automatically makes me paralyze on the spot. He moves a lock of hair behind his ear and continues to explain, but I stop writing and get lost in his eyes, which scrutinize the class and then stare at his mine when my gaze becomes more insistent. I see her look down at my notebook and, instinctively, I remove an arm from above the paper and let her look at what she wants, even something else, if needed...

The hour ends too soon, she assigns the homework and asks me to write them on the blackboard as in every lesson: now I am officially her assistant. He greets us, or rather, he greets me, and leaves behind a trail of perfume. But I'll take a sneaky picture of her before she leaves, I need to capture her beauty with a shot...

I'm sending a message to Elena, a friend of mine, to tell her that today there will be school-family meetings and that I'm dying of anxiety. It's not really like I have a reason to be: I've never done anything wrong at school, but the opinion of the teachers is what interests me most in my life.

I am more specifically interested in your opinion: that of Signorelli. She has already complimented me on the way I expose, but what if she should also say something negative...? I know my mom would be proud of me in any case, but me?

Would I be proud of myself?

I would say no, I demand the maximum from me.

Elena answers me after ten minutes with: "will your mother also talk to Signorelli?"

I love it!

I say yes and she tries to calm me down in any way; in the end I let myself be convinced that everything will be fine and I continue my school day.

I'm talking to Miriam about the tests we'll have soon and I give her a hug, simply because I need it. She is the most affectionate of my friends along with Eda and they are just the kind of friends I need. At least they can fill my lack of affection and make me happy.

I invite her, Eda, Miranda, Paola and Alice to my house to do a physical education powerpoint and to spend the afternoon together. By now we have already gone out about five times and I get along very well with all of them, I was lucky to have them in class; they encourage me to give my best as a class representative and accept my attraction towards Signorelli. They make me laugh and feel good, I couldn't wish for anything better. Miranda also confessed to me that she likes Josef, and I'm rooting for them; he's very kind and quite intelligent, Miranda is beautiful and has a good heart, so I'd see them super good together. Gabriele and I are great friends, and he is also an excellent class representative. He stopped looking for something more than friendship with me since I made him understand that it would be useless. I don't watch anyone other than Dafne Signorelli.

The morning goes by very quickly and I go home by train listening to music and thinking about my le...

The meetings will take place from 16 to 18 and my mother will talk to Ferrante, as well as my best friend now; with Di Laudo, or the English teacher I already know who will say many beautiful things; with Calamagno, who teaches me math, and with Signorelli...

Mom and I have lunch and she asks me a lot of questions about what she will have to say to the teachers, about how she will have to behave, about the nuance of confidence to maintain...

I see her very anxious: I think I was the one who transmitted it to her. I hardly touch food, my stomach is upside down.

In the early afternoon I can't even think of taking a nap: I feel too charged and too anxious. I wait patiently for time to pass, until it's 15 fifty.

Mom and I settle in my room, I put the phone on the desk and a few minutes later the call is started with Ferrante, who greets my mother with a big smile.

The teacher immediately shows how sunny it is and breaks the ice. She gives one compliment after another to my mother: she says that I am a very sweet girl, different from my peers, that, despite what I have been through, I spray happiness from every pore and that I am so strong; she says that I have a big heart and that I am destined for a bright future.

This is where I realize how much I've become fond of this teacher and how lucky I am to have her, too bad we only spend two hours a week together.

After the call, mom hugs me and tells me:

<<what a treasure this science teacher is, never seen such a sunny teacher. She's beautiful by the way! I see he knows you very well eh. >>

I can't do anything but confirm and I burst into tears with joy because I stop to reflect on one thing, or rather, on a person: my father. I talked about the bad relationship I have with him only with the science teacher, while at Signorelli I wrote the whole story on the subject we did some time ago.

I didn't tell Ferrante everything, because as I said before, the wound is still open. But she always worried about me, and in the end I gave in and mentioned something to her. She saw me cry and made me smile again, she consoled me and she was always close to me, hearing my thousand paranoia. I'm sure that, if we were the same age, she would have been my best friend.

My mother then talks to the English and math teachers; the first gives a lot of compliments to my mother, especially on my conduct and on my English, which she finds an advanced level compared to that of the others. This last statement makes me feel proud of myself: obviously watching series in English helps. The math teacher, on the other hand, says that although I'm very good in theory, I need to train more in practice. He's absolutely right and I expected him to say that to my mother and it's fine with me: math is the only subject in which I allow myself to have some uncertainty.

My mother cordially greets Calamagno and this is where the anxiety of both of them soars... The long-awaited moment is about to arrive.

In the last two months I have clogged my mother's head with this professor Dafne Signorelli, so much so that now I can't wait to see her and talk to her.

We have a 20-minute break in which I decide to stay a little on ig hoping to distract myself, but with few attempts because I start to sweat cold and tremble with anxiety.

Once the fateful moment has arrived, I call my mother, who runs into my room, and start the call...