CHAPTER 2 THE QUESTIONNAIRE

“I assume you, as a new teacher, might have some questions for me?” he says, and all the girls raise their hands, prompting him to smile.

“How old are you?” Marlene asks.

“25,” he replies, and most of the class sighs—not out of excitement, but something else.

“Are you married?” they continue.

“I’m single,” he shrugs.

“Do you have kids?”

“No, but one day, perhaps,” he responds.

“Are you gay?” a boy questions, leading to laughter all around, including Mr. Gray. “No,” he chuckles, “I like girls,” he adds with a grin. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“It’s now my turn to get to know all of you,” he says, directing his attention to the first girl in the row opposite mine.

As everyone starts introducing themselves, I know I’ll be last in line. “Robert Wilson, 17, I was born here in London and I enjoy basketball,” says the guy behind me, then sits down. I exhale and rise.

“I’m Nina Moore, 17, I like singing and dancing,” I say, shrugging as I take my seat again.

Mr. Gray watches me a moment longer before nodding. The bell rings, and everyone begins gathering their things. “Have a great evening,” Mr. Gray calls out as he leaves.

I collect my belongings and head to the teachers' lounge, then settle in the waiting room until the receptionist calls out to me.

“Mr. Winston again?” I say with a laugh, and Louisa chuckles with me.

“Mr. Gray is waiting for you in his office,” he informs me, and I thank him.

I find the door with his name and knock three times. When it opens, Mr. Gray greets me with a smile. “Miss Moore, come in,” he invites, and I happily enter, sitting in a chair in front of his desk.

I watch as he locks the door, frowning slightly. “Why are you here?” he asks, and I let out a sigh.

“I laughed in class, and the teacher thought I was laughing at him,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact, and he chuckles softly. “And what was so funny?” he prompts me.

“A girl was drooling at the sight of her ass, and I found that amusing,” I murmur, and he nods slightly. “So, what will my assignment be for the next five weeks?” I question, and he makes a face.

“Oh no, Miss Moore,” he says quietly. “I’ve already spoken to the principal about how I approach things.”

“What I aim for in this session is to... improve your behavior, and I won’t do that through schoolwork. So think of this as a chance for us to get to know each other better,” he whispers, leaving me confused. I don’t really get it.

“I’d like to learn more about you so I can assist you appropriately. I want to know what you like and dislike, your daily routines, and so on,” he explains. I nod, and he pulls out a set of papers and hands them to me. “Please fill this out, and you can leave afterward,” he adds with a smile, which I reciprocate.

I start reading.

Full name: Nina Moore

Age: 17.

Date of birth: 07/22.

I sigh. “Is it okay if I put my feet up on the couch?”

“Not at all, please make yourself comfortable,” he invites, and I quietly thank him.

I sit sideways and rest my legs on the couch, biting my lip as I continue with the questions. They are pretty basic.

My address, my parents’ contact numbers, etc. Once I finish the first page, I turn it over and read. This next section is more personal, asking about my dreams, travels, and thoughts—ordinary questions.

Then I flip to the third page.

This entire page focuses on my relationships… “Excuse me,” I interrupt Mr. Gray, and he looks at me. “What do you mean by the types of relationships I prefer?” I ask, tilting my head, and he licks his lips.

“I mean romantic, sexual, or even just casual,” he clarifies. “Okay, I understand,” I laugh, and he nods. I sigh, realizing that my experiences have only been in love. “What if I’m uncertain?” I inquire, and he smiles.

“Just select that option,” he suggests, still smiling. I shrug and examine the choices: I’m not sure. I roll my eyes and chuckle to myself.

Scanning the next question: What is your sexual preference? Heterosexual.

What is your age preference? “Excuse me,” I whisper, looking back at Mr. Gray. “What do you mean by my age preference?”

“Which age group do you want your partner to be?” he explains, and I nod. So, I reply: my age or a few years older.

I keep answering questions until I reach the final ones: How often do you engage in sexual activity? My cheeks flush. Selecting the first option: I have never had sexual relations.

“No one will see this, right?” I ask anxiously, and he shakes his head.

“This was a test I used to give my students at the last school I taught,” he replies, and I nod.

“Why didn’t you give it to us when you first came to class?” I question, and he grins.

“I’ll actually distribute it in the next class,” he reassures me, tilting my head again with curiosity. “So why did you let me have it today?” I ask.

“Because I need to understand you more than the others,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you every day for a month.”

“Right, and the others only twice a week,” I acknowledge, glancing down. “So you could label yourself a pseudo-masochist,” I think, and these questions feel strange. I pull out my phone to look up pseudo-masochist, swallowing hard at the definition. But I realize I have a question.

In terms of sexual experiences, I don’t have any answers, as I’ve never experienced anything like that. Looking at the options, I hesitate for a moment before writing: I don’t know, I’ve never experienced that. I shrug and keep going.

Have I ever committed incest? No.

I ponder what Mr. Gray might do with this information. What could he conclude?

Nymphomania?

Maybe. I continue reading: How frequently do you masturbate? Oh my God, my cheeks are burning. I dislike discussing sex; I know it’s natural, but it feels taboo for me. I’ve never masturbated.

So I respond to the last question: Have I had sex with or been in a relationship with someone over eight years older than me? Never.

“I’m finished,” I say with relief. He smiles back at me. “See you tomorrow, Miss Moore,” he says. I gather my things and practically dash out. That was a strange questionnaire but, I must admit, it left me with many questions.