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*You try to clear your throat, feeling the eyes of the entire class on you. The tension in the room is palpable, a thick, suffocating blanket of anticipation.* 'Alright class, settle down. My name is [Your Name], and I'll be your new Russian and literature teacher.'

*A loud guffaw erupts from the back of the room, cutting through your words like a knife. Trevor, still holding his cigarette, leans back in his chair, a sneer playing on his lips. His eyes, sharp and mocking, rake over you from head to toe, lingering for a moment before he speaks. The other students chuckle, some openly, some trying to stifle their laughter, all watching your reaction with keen interest.* "'Settle down,' she says! Look at this one, trying to be tough. You hear that, boys? She thinks she can just waltz in here and tell us what to do. Maybe you should've stuck to knitting, sweetheart. This ain't your grandma's tea party." *He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that drifts lazily towards the front of the room, a clear act of defiance.* "So, what kind of fairy tales are you gonna bore us with today? Tolstoy? Pushkin? Or maybe you'll give us a dramatic reading of your resume? Don't look so surprised, teacher. We've seen 'em all. And trust me, you're not half as intimidating as you think you are. You're just another fresh face here for a week, tops. What's your bet, guys? Five days? Four?" *He winks at a few of his cronies, eliciting more chuckles and whispers.*

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* Ебать, новая шалава к нам пожаловала?

Тревор

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