Holy , how am I ever going to teach these guys?!  I should have prepared better!  Why oh why didn’t I prepare something last night?!  Mr. Park called and discussed it a little bit more but he never mentioned I would be teaching BTS.  HOW COULD HE LEAVE THAT OUT?!  Why would he tell me not to prepare anything!?  Am I hyperventilating?  This feels like hyperventilating.  How can I teach-

                  Mid nervous breakdown, the door to my classroom swung open.

                  And there stood RM in gray sweatpants, a white tee shirt, and a black beanie.

                  And there I stood with my mouth wide open.

                  I could feel myself swooning.  Kim. Nam. Joon.

                  “Hello,” he stated simply with a light smile, hand still on the doorknob.  “Are you our English teacher?”

                  “I…”  All that came out was air.  “I…teach English.”

                  Smooth Reagan, smooth.  I blinked slowly to keep from rolling my eyes and I swallowed hard.  Do not screw this up.  Do. Not. Screw. This. Up.

                  I counted to 10 and took another breath.  “Yes, I am your English teacher,” I said slowly as I strode past him into the classroom.

                  And it really was a class room.  Chairs with the attached desks were lined up in two rows of five in front of a long table.  Large rectangular windows practically filled the side wall and white board covered the wall behind the long table.  A cushioned desk chair sat empty behind the table and a single person podium was placed next to the table.  I quickly dropped my backpack on the chair and stood awkwardly next to the chair. 

                  Do I stand behind the podium?  Do I sit?  Do I lean against the table?  Phone.  Turn your phone on silent.  I jammed my hand into the front pocket of the backpack and silenced my cell phone.  Can’t have that thing going off in the middle of this class.

                  Namjoon had returned to his seat in the first row with Jungkook and Taehyung.  The remaining four sat in the second row.  Yoongi’s eyes were covered by the bill of a solid black baseball cap.  It matched his black gym pants.  The only break in all the black was his white hoodie.  Hood flipped up over his head.

                  I felt the corners of my mouth start to turn up into a smile.  He’s sleeping.  I subtly smoothed my hands down my stomach which was flip flopping and making me feel like I was going to barf.  Don’t do it.  Don’t you dare throw up.  Swallow if you have to.

                  I studied the seven members of my all time favorite band and tried to tell myself that I could do this without coming off as the crazy fangirl I really was.

                  They’re just guys.  They’re your age and they’re just guys.  Who sing and dance well.  And who are gorgeous and talented and all around wonderful humans.  Blinking quickly, I shook my head.  No more pep talk for you.

                  “Hi, guys, my name is Reagan Keeson,” I began, willing the butterflies to take a nap in my stomach so I didn’t feel so nervous and nauseous.  “I’m your new English teacher.”

                  “Reagan Teacher,” Jimin began in English with a slight frown.  “Reagan…”  He turned slightly to Jin sitting next to him.  “Isn’t that a president?” he asked in Korean.

                  I giggled.  “It is a president,” I answered him back in Korean.  “I have a sister named Kennedy and two brothers named Lincoln and Jackson.  We are all named after presidents.”

                  “Oooh, Reagan Teacher speaks Korean,” Hoseok gasped and grabbed Jin’s arm.  “Reagan Teach…hm…”  He turned to his other side to grab Yoongi’s arm, but all but deflated when he realized the older member was in fact still sleeping.

                  “I do speak Korean, but we need to speak English in class, ok?” I stated.

                  A few of them grumbled a little.

                  “Let’s chat a little first, ok?  So I can see where you’re at.”  I stepped forward and smiled at little Jungkook.  Well, he’s not little.  In fact, he’s probably a foot taller than me, but he’s the baby of the group and just so cute.  Well, he was cute.  Five years did wonders from turning that goofy looking little teenager into the manly man sitting in front of me.

                  Look somewhere else.

                  I wasn’t having much luck.  I had to avoid eye contact with Jimin.  I was holding myself together pretty well but locking eyes this close with my bias.

                  I didn’t want to jump over the desk and knock him to the floor.

                  I walked over to where Yoongi was still napping.  They’re just guys and you want to keep this job, so just get your together and treat them like the regular guys they are.

                  With a new view on life and keeping this job at any and all costs, I stood in front of where Yoongi was sitting.  Still out cold.

                  I lifted the empty desk chair combo next to him and placed it sideways in front of him so that my desk was out of the way.  I could feel the others watching me curiously.  Silently, I placed my elbows on Yoongi’s desk and rested my chin on my hands.  And waited.

                  And waited.  And waited a bit more.  It felt like forever, but realistically, it wasn’t even 3 or 4 minutes.

                  He stirred.  Smacking his lips together, he sighed lightly and let his crossed arms slide off his chest to his sides.  Bill of his hat still covering his face, he adjusted himself so that he wasn’t sinking so low in his chair and sat up more.  Swiftly, he pushed his hat up a bit, and groaned deep in his throat.  He blinked sleepily at me as I sat there grinning wide at him.  I watched as realization washed over his face and he gasped ever so lightly and sat up perfectly straight.  He shot a glare to the other members.

                  “Hi there pumpkin,” I greeted him, elbows still on his desk.

                  Confused at the English, he blinked at me.

                  “I’m your English teacher.”

                  He cleared his throat.  “Hello, Teacher.  I…uh…”  His English was accented and his voice was raspy.  God I would love to see what he was writing.  That is totally why he’s so sleepy.  I can just imagine him up all night working on a new song.  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second.  You were doing so well, Raegan.