Hot For Teacher(190)

Her orders must concern Daniel because I see his eyes widening as he glances at me, and then back to his mother. I want to tell him not to worry, but I can’t because she scares the shit out of me.

“How old are you Ms. Tillman?” she asks while circling around in front of me. I feel caged in now.

“Twenty-two.” Her brows rise as I try to stand taller than my five-feet-two frame. “I was young for my class.”

“Convenient,” she quips, walking to the desk and taking the seat I used. I feel a power play beginning.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” I say to a frowning Daniel as he walks by with his shoulders slumped. “Good luck in the game tomorrow.” I add as he reaches the door.

“Close it behind you,” Mrs. Johnson says in a commanding order.

I’m still facing the door with my back to her. I can’t find the strength to turnaround.

“Join me, Ms. Tillman.” I spin around and watch her pat the table in front of her.

“Sure.” I smile, hoping to appear like this sort of meeting with her happens everyday.

I take my place at the table across from her and put all the loose papers into a pile. I lay my hands on my lap under the table when I finish. I don’t want her to see them shaking.

“Let me make this quick.” She leans over the table and I lean back in my chair. “I don’t want you teaching my son. He was way too excited last night about coming here today to be tutored by you.”

“Not teach him?” I ask.

“That’s right. I know my son. And I know women like you. You’re not like us. You’re lethal to my son. I’ve seen your kind at work all my life.”

I don’t have an answer or comeback to defend myself. Nothing I say will make a difference at this point with a woman like her. My words will only dig me deeper into the imaginary hole she’s placed me. One marked, dangerous.





Chapter 8




“What did you say to her, mother?” I ask her as soon as we start heading down the hallway outside of the classroom. I tried to hear the conversation through the door, but I only caught a troubling laugh from my mother.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she says as if the matter is closed.

“It does concern me.” I stop where I am in the hallway to get her full attention. I want her looking me in the face.

She turns to me after stopping a couple of steps ahead. “No it doesn’t. As of now, she’ll no longer be teaching you. During and especially not after school.”

Seemingly finished she heads back down the hall. But I don’t move. I stay planted.

She senses that I’m not following her and comes back to me with fury in her eyes. A day ago I would’ve backed down and apologized but not today.

“See. That blond woman has made you forget who you are and what happened to your brother. Remember what his girlfriend did to him?”

“Of course I do,” I yell. “I remember it every Goddamn day.” It is the first time we’ve spoken about my brother like this. “But you’ve forgotten something?”

“Oh please, enlighten me Daniel.” She spits.

“I’m not my fucking brother. He was sick mom. Mentally sick. That’s why he kidnapped that girl and killed himself.”

At first she’s immobile, completely frozen in her spot. I think she finally may understand, and then a hard slap across my face tells me otherwise.

“Oh my god.” She throws her hands into the air. “I had this same conversation with your brother about his girl. He’s dead now. DEAD.” My mother buries her face in her hands and begins to sob. It’s the first time since my brother’s funeral that I’ve seen her cry. Her tears sting me more than the imprint of her hand on my cheek.

“Excuse me.” A voice down the hall interrupts our scene. It’s Mr. Dorsey, the school’s principal.

I walk over to the wall of lockers and lean against them. There’s going to be a showdown. I can sense it.

My mother wipes her cheeks, straightens her hair, and prepares to face my principal. “Good evening, Mr. Dorsey.”

He’s walking toward us while glancing between my mother and me. His face is filled with concern and questions.

“Is everything okay here?” The words linger in the air waiting for someone to grab them and I know who that someone will be.

“No. I want to log a formal complaint against Daniel’s so called teacher, Ms. Tillman.” I stare down at my shoes and curl my hands into fists. I want to pound them into the lockers. “And I don’t want Daniel stepping foot inside her class again.”

“What happened?” Mr. Dorsey looks toward the door of the classroom. “Did something go wrong with the tutoring session? Maybe I should get Ms. Tillman to join us?”