“While I appreciate the advice, I have no intensions of inviting, nor encouraging any behavior among my students.” I take a sip of my water from the typical brown diner glass, wiping the condensation off and rubbing my fingers together to dry them off. I wonder how smooth and slippery Edith’s skin would be when wet. It is a thought I shouldn’t be having, but everything brings her to mind now that I am seeing her again.
“I know, but given the attention you drew as a student, and later as a first-year professor, I shudder to think about the females ready to launch themselves in your direction.” Dean Andrews smiles politely, but I know his words are also a warning.
“No worries there. I’ve been dating someone off and on, and it’s becoming a more serious arrangement.” Who was I kidding? I hadn’t seen Amanda in weeks because of our schedules and, at this point, it is far from convenient. Who would have thought I’d be scheduling sex three to six weeks in advance? Not me.
“Excellent. I hope I’ll get to meet the lucky woman. You know, I’ve thought of you like a son since your freshman days here. I always wondered what became of your teaching career, though you’ve made a fine choice in opening up your own business.”
I look past Dean Andrews, slightly narrowing my eyes at the woman who ruined me for public teaching all because I was afraid I might have actually considered crossing the line just once. It is a good thing you can’t be prosecuted for one’s thoughts.
“Next time Amanda is in town, I’ll be sure to bring her by.”
“Yes, please do. Oh, before I forget, make sure you stop by the clinic on campus and get a flu shot. Seems there’s a bug going around, and with Dr. Roth getting surgery and limited people to fill-in, I’d hate to see you come down with anything these kids pass around.” Claire saunters back with our lunch, and Dean Andrews digs in.
“I’ll definitely do that as soon as possible.” I try eating my lunch, doing my damnedest to ignore the table of students that included one dark-haired girl.
Edith
“Shit. Is he still looking?” I mutter, slinking down in my seat, face hot with embarrassment as I crawl back up, trying to look as normal and as adult as possible.
“Are you still looking?” Aiden returns, laughing at me.
“Aiden, don’t turn around. You’re the most obvious,” I point out.
“Really? So sitting behind your menu isn’t obvious?”
“Shut up,” I say, annoyed.
“Wow. I’ve never seen you this flustered before.” Aiden seems like he wants to elaborate on this conversation further, but I’m just getting angrier.
“I. AM. NOT. FLUSTERED,” I hiss in my loudest whisper.
“Well, you could have fooled me. Are you going to eat those disco fries or not?” he asks, already reaching for one.
“I thought this dinner was about fattening me up for my vampire donation.” Sometimes I wonder if there are alternative motives with these two.
“Please. You putting on weight is a lost cause. I just want you to eat the meat protein…and the fries have no protein,” he tells me.
“Is that some medical fact?”
“Uh huh.” Aiden shoves the fries in his mouth, talking while chewing, causing Shelby to elbow him.
“What’s up with you two anyway, besides him being your hottie student teacher back in the day?” Shelby asks me, shoving more of my fries in her mouth. I don’t answer her, picking at my burger. My appetite is long gone as I start thinking about those shitty days in high school from which I couldn’t wait to escape.
Yeah, what was up with us? The last time I had an actual physical run-in with Jack Hamilton was in my junior math class before the end of the school year. My teacher, Miss Reynolds, went and got herself knocked up, married, and quit teaching a month before school started. So, Mr. Hamilton was some super math whiz kid who was student teaching and came to our high school to get hands-on experience. Hands on, indeed! I swear, every damn female in my school had it bad for Mr. Hamilton. They wanted to spend extra study halls, after school, and during lunch getting “extra” help from him. Granted, he seemed earnest in wanting students to succeed, and he seemed to have a soft spot for the girls who were struggling the most.
One day after school, near the end of the year, I stayed late to get some books from the library. Some stupid English project on Beowulf, and I didn’t want to work with other students making videos. It would have been hard for me to explain my absences at home as it was, so I asked my teacher if I could write a paper instead and she agreed. As I came out of the library, my arms full of books and not paying attention, I slammed right into Mr. Hamilton. Books and papers flying up into the air like a cyclone, I landed on the floor, banging my head pretty hard. I saw stars, but not only that. In my addled mind, as Mr. Hamilton was picking me up off the floor and asking me if I was okay, I kissed him. I freaking kissed him or, rather, our lips met. I kept hoping it wasn’t totally initiated on my part, but I knew that wasn’t true. I remembered them tasting cool, wet, and soft, his bottom lip sticking out slightly. As we kissed, I felt his hands roam my body and push me against the brick hallway, gripping my thigh so acutely, I remembered having a set of fingerprint bruises for days afterwards. I traced those bruises for the remaining days, matching my fingers to his prints watching them fade, and secretly loving them. My core tingled every time I looked at them. I’m not sure how much of the memory is totally accurate and how much I’m horrifically romanticizing. The kiss was so tender and fleeting, the only other memory that overpowers it was when he pushed me back, horrified, and proceeded to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, looking me over, disgusted. What the hell had possessed me to do such a thing? Had I even done it? I mean, I’d like to think I hit my head pretty hard on those linoleum tiles. All I know is that the taste of cool, icy, winter mint gum became my best, my worst, and my last memory of high school. I still get flashes of heat every time I see that gum flavor in the drugstore.