Temptations of a Female Teacher

“Joe, I asked you for the answer!”

Finally turning in my direction, Joe just gave me a confused look.

“Ummmm, 7?”

The girls he had just been talking to burst out laughing. Joe turned back to talk to them, and I tried to hold back my anger. In as calm a voice as I could manage, I announced, “Office.”

Joe turned and looked back at me, confused again. Regaining at least a semblance of my composure, I stated, “Go to the office now.”

Joe still looked confused. Then smiling he hooked his thumb over his shoulder pointing behind him and announced, “But the principal is right here, why don’t I just–”

I saw the principal’s mouth begin to open, but ignored it. Getting angrier and interrupting Joe, I loudly stated, “To the office. NOW!”

Finally, Joe shrugged his shoulders, got up, and calmly walked out of the room. The girls he was talking to laughed as he walked out. I could kind of understand the girls’ interest in him. He was an attractive boy – tall, nice features, and a nice body from having played football and basketball for years – but I was amazed any of them would deal with the rest of him. He was egotistical, obnoxious, and dumb as a doorknob. He wasn’t playing any sports now as he had failed all of his classes last year, making him ineligible for school sports. This, combined with failing fourth grade earlier in life, made him about two years older than everyone else in the class. He was a couple months short of eighteen while the rest of the class was full of fifteen and sixteen year olds. He was your stereotypical example of a failure at life. Yet he still walked around like he owned the place and the girls all flocked to him. I just couldn’t understand it.

When the door finally shut behind him, I turned back to the class and asked, “Does anyone know the answer?”

I stared into the sea of confused and ignorant faces in front of me. Just about everyone in the class either wasn’t paying attention or had no idea what was going on. I saw a hand go up toward the side of the classroom and latched onto it, despite knowing it was the cheap way out.

“Yes, John?”

“Negative three x squared plus five,” was the nervously quiet, yet confident response from the boy.

I smiled, responding, “That is correct,” adding to myself, ‘and a much more reasonable answer than seven.’ I then asked aloud, “And how did you get that?”

In the same meek voice that was clearly scared of speaking aloud, despite knowing he was right, John responded, “I switched the sign of the variable as the parabola is opening up downward and added five to move it along the x-axis.”

“Good,” I replied. Then again, I knew John knew what he was doing and was almost always right, hence it being the cheap way out to call on him. I finally moved on to another example, trying to continue the class while distracted by my thoughts.

I had been going over coordinate geometry for over a week now in my tenth grade algebra classes. Today’s focus was on reflecting, rotating, and translating parabolas. I knew it wasn’t the most exciting material, especially given that most students hate math to start with, but all my other classes did well with it. It was just this nightmarish ninth period class that was giving me hell.

I should explain.

My name is Jeannine Warner, or Ms. Warner as the students know me. This is my third year teaching in a rather large, semi-urban high school. I teach six sections of tenth grade algebra. My first two years went great. I enjoyed my job, the students seemed to like me, and they got great scores on their end of year exams, showing they obviously learned something. This year has been slightly different. Or rather, one section is different. While the other five sections are going great like they had the past two years, I have my first real problem class. And of course it has to be my last period of the day, so that every day I go home angry. Most the kids in the class are either really low academically, really obnoxious, or really don’t give a damn about learning anything, not caring if they fail. And then some were all three, like Joe. Out of the twenty-three students in the class, I’d say that only five were really trying or understood the material. One of those was John. He seemed like your stereotypical nerd. Quiet, did his work, nice to the teacher, the whole ordeal. I feel kind of bad for the kid really. I tried earlier in the year to get his class switched so he wouldn’t have to deal with that class and so that he could learn more, but I guess with the other classes he was taking, that was the only period he could fit into for math. Shit luck for him. But he had made it through most the year now without complaining.

Which brings us back to where we are now.

It’s the middle of the second week of the fourth quarter. This being my third year, I am eligible for tenure at the end of the year. As such, I’ve had several observations from the principal and assistant principal throughout the year. Usually, I got to pick the day and period for them to come and observe me, but for this last observation, I got to pick neither. The principal just told me that this was the only time he could fit me in – during my horrible last period class that was so far behind I literally could not give up a day to do an interesting lesson (what I usually do for observations) and have to cover something boring – like coordinate geometry. I had thought that the reflections, rotations, and translations of parabolas would be the least painful thing to go over while being observed. Who knows? Maybe I was right, but I can tell you it was still plenty painful, least painful or not. I had tried to be fancy at the beginning of the lesson, using mirrors to demonstrate the reflections over different lines, but I gave that up quickly as I lost practically the entire class for whatever reason. Apparently mirrors were too complex for them. I went to straight notes and examples. And while this ran slightly smoother, it obviously still wasn’t going well.

After sending Joe out of the room, I went over examples until there were only five minutes left in the class. I probably had to call on John for about a third of the examples as most the others were either not paying attention or didn’t get it. Upon finishing the last example, I gave the students their homework and told them they had five minutes to work on it in class. While they got to work (or just sat in their seats and chatted as the case was for most of them) I tried to make myself look busy at my desk, occasionally looking up and telling certain students to get to work. Every time I’d look up, I’d catch the principal writing notes in the desk he was sitting at in the back of the classroom. Each time I saw that, I immediately looked down and tried to look busy at my desk again, though really I was wondering whether or not I had just blown my opportunity to get tenured with the horrible class I’d just run.

A couple minutes before the final bell rings, the principal got up and walked over to my desk.

“That was,” he began, followed by a long pause before continuing, “interesting.” I said nothing, just looking at him wondering what he was going to say next. “I have a meeting I have to get ready for after school, so I’ll have to leave a bit early. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

And with that he walked out of the room.

I didn’t know what to make of it. The principal had been smiling the entire time, but I couldn’t tell if it was a fake smile or not. I always found it hard to read the guy. Of course, my mind was leaning towards believing he thought it was horrible and that this would be my last year teaching in this school and the dreaded search for a new job would soon be on. So for the last two minutes of the day, I just sat and stared off into nothingness.

I somehow totally missed the end-of-day announcements in my daze and was jolted out of it by the final bell ringing. Out of habit, I got out of my seat, went to the door, and propped it open with the door stop. I usually stand by the door as the students leave, but I soon realized I wasn’t in the mood to wait around for them, so I just headed back to my desk to try and clear my head. It also didn’t help that this class, unlike my last period classes from the prior two years, seemed to take forever to get out of my room. It’s like they had nothing better to do than hang out in a high school classroom. It wasn’t unusual for the halls to be empty save for a handful of students by the time the last student left my classroom.

I was hoping to luck out with the students leaving quickly today. Usually Joe was one of the last to leave, talking to his girls. I thought that without him there, everyone might leave quicker. I wasn’t so lucky. Unfortunately, a couple minutes after the bell rang, as those girls were walking out, Joe actually walked into my classroom. They stood around talking in my room, halfway to the door. I decided against arguing with them today and just went about my end-of-day routine, organizing my desk and packing what I would need to bring home. All the other students slowly poured out around them, but Joe and his girls just didn’t seem to be moving.

Finally, after another three minutes or so, they headed out of my room. Joe of course had to kick the doorstop out and into my room in a demonstration of his vast maturity. I watched the door close slowly on its hinges, thankful for once that there was no window in it. I had initially found the fact that no doors in the school had windows weird and slightly uncomfortable when I first started working here, especially as they required doors to be shut while classes were going on. But I slowly got used to it, and every now and then, at moments like this, I was absolutely grateful for it so no one walking by could see my anguish over my observation. I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, letting my head fall backwards and let out an exasperated sigh. I was so nervous from the observation and about possibly losing tenure that I could feel tears building up behind my eyes, though not quite there yet.

“Ms. Warner….”

The soft voice jolted me out of the brief illusion I had held myself in. I jerked forward in my seat, having thought everyone left. I opened my eyes to see John standing in front of my desk, holding his books against his side in his right hand. I could feel my eyes widen in surprise.

Trying to cover my surprise, as well as my anguish, I began, “John, what are you still doing here?”

“I just wanted to apologize,” he began, then paused.

I was too confused by this statement to let him continue after his short pause, wondering what one of the few good students in the class could possibly have on his mind. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“Well,” he began, looking away, not even making eye contact with me, “I know they won’t so I wanted to apologize for the way the rest of the class acts.”

I couldn’t help but release a quick chuckle, even in the mood I was in.

I should take a moment to describe John. I mentioned before he was your stereotypical nerd. That’s pretty close to true. He turned 15 at the beginning of the school year, so he was just about the youngest kid in his grade, and you could see it in the way he acted. He was very shy and reserved. Always did his work, always knew the answers. He had a small group of friends, and from what I saw, most of them were in ninth grade, with only a few in tenth grade, certainly none in my math class. The way he talked and acted made it obvious he was insecure about himself, but when he did talk, he was always a pleasant conversation. And he could be funny too; he wasn’t one of those kids that was awkward to talk to. I thought a girl would be lucky to have the boy, but of course being the typical nerd-type, the girls seemed to avoid him for such wonderful male specimens as Joe. It’s not like John was an ugly kid, just tall and skinny, and the way he dressed definitely enhanced the nerd image. He was tall, I’d guess about six foot, and very skinny. In fact, I’d guess he weighed less than my 135 pounds (and I’m 5’7”). His face wasn’t ugly, it wasn’t covered in acne or anything. It was just plain. No movie star here. His hair was this wavy blonde disheveled wad on his head. I actually didn’t think it looked bad, he pulled off that hair pretty well all things considered. He always dressed in khaki pants and some button down shirt and semi-dress shoes. In his defense, he wears the shirt untucked and doesn’t wear a tie with it, but when everyone else in the school pretty much just wears jeans and a T-shirt, well, then what he was wearing becomes pretty nerdy looking.

John also made it apparent early on that he liked me as a teacher, and maybe more. I actually ran into him at the mall once. Well, before I get into that though, I should probably describe myself.

I’m 31 years old, have long brown, slightly wavy hair that I like to wear down, dark green eyes, and long lashes. I have slightly puffy cheeks, possibly due to being a little heavier than average, but I think it looks better than the concave cheeks of skinny girls. As I said before, I’m 5’7” and 135 pounds. Again, I have a little extra weight, but I think I can pull it off on my frame without being anything close to fat, and I think it gives me a nice ass. Also, if I didn’t have that weight, my body would look very disproportionate with my large chest. I wear a 38DD bra. While they definitely were fun when I was younger, they do nothing but get in the way now. Obviously, I don’t want to show them off in school, so I have to wear all kinds of baggy dresses and loose-fitting dress suits to hide them in. I also have to go to a chiropractor every couple of weeks because holding those things up does a hell of a number on my back. It’s actually so bad that I’ve decided to get breast reduction surgery, not this summer, but the summer after. I don’t think my back will make it if I keep those girls around. It’s not like I’m ashamed of them, outside of school I’ll wear tighter T-shirts or low cut tank tops. But between them destroying my back and limiting the clothes I can wear to work, I just don’t see them as something I need.

Back to John, I ran into him once at the mall. It was in November, but there was a warm streak of weather, so I went to the mall in jeans and a semi-tight T-shirt. Not more than ten steps into the mall, I saw John with his mother. He said hi, and I started talking to him and his mother. I must’ve been doing a good job hiding my boobs at school, because John was acting like he’d never seen them before. He tried to be polite, but I kept seeing his eyes quickly bounce down from my face to my chest, and I could see his face blush every time he thought I’d caught him. Trying to be nice, as I did like the kid and he was doing a better job of not staring at my chest than most guys, I acted like I never saw his travelling eyes. He still thought he got caught every now and then though, blushing more every time. After a couple minutes, the door behind us opened and a breeze blew in, blowing my hair in front of my face. I decided to have some fun with that, and pulled the old brush-the-hair-behind-your-ear-with-your-hand trick while slightly pushing my chest forward. There was no mistaking where John’s eyes went, nor how red he turned after he finally brought his eyes back to my face. I quickly said my goodbyes to him and his mom and moved on.

Even before this incident, John had always been nice to me, talking to me in the hallways briefly, joking around or asking about some math problem or whatnot. He still did this, but I noticed his eyes always had trouble staying on my face after I had seen him in the mall. Despite how hard he tried to always look at me, his eyes always took short, quick trips down to my chest, as if to find out if the boobs he saw that one day were still there, hidden beneath my loose clothing. As he was a nice kid, I did my best to ignore his eyes, blaming it on hormones. And it’s not like I hadn’t had other students ogle me far worse than him. It really was nothing to me.

Returning to the situation at hand, I had to chuckle when John apologized for his classmates. “John,” I told him, “you have no control over them, and their behavior is not your fault, so don’t apologize for them. You’re a good student and have nothing to be sorry for.” Suddenly I felt a tear roll down my cheek. The quick laughing I had done must’ve allowed the tears built up in the back of my eyes to roll around to the front. I quickly turned to the side and brushed it away, abruptly remembering the horrible class I had just had and the possibility of losing tenure, all of which I had briefly forgotten thanks to John. Hoping he hadn’t noticed my tear, I turned back towards him, trying to compose myself and hide all the negative feelings that just flowed back into me. I felt, though, like I wasn’t doing too good a job of hiding them. John started talking before I could.

“It’s just that some of us…” John paused. While his body was facing my desk, his head was still twisted to the side, looking away. Every now and then I could see his eyes turn towards me, then back towards the wall. It was clear he was not comfortable saying what he was trying to say. “Some of us,” he began again, “don’t think you should be treated the way you are in here, especially when you are being observed.”

I had to fight back those tears again. What he said wasn’t much, but between reminding me I had just been observed, which made me want to cry for obvious reasons, and the kindness of him forcing himself in this situation where he was clearly uncomfortable to say nice things to me, which made me want to cry for other reasons, I had a hard time holding back.

“Thank you,” I responded in a shaky voice. John even turned his head to look at me now. Then, knowing my voice wouldn’t last much longer and I didn’t want him to see me break down, I added, “You should probably go now, John.”

John looked at me for a few seconds, then nodded and turned to walk away. He got as far as the side of my desk before turning around and looking at me again. “Ms. Warner, I.…” He paused obviously having trouble again with whatever he was about to say.

“I think you’re….” Another pause.

“You’re a really good teacher, Ms. Warner.”

Then he turned around and began walking away.

It was weird. I’ve had students call me a great teacher before, so this was nothing new. I’m not even sure if that was what he meant to say, or if he wimped out of whatever was on his mind and just said that instead. But given the situation, having been through the hell of an observation period I had just been through, being uncertain of my tenure at the school, and feeling like an absolute pile of shit at the moment, it seemed like the perfect thing to hear. I could feel my spirits lift, and I felt incredibly better. There was a sudden sense of gratitude in me.

John had only made it a couple steps away from my desk. I got up and took a couple quick steps towards him and reached out for his empty hand. He stopped moving the second my hand touched his. I said, “Thank you,” thoroughly meaning it.

John slowly turned around towards me. But his eyes never met mine. He was staring at my hand that had just grabbed his and was in fact still holding his. This caused me to stare at our hands also.

It was then that it had hit me what I’d done. I’d grabbed a student’s hand. Touching a student at all is a big no-no, and holding their hand is probably the worst non-sexual touching that can happen, judging by the meaning affixed to it. Certainly it must’ve seemed bold to someone as innocent as John. Yet for some reason, I didn’t pull away. And neither did John. I just stared at our hands. John must’ve been in shock, judging from the look on his face when he’d turned around, his staring at our hands, and the fact that he hadn’t moved his hand.