Lights off, projector on, time to teach these kids some Calculus. Mr. G projected the first graph from last night's homework on the smart board. "Who would like to draw the derivative of that function on the board?" No one immediately raised their hand, that was normal. Mr. G walked around the room giving them time to build the courage and debating on who to call on should no one volunteer. Megan was the safe bet if he wanted a student to immediately get it right so they could cruise though the homework review, but if he wanted that then he'd just do it himself. Cassidy needs the practice, but she'll likely be in after school today to get one-on-one help. Maddie needs the practice and isn't likely to practice on her own.
The minute of wait time was just about up, but right before Mr. G could call on Maddie, Alaina's hand shot up. Had it been another student, Mr. G likely would not have seen the hand in the darkened room before calling on Maddie, but not Alaina's hand. The six foot tall star volleyball and tennis player, with her long arm raised straight up into the air in the center of the room, there was no missing her.
Mr. G slid into an empty seat in the back of the room as Alaina walked up to the board. He liked seeing the room from the student's perspective and giving the student the teacher's feel while explaining the problem. A different style might be more encouraging for students like Maddie who hated the lime light, but Mr. G tried to make students reluctantly accept that making a mistake was no big deal rather than fostering this fear of being caught in a mistake. Mistakes were just a part of learning, a part of being human and students needed to learn that.
With her back to the class, Alaina picked up the electronic pen to write on the smart board and that's when Mr. G realized his mistake. With the lights off and projector on, it was like there was a spotlight on her and center stage, was dat ass.
Alaina was wearing black yoga pants so tight they might as well have been painted on. He and everyone else in the class could see every curve below the waist. With him seated and her six feet tall, dat ass was directly eye level and how could you do anything but look at it. You could the horizontal crease where her thigh stopped and her butt bubbled out. From there you could follow the curves as they hugged each individual ass cheek and could see the clear vertical line that separated the two cheeks.
It may have actually only been a second but Mr. G felt guilty for staring at a student's ass for what felt like an eternity. Mental images logged, he had to look elsewhere, his eyes should have moved up to the problem she was working on, but instead they followed the curves of her legs down. Past her thigh gap, following the curves of her legs as they went in and out around her strong thighs, slender knees and developed calves.
The snicker as one male student whispered to another snapped Mr. G back into the moment. In situations like this, it was best to deal with it quickly and without the students realizing he was dealing with it. There was a code among students, you don't rat each other out. If they knew he knew, then they'd feel free to comment, but they'd keep it to their loose lipped gossip if they believed it would just stay amongst the students. Not that they were ever actually careful about what they said in front of a teacher, but once they were emboldened with publically addressing the issue, that's when he could lose them.
Mr. G hoped that she'd just finish the problem quickly, but she stalled halfway through, unsure of how to proceed past the vertical tangent line. Normally, Mr. G would ask a leading question here, point of the slope of the line, ask her to assign a value to it and then draw her derivative to that value, instead he jumped up and said "Yea that's a trick I threw in. Joey, what's happening to the slope of the line at x = 2?"
Put on the spot, Joey couldn't think about dat ass anymore but was redirected to calculus. And the rest of the students, now aware that the spotlight was shifting and that any of them could be called on at any moment, where now averting glances, looking away from the Mr. G's glare and more importantly looking away from dat ass. Mr. G thanked Alaina for her participation and then continued to draw the rest of the derivative. Class resumed and most of the class was blissfully unaware that Mr. G suffered a crisis of conscious.
After notes, as Mr. G circled the room helping various students with individual questions and getting started on the homework, he discretely placed the dress code violation on Alaina's desk. He tapped the desk twice as he placed it, distracting her from her conversation with her neighbor. She looked at the paper and then made eye contact with Mr. G and then he moved on to the next desk before a word was said.
* * * * * * * * * *
"How come you gave me a dress code violation?" Alaina asked in a hostile tone as she returned to Mr. G's room after school.
"I believe I wrote why on the slip, but basically because of your dress not following the code."
"This isn't fair, Maddy had tight pants on too and you didn't write her up."
"You don't know who I gave dress code violations to. I feel I was pretty discrete about the whole affair."
"No you didn't. I talked with her about it at lunch and she agreed you're being totally unfair."
"She agreed that she should get a dress code violation?"
"No, that's not what I meant."
"Right now you should be making arguments for your innocence not other's guilt because believe me I don't have a problem writing more dress code violations."
"It's not like I'm purposely buying tight pants. That's what they sell in the store and I shouldn't be punished for a lack of options."
"Better, but I'm not buying it. You buy and wear those clothes because you like the style."
"Oh so now I'm being persecuted based on my personal choices."
Mr. G huffed and took a moment to think. "Let's just cut to the chase. I'm normally pretty lenient when it comes to dress code violations but you are just so over the line. Your pants are way tighter than Maddy's or anyone else you want to compare yourself to."
"They're not that tight."
Mr. G started laughing. "Have you seen those on you in the mirror?"
His laughter completely disarmed her. She mumbled a soft why but it was barely audible. He had laughed at how ridiculous her claim of ignorance was, but to a teenager girl laughter in the context of her looks just brings insecurities to the surface. She knew they were tight but what if he thought that she personally shouldn't be wearing clothes that tight. She's heard female teachers make comments like that about some of her other classmates. She's made comments like that about some of her other classmates. But Alaina wasn't one of those girls, she didn't have a fat ass, or did she? She finally broke eye contact to look back, trying unsuccessfully to see her own backside. Was it too large and her tight clothes were just making her a laughing stock?
With eye contact broken, Mr. G's eyes also finally felt permission to look. Her ass now in profile, it was like a round peach waiting to be plucked. His eyes only had half a second to soak it in before they snapped back, he couldn't risk get caught staring; that would be bad. His biggest fear as a new teacher was being exposed as a pervert. Fortunately his eyes were back to looking at her face when she returned her eyes to meet his gaze.
"I'm not fat," she finally said to break the long silence.
"Of course not," Mr. G said with grin. He couldn't help it. Smiling, grinning, laughing, that was his mechanism for dealing with awkward situations, but it was the last thing a sensitive teenager girl wanted to hear. "Do you have your phone on you?"
