It times like these that get me in trouble. A single guy, lying in bed with no woman next to him, has the imagination to be consumed in his fantasies for hours, daring to do the worst kind of things with the woman he desires. And my brain, at the moment, will not shut off. I keep thinking about her. The more I dream, the harder I'm getting, and the worse I feel knowing that she is untouchable.
Her hair is golden and touches her shoulders in layers. Her lips are always in a perfect pout. And I didn't think God made a waist that small. I could wrap my hands around it, maybe twice over. Those breasts are always in a pushup bra, always teasing me. She's beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous.
And she's the only student failing my class.
Legally, she's an adult which gives me relief when fantasizing about her. But the way she acts, she's more like a twelve-year-old. A spoiled twelve-year-old. Every day, I dread but can't wait for third period. Every day, she sits in the middle row, in the middle of the classroom, giving me the evil eye. But sometimes, her left eyebrow is arched as she looks me up and down. She bits her lip, then her eyes steady on my crotch. And when she catches me staring at her back, she smirks. Then, her demeanor changes quickly, as if she makes up her mind that she hates me. I can't figure her out. All of my students love me. I'm the "cool teacher." Maybe it's because I'm the youngest of the faculty and have more of a connection to them. But since day one, she has given me trouble with her sarcastic remarks, refusal to do homework or any assignments, and her dangerous flirtation that only lasts minutes at a time. I've doled out many detentions to her and have sent her to the principal's office too many times. Other teachers have said she is no problem in their classes. So, why mine?
It's the next day, and second period has just ended. I'm taking deep breaths and am ready for a mutiny from my other students. An unexpected analytical essay is about to be assigned, and I'm gonna get a lot of groans. And then, there will be her and her refusal to write it. I'm looking forward for the battle now with a hope I will win.
The students file into my classroom. I get a lot of "Hey, Mr. Anderson," and a few smiles. But she's nowhere to be found. I'm hoping she's late. A good excuse to give her another detention. But at the last second, she crosses the doorway and ignores me completely. Her head is held high with a smug smile on her cute, glossy lips. As she sits, she pulls at her too short shirt to cover her midriff. She flings her hair behind her, but it falls back in front of her shoulder. Then, she gets into her favorite comfortable position: leaning back, yet slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, legs parted enough that would make ladies of etiquette gasp.
The bell rings, and it takes me less than a few seconds to shut them up. "Alright, today is an easy day." I get a lot of expectant smiles. "All you have to do is write a five paragraph essay!" They roll their eyes and groan. I start passing the papers down the rows. "A poem by Silvia Plath. You have the whole period to write this essay. And I expect a completed paper from all of you." I'm looking straight at her. Her chin is jutted out, her eyes are narrowed. She's looking at me back, telling me silently how much she hates me. I smirk and finish passing the papers. "End of the period," I remind them. I sit behind my large desk and pretend to be busy with some papers, but I'm casually taking glances at her. She looks at the paper in disgust, flips it over, and places it on her desk. Her arms cross again. She sighs and looks off to the side.
It is what I am waiting for. "Cameron, you only have until the end of the period," I warn her. She shrugs in response. "You will get a zero if you don't do this assignment."
"Like I fucking care," she challenges me. I already have my detention slips ready. I write one up. I knew she would do something stupid, such as cussing. I sign it and stroll toward her. I almost slam the yellow slip of paper on her desk to make sure she notices. I go back to sit and catch her glaring at the paper.
She stands next to the desk, paper in hand. The other students look up. "You know, I'm tired of getting these things." Then, she rips it in half, then again, then again. She throws the bits onto the floor. She smiles as if proud of what she did.
"Principal's office, now!"
"Whatever, you dickless jerk," she says as she shoulders her backpack. At the moment, I wish this wasn't a public school. I want to be armed with a paddle. She tosses her hair behind her, a defiant but seductive move. "Maybe that's why you're not married. You have no dick." It is widely known that I'm not married, and it hits a sore spot. But I stand tall and strong. "And no balls, obviously, because you're not man enough to deal with me directly."
I can feel my face flushing. "Go to the office!"
She smiles, because she knows I can't do anything more. I glare at her as she leaves the room. Once she's out the door, I return to my desk and avoid everyone's eyes. I question the reasons why I lust over her.
The next day is going smoothly, but I'm counting the minutes until third period. I'm not sure if I'm ready for another battle. But she doesn't show up. I'm relieved, but at the same time torn that I don't get to see the beautiful brat. My students have seem to forgotten yesterday. But halfway through my lecture, the door opens. One of the staff enters with Cameron behind her. "She was ditching," she says and leaves. Cameron trudges to her desk, but she isn't the same girl I've known. Her head is down; her hair covers some of her face. But from what I can see her eyes are red and teary. She slowly sits and rests her head on top of her folded arms. She doesn't look at me at all. I stop for a second, in shock, then continue.
Twenty minutes later, the bell rings. Without a thought, I say, "Cameron, I want to see you." I sit behind my desk and try to think of what to say. She walks up to me, trying to muster up some dignity from her breakdown. I don't know what to say, but my instincts tell me to help any student in any way I can. "What's wrong?" I mean to say that more gently, but it comes out harsh and annoyed.
She shakes her head. "Never mind."
"Why were you ditching?" She shrugs, her usual response. "What happened?"
"My boyfriend dumped me! Ok?" I wasn't expecting an answer. My heart softens, but I don't know why. She is too cute when she cries.
"Well, I'm sure you didn't deserve it. He is just a boy. You need someone more mature than that." The words fly out of me. I can't believe what I'm telling her. And it doesn't help that I'm openly staring. She's looking at me strangely, a look I've never seen before. It isn't a glare, nor is she giving me her flirtatious glances. It's hope that I might feel something for her, and she's recognizing it for the first time. It's a look that acknowledges that I'm not the bad guy. She nods and leaves the classroom. I'm worried now about what I said. In my mind, I make the argument that I said nothing wrong or suggestive. But my eyes and weak posture tell a different story. I should have just told her, "You're beautiful, and I think about you every night. Let's fuck." I'm getting myself into trouble anyway.
But the response she gave back makes me hope for a chance with her. She didn't recoil from my advances and seemed to enjoy me having a little look at her every once in a while.
The next day is uneventful. All through third period, she doesn't even look at me. She is still not paying attention, but it doesn't bother me. We exchange no glances. Her face, however, is softer and more humble. She watches her hands instead. The period passes quickly. I have no reason to hold her after class, so I let her go.
She is out of my mind as I sit at my dining table, eating a crappy frozen dinner, and grading papers from last night's assignment. For the most part, I am disappointed that many of my students didn't understand the assignment, but my star student, Steven, writes an eloquent essay. I happily put an "A" on the paper. I pick up the next paper in the pile and stall. I can't believe what I'm seeing. At the top right corner is her name, Cameron Slater.
