Classes started in the fall like any other year. I had been teaching since I graduated from college at the same school for the past 10 years. I didn't anticipate that this year would be any different. I was actually beginning to feel like I was finally hitting my stride. I knew my lessons, and I knew what worked for my students, and what the hard topics were.
When the final class of the first day rolled around, the excitement of the first day of school was beginning to wear on me. Like every year, summer break was a great respite, but as a teacher, I also got out of shape. People often don't realize that standing in front of groups of kids all day, talking and writing on the board, answering questions, and in general being in charge of a group of sometimes unruly kids can be exhausting if you are not in shape for it. This year started like no other, and I knew that in a week, I'd be back in the swing of things.
My last class was a senior only class. It was really a poorly devised last chance class for seniors who had struggled in in their first three years of high school math. All the kids who needed just one more year of math with a passing grade to graduate ended up in what everyone called "Math for dummies". Not only did the moniker bother me, but having it at the end of the day, all year long, was a terrible time of day to try and teach kids who really didn't like math. But, this year, it was my turn. All the math teachers rotated through this course, and I had enjoyed my 3 year hiatus from it, and it was time to do my duty.
As the kids strolled in, it was clear they all knew the drill. None looked at that pleased with being there, but they also knew that somehow together we were going to have to survive this or some of them would not be in the graduation procession come June.
As I was calling roll, reacquainting myself with the kids, one name came up that I didn't recognize. While I hadn't taught all of the kids in their earlier years, you pretty much know every kids on campus after three years.
"Mortisha Hanson? Miss Hanson?" I asked, looking around the room. "Miss-"
"-tress," a voice cut in. A few kids laughed at the joke. I found the source of the voice. She was hiding in the back of the room. She had long black hair, and wore a rather skimpy halter top. Her eyes pierced me as if she were staring through me.
"What?" I answered, both a bit startled by her piercing eyes as much as what I thought she or we had said.
"Tish, you may call me Tish," she said in a voice that belied her small frame and exuded confidence and directness that I didn't expect.
"Oh, ah yes Miss Hanson, ah, I mean Tish. Welcome. Are you new to the school?" I asked, trying to recover.
"Yes, I am," she replied in a way that said 'and I'm not telling you anymore, so don't ask'.
I smiled at her, and getting myself refocused on the task at hand, finished taking attendance. The class went by rather uneventfully. Textbooks were distributed, and class expectations were covered. It was my normal first day speech, and I added in an extra few minutes for this group about how we would all need to work together since we all knew how important this class was to their futures. That last part got me some looks of absolute terror from those who really did want to graduate, but for whom math was real challenge, and from others, bored stares. Throughout, I noticed that Tish sat at her desk, hands folded on top of her textbook, eyes still drilling right through me. She followed every word I said, and seemed like she was deeply considering everything I said.
At the end of class, the bell rang, and despite how lethargic some of the kids had appeared, they all bolted out the door at an amazing pace. All except Tish. As I was collecting my things, she continued to sit at her desk. I could feel her eyes still boring holes right through me. I tried to just keep packing my bag, but I couldn't keep my eyes down, and I looked up at her and met her gaze.
"Er...um...Tish, is there something I can help you with?" I asked in my best helpful teacher voice.
"Yes," she said, again with that confident voice of hers. She stood. It was only now with all the rest of the kids gone, and my view of her unobstructed that I could see all of her. As she walked to the front of the room, I was unable to not give her a once over. She wore knee high black boots with dark red laces that criss-crossed all the way to the front of the boots. Her skirt was a black, red, and white plaid, pleated, and almost Catholic school uniform-like except that it was way too short for a school uniform. A black belt was slung around her waist that served no purpose except as adornment. A worn skull belt buckle sat just below her navel. Lined with metal square studs, it sat at an angle, sitting high on one hip, and falling down on the other side. It helped to make her thin waist look even thinner. Her black halter top turned out to be more corset than halter top. It too had traces of dark red stitching that ran in vertical lines along her torso. The curves of the lines also accentuated her thin waist. As my eyes followed these lines up to her breasts, she cleared her throat. I realized that she was now standing just a few feet from me. I quickly moved my gaze to her face to find her smiling at me with a knowing smile. I was caught.
"Uh...Tish, what did you want?" I stammered.
"I just wanted to let you know that I look forward to your class this year. I hope that you can help me explore new things this year, won't you!?" she offered. It was both a statement and a question.
"Tish, that's great to hear you are taking your studies seriously. I'm always available to you and will do everything I can to help," I answered in my best veteran teacher I-know-more-than-you voice.
Something flashed in her expression, but I couldn't read it, and it was gone quickly. She smiled at me with a very practiced veteran student I-know-more-than-you-think look.
