Marilyn was anxiously awaiting her first class of the year. She was starting her second season in high school. She took long, deep breaths to calm herself. The first year had gone superbly well and the director had given her her first senior class. The schedule called for her to start with her first Monday morning.
The students were coming in. She looked at them and was struck by the fact that they were "little" adults, the girls were well dressed, some even wearing light make-up. Except for one or two, the boys were real young men. She introduced herself and the class began. A quarter of an hour after the class started, the director knocked on the door and entered with a young man. From the murmurs of some of the girls in the class when they saw him, Marilyn realised that she was not the only one to be blown away by his presence. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His brown curly hair framed a serene and determined face. His large light green eyes were enhanced by his tanned skin. His smile was charming with a hint of mischief that carved a lovely little dimple in his cheek.
The director introduced him and then left them. Marilyn made an effort to hide her appreciation and asked him to take a seat. Marc went to sit in the last row. Marilyn appreciated his round buttocks which were well shaped by his jeans. She tried to remain very discreet and the attention of the other students was focused on him. She had a little difficulty to recover the attention of the class, but succeeded after a few minutes of confusion. As the students filled in their information sheets, she observed him. He must have been an athlete, because his shirt molded his powerful torso advantageously. He exuded an ease and naturalness that was disconcerting. Her mind was beginning to race and she called herself to order immediately.
The class began in earnest and she noticed that Marc was staring at her for a long time. No one at school had ever commented on her outfit. As it was still warm in early September, she had opted for a tight, slightly low-cut top and a sheath skirt that stopped just below the knees. The boys in the class didn't seem to mind except for Marc. She felt a little uncomfortable. The end-of-class bell startled her and she placed her hand over her beating heart. The students laughed. She joined them and told them they could leave their cards on her desk. She gathered them up and looked at them absently.
Unconsciously she stopped at Marc's and read it in detail. He had good handwriting for a teenager. She smiled to herself, realizing that she was trying to make him look younger. She placed it at the end of the pile and lectured herself for the umpteenth time. The students in her second class of the day finished distracting her from Marc and the end of the day passed without a hitch. In the evening she found it difficult to get Marc's thoughts out of her head. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror after her shower.
"Get a grip, girl! He's just a teenager!" she convinced herself. She promised herself that she would pull herself together and be professional with all her students. With her good resolutions and confidence, she went to bed.
The first few weeks passed quickly and she had managed to regain her self-control. During the first few classes she had discreetly observed him and his attitude showed that there was no sign of any interest in her. Reassured, she managed to consider him as just another student. He didn't participate much in class, but when she asked him to speak, his answers were smart and sometimes even amusing.
