"I don't know," Penney sighed, setting her tray on the table. "Sometimes I think these boys are coming on to me."
"Of course they are," replied the older man seated across from her. "When you've taught as long as I have, you'll be used to it."
"Really?"
He laughed at the tone in her voice. "Don't sound so astonished, Miss Clarke. Even fat, balding fellows such as myself get it. And you," he continued, "are young and attractive."
"But…how do you deal with it?"
"Ignore them, usually. I couldn't tell you how many times some girl has leaned over my shoulder at my desk and pressed her breasts against me. It's just 'tease-the-teacher' most of the time. Still," he added, becoming serious, "full-blown infatuations can occur. I've received a few passionate love-letters from students. The thing then is to ask to have the writer removed from my class, quietly and without making a fuss."
Penney nodded. "Thank you, Jim. There is so much about being in the classroom that I never learned in college…what IS this stuff we're eating?"
* * *
Penney Clarke glanced up at the clock again. Like every student in the room, she had been watching the minutes tick by. Throughout her last class of the day—her last class of the week—the young English teacher had found herself daydreaming. Dominic would be driving down from Atlanta to be with her for the weekend.
Her sweet Dominic—the two of them had dated since college and sometimes, lately, the relationship seemed to fall into familiar friendship. Tonight and tomorrow she intended to re-ignite the passion they had once shared. He would arrive late, to find a candlelit dinner awaiting him. And for dessert…she smiled at the thought of that!
"Hand in your work as you leave," Penney told her students, "and have a good weekend." They surged toward the door as the bell rang, leaving a disorderly stack of stack of papers on her desk. No after-school duties were assigned to her this week, so turning to the computer on a side table, she began to check her messages.
"Dearest Penney," Dom's e-mail began. That was an unusual greeting from him; normally, it was "Hi kid" or something equally informal. "I have given this a great deal of thought. We no longer seem right as a couple and I think we should stop seeing each other. Please understand and try to move on. There will be other experiences in your life."
Experiences? Is that all I was to him
, she wondered,
just an experience?
"It would be best if I did not come tonight. In time, we can meet again as friends, I hope."
Fat chance
…she felt tears coming into her eyes. "Take care, Dominic."
The young woman's shoulders began to shake. Sobs rose from deep within her.
"Miss Clarke? Is something wrong?" It was the voice of Ron Thomas, a senior from the last class. "Oh," the boy began, after taking a quick look at the screen. "I'm so sorry." Ron was one of those bright, outgoing students who can be both a bane and a blessing to his teachers: always ready to help, but a little too eager to get involved in other people's lives. "I'll give you some privacy, ma'am," he told her in a low voice. "Will you be alright?" Penney nodded her head mutely.
Then, realizing what sort of impression she was making on the boy, she forced herself to smile and respond, "Oh, sure. Thank you for caring; I'll be fine. Did you need something, Ron?"
"I only forgot a book." He turned to go, but hesitated. "Miss Clarke?" Turning toward Penney again, he continued. "That guy…" He suddenly blushed. "Ma'am, he shouldn't have treated you that way."
"You've never dumped a girlfriend, Ron?" She gave him the smallest of smiles.
"Not like that, ma'am." He stated emphatically. Penney could believe him; the boy was of that vanishing breed of polite, honorable youngster that could still be found in some small towns. "Miss Clark, would you care to go to the baseball game with me tonight?" he blurted out.
The young teacher laughed. "Taking pity on me, Ron? Well, why not? I'm certainly not doing anything else!"
* * *
What
am
I doing?
Penney asked herself. She had never been a fan of sports and had avoided attending any school athletics up to this point. Now, she was not only going to a ball game, but doing so in the company of a student
. Well, every kid in school will know Ms. Clarke can't get a date on a Friday night.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered why that was so.
I'm attractive enough
, she told herself. Not much in the way of curves, perhaps, yet well shaped. Tall. Lean. Long legs…a tight stomach…decent breasts, even if they didn't precede her by much. A pleasant, oval face framed by straw-blonde curls. There was no point in dressing up tonight. She would just throw on some jeans, a loose shirt. Skip the makeup.
Sitting on the end of the bed to pull on a pair of athletic shoes, she smiled at how enormous they made her feet look. Penney Clarke did not have petite extremities; she recalled a joking rhyme her younger brother used to repeat:
You're a poet, and didn't know it, but your feet show it—they're long fellows!
It never bothered her; she was rather proud of them. Being called a poet was quite acceptable as well; there had been aspirations.
But now she was a first-year high school English teacher who had just been dumped by the only man she had ever loved or ever made love to. Candles lined up on the dresser, ranks of little soldiers in varicolored uniforms, awaited a night mission that would not come.
Oh, well.
The sound of a car door closing brought her out of her reverie. Penney peeked through the curtain to see an old Honda in the lime-rock drive. Ron was walking toward her front door.
Suddenly self-conscious about allowing the boy to see the interior of the modest trailer she inhabited, Penney opened the door and stepped out. "I'm ready," she announced. It was still light, and warm, on this late spring evening in north Florida. Slapping at a mosquito, she remarked, "I hope they're not this thick at the game. Are the bugs usually bad there?"
"Um, I don't really know, ma'am. I've…never gone to a game."
"Really? Aren't you a fan of our Eagles?" She looked him over: a slender, studious boy, not an athlete himself and unlikely to be a fan of the local jocks. "Do you really want to go, Ron? I'd just as soon stay here."
With a disappointed expression, the young man answered, "Miss Clarke, whatever you want to do is fine with me. I'll just take off."
"No, no, Ron. I meant both of us stay here." She laughed with the first real pleasure she had felt in hours at the way his face brightened. "Come on in; I'll call for a pizza."
* * *
"It's only a month till graduation, Ron. What are your plans? A good college, I hope."
The boy wiped cheese from his chin. "College? Yes, but not a very good one. Just the community college over in Madison." He gave her a level look with his hazel-green eyes. "That way I can work for my dad."
"He's a builder, right? You don't strike me as a construction worker, Ron."
He shrugged his shoulders. "It's the easiest way to go and in a year or two I'll transfer to some other school--maybe the University of Florida. Anyway," he continued, with a shy smile, "I can hold my own on the job." Almost unconsciously, he flexed his arm.
"Oh?" Penney reached out and gave his biceps a squeeze. "So I see." Ron blushed quite red. "I didn't mean to embarrass you," she quickly assured him. But Penney could not resist adding, impishly, "Aren't you used to girls wanting to feel those muscles?"
