I glanced up at the clock at the back of the class. Only a few minutes left, so I hurried forward with the closing statements of my lecture. Soon, the children would be set free from my economy lecture and let loose on the roads driving home, or wherever they went after school. Honestly, I didn't give a damn what these kids did. I ignored the hand raised in the middle of the room, knowing to whom it belonged.
I'd had problems with Cory White since before Christmas break, and things kept getting worse. Most of it could be solved if the rest of the teachers just got him in trouble every once in a while for his irrelevant comments, loud disruptions, or other shenanigans. The truth was, though, Cory was difficult to get in trouble. He was charming, whether it was in the smooth way he talked, or in his white-toothed friendly smile he would flash whenever he knew he was in trouble. It made it even harder that he did well in class, took notes, and seemed to be genuinely interested at times. Not that I could totally tell, since the seat directly in front of him and to each side was occupied by a girl, each of which fawning over him and laughing at his ridiculous jokes and wisecracks.
That was the real problem with all his disruptions--the girls around him paid no attention to class. They couldn't tell me the first thing about trade tariffs or taxation, despite having sat through this class with me for several months. Two of them had D's, while one was barely passing with a C. If they kept up that work, they would spending time enjoying the finest classes our crummy community college had to offer.
And I could tell them, it was bad there. It was the hell-hole I graduated from, and it landed me here in a classroom, dealing with a bunch of miserable shits, ones who I couldn't care less over whether or not they failed. I'd been teaching for twenty years, and not once had a student ever managed to warm up to me.
I shouldn't have worked with kids, I knew. Even in the twelfth grade, these bumbling morons hardly knew a thing. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend I was in the classroom were I had taught sixth grade history, with their high-pitched voices, wheedling excuses, and lame answers to any question I threw at them. Pathetic.
The bell was about to ring, so I switched over to assigning homework. "We have a quiz on Friday, as always, so you'd better be prepared. Keep working on your papers, and bring in your outlines or drafts if you want feedback. You'll need to have read chapter twenty two by next Monday; we'll be going over it in class, as always." I hated to repeat myself, but there was no damned way these kids would remember if I didn't tell them, despite half of them being legal adults.
The bell rang.
"You're dismissed," I calmly said, and it took maybe thirty seconds for the students to clear the room.
Cory, however, stayed, hovering above his desk, one strap of his backpack on his shoulder, pencil still in hand. "Mr. Daniels?"
"Yes, Cory?" I asked, slipping a handful of papers into my desk. I had to grade some things, and I needed to go shopping later. How long had it been since I'd done laundry?
"I'd had my hand up for twelve minutes, and you never called on me. Why?"
A lie was at the tip of my tongue: we hadn't much time and needed to move along. But part of me kept me from saying that. Maybe it was due to my hatred of how Cory was always let off the hook in any situation. But part of it was telling him how he wasn't the most powerful person in the classroom.
When I was a student, both in high school and in college, I had been lanky and slightly nerdy, never popular. I'd had a few friends, and they were always people like myself. Hell, I was still in contact with several of them now. But none of those people were anything like Cory White, the muscle stud in nice clothes, with a squad following behind them. People like Cory were typically distanced from me, or rude, or just superior. But now, I was the superior.
"Because, in all your time in this classroom, I cannot point to a single contribution you've made which was not rude, irrelevant, or distracting, so why I should I call on you? That'd be setting you up for failure, something we don't do here at Eastridge High."
Cory blushed, his tan skin developing a tint of pink before retuning to normal. "I had an honest question."
"Wonderful! What was it? I'll answer it now." I wasn't sure if he was buffing or not, but I wasn't about to apologize.
"During the trade deal in nineteen, uh, nineteen fifty, uh, I forgot. You made me wait too long." Cory stuck out his chin stubbornly.
"You forgot after holding it in your head for twelve minutes? Must not have been especially important, then," I said, emphasizing the word important. "Now, if everything I've called on you over before has been distracting foolishness, what should have made me expect this time was any different? Do you see why I didn't call on you?"
"Yeah," he replied, his voice dry.
"That's 'yes, sir,' to you, Cory," I answered, my childhood self feeling vindicated, fulfilled. Finally, I was able to get back at a person who was so like those who had treated me like shit for so long.
"Yes, sir," he said, his tone no longer awkward, but now more assertive. "I understand, sir."
"Good to hear. Now, unless you have any more questions, I'll get going." I was basking in the glory of having him submit to my authority. Hopefully, this was going to become a regular happening.
"Actually, yeah. Our papers--what format are they in, sir? I keep forgetting." Cory ran a hand through his wavy brown hair and grinned sheepishly.
"APA," I replied, locating my car keys in my pocket.
"Wait, let me write that down," he said, taking off his backpack and scrounging through it for a notebook. "What was that?"
It was three damned letters! How dumb was that kid? "A... P... A..." I got out, giving a few seconds between each letter.
He scribbled it out and shoved his stuff back in his backpack, walking out of the room. Once he had exited, I breathed in deeply, ready to take on whatever the evening pitted against me.
I nearly reached the classroom doorway when Cory stepped back through. "Excuse me, sir, I can't find my wallet. Could you give me a second while I look for it?"
I sighed but nodded. The school policy stated I couldn't leave students unattended in the classroom after the final bell had rung, so I stood there while he dropped his backpack and ducked to the floor. Crawling around on the floor, he gave me a perfect view of his ass.
Not that I cared, since I wasn't about to start hitting on some student, even though I am gay and haven't dated in four years. Even then, I never got much sex. My mind drifted for a second, and I felt my cock growing harder. My gaze settled on Cory's ass, which was huge, though proportionate with the rest of his body. A damned fine piece of muscle it was, even in the slacks he was wearing, as required by the school. I wondered how it would look--
"Mr. Daniels? I can't find it." Cory said, standing and turning.
"You're sure it isn't in your pockets or backpack?" I checked, keeping my voice calm.
He fished around in his pockets with his massive hands for a few more seconds. "Nope," he said, opening his backpack and leaning over it, giving me, once again, a delicious view of his ass.
I blinked, realizing that the tip of his wallet was peeking out of his left back pocket. I nearly told him so, but I couldn't resist what I did next. I crossed the room and placed a hand on his ass cheek, causing him to jolt. I quickly yanked his wallet out to make him think that was my sole purpose. "It was in your back pocket," I said calmly, smiling at him briefly.
"Yeah, I kind of figured that out," Cory said, looking at the ground, an embarrassed smiled crossing his face. "Sorry."
I extended the wallet to him, getting my bearing back, realizing it was probably a terrible idea to touch his ass. It was almost worth it all the same. It was incredibly firm, I could tell, even from the second I had contact with it. I wanted to know more, but I contained myself.
I held his wallet out for a second longer before he took it, while I examined his ID, cased in a clear plastic sheathing. "Your birthday was last week, I see."
"Yep!" he said. "I mean, yes, sir! I'm eighteen! Finally can smoke!" He took his wallet and slipped it in his pocket. "I'm just kidding. That could totally wreck my chances as an athlete." He paused a second. "And, in case you're wondering, not on the football team, we lost every game we played. I'm talking shot and discus."
I nodded. "Of course," I said, although I had no idea, and I honestly hardly cared. "Anyway, isn't your girlfriend waiting for you?" I asked, ready to go home. I wondered if he would take the cue.
Cory laughed. "No girlfriend for me, sir." Apparently, he had not taken the cue. "I don't swing that way," he finished.
Had I heard him correctly? "What was that?" I asked absently, pretending I didn't care as much as I did. If he was gay, it would mean he wasn't like every jerk I'd encountered back in high school. He would be a little bit more like me, though I hated to admit it.
