I have to start with, I never intended for it to go that far.
Okay, so, now that that is out of the way, here goes.
I'm a fairly young French teacher in a rural high school. I spent my first couple of years out of college substitute teaching in the same district I teach in now, so by the time the school superintendent decided it would be a good idea to hire me, I had already made connections with faculty, staff, and the students at the school. This year was my first year having my own classroom.
Of course, I was always very careful to maintain a professional front with my students even as a substitute... I was only a couple of years older than my seniors, after all. My personal appearance sometimes got in the way of that professional exterior. I am fairly tall- 5'10, with long, curly red hair and big blue eyes, and a pair of breasts that one junior boy once described as 'hot as fuck' –quite the endorsement for a mere C cup!
I am very passionate about the French language, culture, and customs, so this job meant everything to me when I finally got it. When the drama department, of which I was Head Set Designer and Prop Master, decided to put on Beauty and the Beast as the spring musical, I was all for it. When a wealthy parent of a student in the cast suggested we fundraise and go to France as part of our role research, the idea was met with eager and willing participants.
Early on in the spring semester we earned enough money to book the cast and crew whose parents had given them permission to attend, which wound up being a group of about 15, a week and a half in various parts of France. It was a pretty fantastic way to spend April vacation and a few extra days, touring one of the most culturally rich countries in the world with, I have to say, a pretty fantastic, motivated, and gifted group of students.
Needless to say, not much got done by way of classwork that week.
"Miss Frederickson!" one of the seniors, Emily, raised her hand. She was cute, her hair expertly braided into a headband that wrapped across her forehead. She was a natural Belle, cast more for her beautiful singing voice than her striking resemblance to the Disney character. "Will we be doing tours and things the whole time, or will we have some free time?"
I raised my eyebrows. "If by 'free time,' you mean unsupervised gallivanting, I'm going to tell you right now that we're allowing you to go on this trip not because you're all very responsible young adults, but because we want you to learn more about France and the culture surrounding the original 'La Belle et la Bête.' You won't have much time to wander off."
She nodded, but I could tell that she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
A new voice had spoken up then, voicing the opinion everyone was holding privately.
"But we're all 18," Will Farouq spoke up. He was also a senior, usually cast in the comedic relief roles and an obvious choice for Le Fou, and had taken a shine to me early on in my career as a substitute. He frequently discussed how attractive I was and how I was his favorite teacher with the other students. He was on the shorter side, just a bit shorter than me, with dark hair swept into a modern bowl cut and dark eyes, with shoulders that were broad and muscular legs.
The problem, or, non-problem, I suppose, was that he was one of the nicest and most talented students I had, and never put me in the awkward place of overhearing these discussions firsthand. Sure, he skipped class from time to time, but he always came in and let me know why he did in the first place. His home life was not ideal- his father was Iraqi, and had set ideas about school and theater, and felt that his son wasted his time memorizing lines and songs, only to forget them after the shows ended. His mother was American, and preoccupied with herself and her career as a masseuse. To her, Will was her ticket to a comfortable retirement. The fact that he knew and understood his parents' point of view was often hard on him.
"That," I'd said to Will, smoothing my green sweater-dress, "Doesn't matter."
"If the drinking age is 18 in Europe, and correct me if I'm wrong, as always, Miss Frederickson, but you always say that the French attitude toward alcohol consumption is different than ours, shouldn't we take the time to experience that as well?" His sly smile beamed at me underneath his dark brown eyes and longish brown hair. "Maybe wine and dine you lovely ladies?"
"Nice try," I smiled briefly at him, "But no dice. Check the permission booklets your parents or guardians signed, with the itineraries, and you'll see that our days are pretty much booked. We'll have a couple of chances to split up into groups with either me, Mr. Grant, or Coach Kerry to do our own things, but that's about all we have time for."
"Shotgun Miss Frederickson's group!" Will said immediately. His friend, Mike, a blond football player who ran the lights for the shows, grinned at him from the seat next to him. Mike was tall to Will's shorter, slim to his stocky and strong, and both were, despite their antics, some of my favorites.
"Me too!" he said.
"Clearly it's going to be a long week."
***
Our flight left from New York's JFK airport on schedule, thankfully. Our bus trip to New York had been long and weary- the chaperones had collectively decided that driving through the night would save us time and money in the long run.
That meant taking sleeping shifts on the bus with the other chaperones. I hadn't thought about much other than the fact that these were my colleagues, but the second we were on that bus, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was the only female adult. Mr. Grant was a recent divorcee with a receding hairline and a questionable love for Abba and Elton John, while Coach Kerry was a bulked-up hulk of a man whose life revolved around football and math. Neither were awful travel companions, but Coach Kerry leered a bit too much in my direction for my taste.
When we arrived at the airport, I'm sure I looked the worst the kids had ever seen me- my hair felt ratty and had fallen out of the ponytail I'd scraped it into, and I had on a blue school drama club zip-up and my favorite Victoria's Secret yoga pants with my orange Nikes.
I checked kids off as they got off the bus and collected their suitcases, and was relieved to see that most of the girls looked as put together as I did. Emily and her sister, Gwen, had matching Aeropostale sweatshirts and jeans on, while Sam from the stage crew had sleepily pulled on a hoodie inside out.
The boys, on the other hand, had pounded Red Bulls they'd smuggled in just before we hit the city, so they were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Will bounded off the bus and gave me a wink and a cheeky, "Good morning, Miss Frederickson!" before claiming his luggage. I overheard him say that whichever God had been genius enough to invent yoga pants needed to be high-fived, but it was too early to give any attention past that to the comment.
We made it through security with no trouble, and when we finally boarded the plane and took our seats, I was surprised to find myself sitting in between Will and Mike. I had been sure that Sam was on one side of me before, but shrugged it off. I did make Will change seats with me so I had the aisle seat, just in case the other students needed me.
I noticed Mike looking particularly grouchy about this change of plans, but hey, not my problem. He was really the lucky one- he had the window seat.
The five girls were in the middle row, with Sam smack in the middle holding hands with the boy who had been cast as Gaston, a giant of a senior named Danny, and the side opposite us sat Coach Kerry and two other boys. The row in front of the girls seated Mr. Grant and the remaining boys in our group.
We cleared for take off, and once I realized that our kids weren't doing anything other than watching movies, reading kindles or magazines, or sleeping, I settled down. For some reason, none of the in-flight movies seemed interesting to me, so I snagged a copy of this month's Cosmo from one of the girls and started flipping the pages.
It wasn't until I was halfway through the issue that I realized Will was staring at me. Well, staring at the page I was on and trying to gauge my reaction. I'd already flipped through a spread about the 'in' positions, and was staring off into space with the magazine open to a guide to the perfect blow job.
I flipped the page hastily. I'm sure my face gave away the embarrassment I felt, because Will leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I was reading that, you know."
