All the Way In

Another reader request; this is my take on a very overused trope. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

The waves surged, in and out, like foamy grey rolling pins flecked with seaweed, and between the ominous-looking water and the gritty snow on the sand under my feet, I couldn't help but wonder what the fuck I was doing here.

Ah, but then I felt the chilly fingers gripping my left hand, and I glanced that way to see the woman in the blue swimsuit, and I knew.

* * *

Jesus Christ, I had it bad. Really bad.

My heart started thumping even before I got to her door, even before I turned into the Science Department hallway, while I was still on the stairs. Going

down

the stairs; there was no excuse at all for breathing hard, especially for a guy who'd run track for four years.

But no. My little heart was going pitter-patter anyway, because I had it bad.

Not that it's unusual for guys to have crushes on their teachers; hell, my buddy Ryan had been crushing on Audrey Temple since he was a freshman. She was just a guidance counselor, but still. He talked about her for a couple years like he wanted her to be his mother, then for a couple years more like he wanted her to be his wife, but then he'd found a girl. And since then he didn't talk about Ms Temple anymore.

But no. I had it bad.

I'd taken Ms Dubinsky's bio class as a sophomore, and I'd done spectacularly badly in it; I'm an English and social studies guy who also puts together the yearbook and runs cross country, so I'm already nerdy enough, thanks. I don't need science aptitude to add to the mix. But, despite my C+, I'd finagled my way into her AP class the next year, pulling a C-.

I don't imagine she thought I'd opted for the second year because it was biology I loved. No, it was her.

She was, quite simply, the greatest woman on earth. No doubt. She was beautiful and sexy and sprightly and buoyant and all those other words you're supposed to throw into

Gatsby

essays. She tended to speak in exclamation points. She dressed fantastically; some teachers had taken to wearing yoga pants lately, and most science teachers dress down anyway. Not Ms D; it was all skirts and nice, stylish sweaters and smart jackets with tanktops underneath. She was brilliant; obviously she knew biology, but she seemed to know about everything else too: international relations, politics, engineering, all with a pleasant and genuine manner that let you think she didn't mind discussing things like that, as long as things didn't go

too

off-track.

She was shorter than me, but most people are, so no big deal. She had a lovely heart-shaped face with huge, frizzy brown hair that seemed to have a life of its own; huge brown eyes, a little pixie-button nose, and a full, smiling mouth that always seemed to have dark lipstick on. Even her glasses, sprinkled with little polka-dots, lent her an air of geeky fun.

She was not a large woman at all, but she wasn't skin and bones either; she obviously worked out, and seeing her running once, long after school as our cross country team headed back from the Marsh, with her wild hair bobbing and her sturdy little legs bare, had formed an early backdrop to some of my more feverish fantasies.

But now I was a senior, closing in on my last semester, very ready to be gone. And still, I had it bad for Ms Dubinsky.

I was halfway hoping she wouldn't be in her classroom when I went by; it wouldn't solve my problem, but at least I wouldn't need to confront her. School had just ended, though, so she'd probably be there, and as I dodged oncoming freshmen and sophomores, drifting around the halls in a kind of Brownian motion, I tried hard to get my breathing under control.

She was teaching out of Room 102 these days, a new spot for her; she'd taken over the good bio lab after old Mr McCarthy retired last year. I crept up to the door, my registration form in my sweaty hand, and took a deep breath as I stepped over the threshold.

Holy fuck, she was in a dress today. I'd always loved her in a dress. This one was striped black and white all the way down, narrow stripes that emphasized every little nook and cranny and curve. I swallowed and hoped she hadn't seen me look straight at her hips, flaring out so wonderfully beneath her tight little waist.

She was smiling, radiant as always. Her glasses were low on her nose, and I felt a sudden urge to reach out with a trembling finger and push them up for her. "Well, well! Todd! Haven't seen you in awhile!" She was warm and wonderful and delightful, like she'd really missed me. "What can I do for you?"

You can marry me,

my brain shouted back at once.

Thanks for asking.

I swallowed again. "Uh, hi! I'm dropping off my registration? For the Student Government conference?" I forced a smile. "Remember, I couldn't go last year, and you said I should come to this one?"

"Awesome!" Her quick fingers brushed back a stray tendril of hair. "Yeah, of course I remember! It's in New England this year. Come on in, sit down. We'll get you signed up." The dress clung to her ass, too, and I found myself searching for her underwear straps as I followed her over toward her desk in the far corner. God, I had it bad.

"I read that." I'd worn out my phone trying to figure out where the conference was being held; I don't travel much. "This'll be my first plane flight."

"Don't be nervous," she said at once, settling into her chair. Her hair continued trying to fight its way out of its messy bun. "There are like ten of us going. You'll have plenty of friends there to make sure you don't freak out."

"Ah." I sat on one of the lab stools and tried to make myself quit trying to look down her dress. "Who else is chaperoning? Mrs Julian?"

"You know it." She glanced around the room to make sure no underclassmen were still around, then sighed cutely. "One more year, then I get to take over Student Government myself. Mrs Julian can be... challenging to work with. But you're an English whiz-kid; you know how she operates." Indeed I did; Julian was the lead English teacher, and she'd been mercilessly setting departmental curriculum since my older sister had been a freshman. She was a bitter, vengeful little muppet. "But you'll be okay. If you want to, you can just hang out with me!"

Jesus, was the woman

trying

to torture me? She meant nothing by it; it's the kind of thing she said all the time. But my God! I'd be jerking off for weeks, just based on that one little statement. She was scanning my registration form, her quick eyes flickering. "Do your parents need to sign this?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Cool. And you misspelled the destination," she chided. A quick, warm glance at me, full of mischief. "You won the English Comp award last year... a typo, Mr Barry? How dare you?" She was grinning, shaking her head, searching for some white-out. "It's not your fault, really; it's a complicated word." She twisted her busy mouth into a small frown, trying to remember the spelling. "Some Indian name. Moosanucket? Moosannanucket? I might be leaving out a syllable, but I know it ends in -ucket!" She grinned some more.

"Like bucket?" She was trying to put me at ease, and I was trying to obey. "Shuck it?"

"Suck it?" She let her face lapse into an incredulous, wide-eyed look of shock, complete with a little round O of a mouth. "My goodness! I shouldn't have said that, should I?" She was laughing, though, and I joined in; it was not out of character for her to be herself, especially with seniors. "That's what people say about me," she mused, shaking her head as she attacked my form with her white-out. "When I'm not teasing, I'm mocking. No offense, Todd."

"None taken," I managed at once. God, she could read the phone book to me and I'd be captivated. We both paused, thinking uncomfortably of other things that rhymed with

bucket

, and then I felt like I should say something. "It's Native American, Ms D. Not Indian. The history department would be angry at you."

"They can get in line." She chewed at her lip, nodded at my form, and stuck it into a manila folder next to her laptop. "Cool. You're all set, Toddster. Just bring the deposit by, and you can pack your bags. We leave on the fifteenth." She blinked as I held out an envelope. "What's that, sweetie?"

Sweetie!

I melted. I shook the envelope. "Here you go, Ms D. There's a check in there." The trip was costing me my entire summer's wages, but I didn't mind. It's why I'd gotten the job. She looked at me sideways, her head cocked cutely, and reached out snakelike to snatch the envelope.

"I like a man who shows up prepared." She slit the envelope with her fingernail and pulled out the check. Her beautiful eyes widened. "Wow! The full amount!" She looked up at me, impressed. "I'll be honest, Todd, most of these checks come from parents. It's nice to see that you've got your own account. Shows responsibility." She flickered a glance up and down toward my shoes, then smiled a bit enigmatically. "But then, conscientiousness was never your problem, Todd-o. Was it?"

I shrugged, at ease now, just a couple of people talking. I'd always loved her habit of nicknaming everyone; it made me feel obscurely special. "I think I like Toddster better." She grinned widely, and I sighed. "Yeah, I'm just dumb at bio. No big mystery there."

She sat back in her chair and stretched her neck. "You'll find something you can do well, Toddster, never fear." She smiled some more, looking calm and wistful and grown-up and altogether lovely. "Well, I've got to get to hallway duty. Listen for the announcements about the conference meeting; Mrs Julian will be putting together a schedule, a packing list... you know. All that jazz." She nodded at me. "It'll be great to have you along, Todd. I'm happy you're coming!" What was it about her, this way she had of making everyone feel like you were the most important person in the world when you talked to her? I stood up.

"Uh, thanks Ms D." I wondered whether I should say it, but eventually I just went ahead and blurted it out. "I miss your class this year."

"It misses you too, Toddster." She smiled so sweetly, even if it was just a stock response from her. "See you soon!"

"If I'm lucky," I replied, faltering a little, but she was still smiling as I left.

* * *

That evening I locked my bedroom door before dinner and jerked myself madly, splattering a long lively line of spunk that reached all the way to my own chin. Took about three minutes.

God, I had it bad.

* * *

I had no idea what to do at the airport, which was not a feeling I enjoyed. I hung close to my buddy Ryan, whose parents had enough money to fly them out to California every summer. "Dude, I'm telling you, it's no big deal. Just do what the security guys tell you, shut up, and smile. It's nothing."

I smiled uncertainly at him and glanced over at his girlfriend, Leah, whom I'd known since kindergarten. She and I had parents who moved in the same circles and made the same money, and she'd never been out of the state. She seemed a little nervous, too; the airport was a fucking mess, like some sort of Asian marketplace in the movies. Everything was noise, crowds, orderly confusion, and the overwhelming sense that everybody else knew what was going on while you were in the dark.

But at least Mrs Julian, at the front of the line, knew where to go. She led us like Patton, briskly and efficiently, relying on Ms Dubinsky at the back of the line to pick up any stragglers. There weren't any male chaperones, and I wondered how the school got away with that... until I realized that with ten kids traveling, only three of us were guys. "Like, how are we going to do the sleeping arrangements?" Ryan had fretted. "There are only two beds in the hotel rooms."

The other guy was Jeff Pike, who'd never once spoken to a girl as far as anyone knew. He was in StuGov because, apparently, he actually truly did want to go into politics. "I'll take the floor," he said immediately, and loudly. "You guys can have your own beds." He'd looked around as he'd said it, desperate that none of the girls thought he'd ever sleep in the same bed with a guy, but Mrs Julian had overheard him.

"We'll get a cot," she'd said shortly, clearly busy with logistical matters more important than Jeff Pike's sexuality. "Stop complaining."

Now, with the plane landing at some little coastal airport in New England, I was feeling a lot calmer about the whole trip. It turned out air travel was pretty mundane, when it came right down to it; there'd been some turbulence as we'd come up the coast, and the food had been a disappointment, but we'd neither crashed nor blown up nor been hijacked, so as it turned out the teeming confusion of the airport back home had been the only bad part.

That, and the jamming swarm of people trying to all get off the plane at once, clogging the aisles. Leah and I joined them, popping out of our seats like jack-in-the-boxes as soon as the plane stopped. And until we'd stood waiting for five full minutes, we didn't know why Ryan had been laughing at us from his window seat, where he'd been relaxing the whole time, watching the ground crew out the window.

As I had the entire flight, I snuck a glance at Ms D, sitting a few rows ahead. I couldn't see her, of course, but her hair was lively as it bobbed over her seat-back, in constant motion. We'd shared the flight with the StuGov kids from Florida or Arkansas or some other bullshit state, and I could hear her swooping voice sharing ideas and banter with their advisor, a big old dude with a syrupy accent.

I was obscurely jealous of him.

We loaded onto a bus with the kids from the boonies, all of us introducing ourselves with that mix of shy curiosity that geeky students all seem to share. The bus was a nice one, with reclining seats and carpeting, and there was a group from Georgia already aboard. I stared hard at Ms D in her cargo shorts and the bright-green StuGov t-shirt we all wore, as she stood in the aisle with her clipboard. "Okay, listen up, Seaborne kids!" Then she went down the list, doing her headcount with speed and a smile for every kid who answered; I treasured mine, of course, storing it away so that I could sigh over it later.

It was going to be a long weekend.

* * *

Cargo shorts were an error, she admitted as we all arrived at the hotel. "It's like thirty degrees out!" she exclaimed to anyone who'd listen, shaking her head at her own stupidity. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We sort of figured you'd know," Ben said wryly. He was a local, a kid from the nearby university, and he already had our girls giggling at his accent, lacking its Rs. "It's coastal New England in January. You're luck there's not more snow than this."

"I guess," Ms D shrugged, but she didn't really seem upset. She never did. "I'm changing into an Antarctica snowsuit as soon as we get to the hotel."

"Mmm." Ben was unimpressed. "The Welcome Banquet is tonight, after everyone gets here. Then tomorrow is morning workshops and the Polar Dip in the afternoon. Sunday is more workshops, the Closing Dance, then you guys fly out on Monday morning."

"Yup!" Mrs Julian had made all of us detailed copies of that same schedule, but Ms D was far too polite to tell Ben that. "Thanks so much for taking care of us!"

"How cold's the water for the Polar thing?" That was Tracey Clerk, our class president. She was already turning pale and shivery, but then that's the price she was paying for her zero-percent body fat. "I'm freezing already," she added unnecessarily.

Ben made an unabashed glance at her breasts. "Really cold," he told her shortly, evidently deciding she wasn't worth his time. "You can opt out, if you want; it's a fundraiser, so you can just contribute money instead of getting in."

"Nope." Mrs Julian's voice from the other side of the bus aisle was crisp. "Seaborne High School will have 100% participation tomorrow." She glared around at all of us. "It's for charity. No excuses."

I nodded dutifully, figuring there was no way she or Ms D would go in. To be honest, I was nervous about it myself: sprinting into the midwinter Atlantic for charity was not what I thought of as a wise plan. Ryan, who'd done this in a lake in Minnesota at a family reunion, had already told me the score. "Dude, it's so cold! You'll feel like your goolies are shriveling up and floating away."

I thought about that; it was not an appetizing notion. At last, I stirred in the bus seat. "Goolies?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm not going to sit here on a bus filled with kids from all over the country, talking about body parts." He blinked at me. "You can't figure out what I'm talking about, from context?" Beside him, Leah was leaning over to stare at me, giggling into her hand.

"Dude. I just thought it was a funny word, is all."

Beside me, Jeff was leaning forward. "What are you guys talking about?"

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes to the full-blown laughter from goddamn Leah. "Nothing, bro."

* * *

The room already smelled funky, and our stuff had only been in there for like four hours. This perplexed me; I'd washed all my clothes before I brought them, and I had to assume my fellow males had done the same. I followed my nose to Ryan's bag. "Motherfucker!" I wailed. "Dude. Your bag smells like ass."

Ryan, kicking his feet up onto his bed, looked over at me. "That's quite an outburst, Todd," he said smugly. "All my clothes are clean."

I frowned and looked at the offending bag, considering. "Well, what about the bag?"

"Huh?" He was already texting Leah, and we'd dropped her off at her room like forty seconds ago. The Banquet had been as awkward as expected. "What are you talking about?"

I rolled my eyes. Damn Ryan's rich parents, who'd never made him do his own laundry. "Bro, when you put clean clothes into a stinky lacrosse bag, your clean clothes start to smell like your stinky lacrosse bag."

He frowned. "Do what, now?"

I kicked his bag toward the dresser. "Dude, put your shit in the drawers before everything goes rancid!" Though, I reflected, it probably wouldn't matter; they'd been in there all day, stuffed into an airplane hold. "Then, we'll burn the bag."

"Hands off my bag, Todd." Into this small moment of tension came a brisk knock at the door, then the completely unexpected voice of Ms Dubinsky. I froze at the sound.

"Hello?" Another knock. "You guys decent? I have to come in and do a room check!"

Ryan and I looked at each other, my eyes no doubt more frantic than his. We were indeed decent; the Banquet had called for button-downs and nice slacks, and we'd only been back in the room for a few minutes. "Uh, sure!" I stammered. "Come on in!"

They'd apparently given the chaperones our keycards, because the door snicked open on its own. "Hi guys!" Ms D said brightly as she came in. "Just checking in. How's it going?"

I tried not to look. She was wearing nice school clothes, but there's a difference between school clothes during a day at work and school clothes during a two-hour dinner. She looked fresh and gorgeous and polished and classy, standing there in a black dress with gold speckles here and there, and strappy gold sandals. I thought of telling her she looked nice, but for starters, Ryan was right there. Also, "nice" didn't even begin to describe her. "We're good, Ms Dubinsky," Ryan replied politely, and I saw his eyes flicker down her body. For a moment I felt obscurely offended on Ms D's behalf, but that made no sense; I'd just done the same thing. So instead, I felt obscurely offended on Leah's behalf.

"Great!" She scanned around the room. "Where's Jeff?"

I nodded toward the closed bathroom door just beside her. Ms D made a face, her pretty lips twisting. She nodded and, unexpectedly, kicked out sideways until the bathroom door rattled. "Jeff, sweetie? Can you hear me?" She didn't wait for a response; she knew he could. Instead, she just raised her voice. "