I walked into the library for the staff meeting, and saw that all the rumors were true. Her unsmiling, but kind face was rapt on the speaking superintendent. Perhaps listening so intently so she could throw back what he said in his face at some point in the future. Yes, my Vanessa was like that. She still looked so young, considering that I know she's about 25.
Her eyes fluttered to follow as the superintendent stepped sideways to let me by, and she briefly accosted me before doing a double take and staring at me momentarily. The moment broken, she went back to what she had been paying attention to before.
I began to reminisce, it had been so long since I had last seen her face. She had been in a few of my classes her senior year, although she had went to Maguire High for her entire secondary education. Vanessa had been one of my more unique students. She was amazingly bright ( probably within the top three most intelligent students I had been privileged to teach), but also perilously unmotivated, funny and sarcastic as all hell (a purebred trouble maker), and gorgeous in a rather voluptuous way. And for a 18 year old girl, she had an ability of self control beyond her years.
The boys had come chasing her that year, and while she sometimes coquettishly led them on, it was only to inevitable heart break. Sometime in the middle of the year she all but abandoned flirting (unless necessary to get her way), and would wear a rather concealing, but tasteful black trench coat. Her hair was dark, but had natural golden and red highlights veining through. Her skin was ivory white, and she had almost black eyes that glittered when she laughed, or yelled.
Her body was small, but muscled, almost heavily, because at the time she was almost fulltime at the local store pushing carts. I had went up there to see her a few times, although she never saw me, and it was amazing to see her push in 40-50 carts by herself, just like any of the boys. Vanessa was never on any of the sports teams, but she had natural physical prowess. Her legs were like a track stars, and most of the boys knew enough not to make her mad, they feared her on principle. In fact, due to her commanding, self-assured attitude, most people would comply to her whim without much struggle.
Including me.
I've been married for 15 years now, have two sons. I love my wife dearly. And while I knew that I couldn't fall for her in that last year of school; that I was slowly forming a crush on her. A schoolboy's crush. On a student 20 years my junior. I allowed it only because I felt that once she graduated, that was it. I would never see her again. Well, guess what Jamie-boy? She's part of the staff now.
Imagine that. A horrible, but painfully intelligent student becoming a teacher. How hypocritical. I leaned forward so that I could look at her down the row, still so intent- "James?"
My head jerked up toward the speaker, "Yes?"
"I've been trying to speak to you for about five minutes. Are you a bit preoccupied about how late you showed up to this meeting, or is something else wrong?"
My face almost flushed from the commentary, but I retorted swiftly, "I guess you're just too quick and thorough for me to keep up with. What did you want to talk to me about?"
He waved me off and wrapped up the meeting. I saw Vanessa deftly shuffle her papers and stand up. Walking out the door, I grabbed her arm. "How have you been Miss Haze?"
She smiled that impish smile at me and was about to start talking when she realized that there was a flood of other teachers and counselors walking in that direction. "We'll catch up later, Brighton!"
That nasty habit of hers had never left; calling people solely by their last name. I had found that out. After a week or two of formalization, it was customary for many of the students to drop the Mr. and entitle me and other teachers by only our last names. There had been a few times though that she made sure to not only call me Mr. Brighton, but would toss in a complimentary sir, or professor to get her way. Flattering woman-child she was.
How often during those times would she lean carefully over my desk to offer up as much cleavage as was possible through her low-cut shirt and trench coat. She did it so knowingly for how innocent she was. In fact, in all my years teaching, there had never been a female student who was so beautiful that ran around without a male attendant for her entire tenure in my classes. Yes, she often had boys around her, but it was obvious they were only friends in her mind, or she was using them and twisting them around her finger. She was always lone, always powerful in her own right, without having to date at such a tender age.
I sat there idly at my desk, all my work having already been done that day. It was apparent, since it was 3 o'clock and most of the teachers were about to leave, or already gone, that Vanessa didn't plan on coming to see me. Standing, I made my way up the stairs to the English department. Walking in to Mrs. Connelly's old room, I saw her sitting there facing the desk, which was up against the wall of windows. She had headphones on, and was singing along to it while apparently working on something. Looking over her shoulder, I ascertained that something as being a crossword puzzle. Headbanging to whatever music she was listening to, she took out the ear pieces, and then gasped as she saw my shadow on her desk from the lights.
"What do you want?"
I laughed. "I thought you were supposed to come see me."
"I said we'd catch up later. Not particularly saying that I would see you, and not even definitely today."
"Well, I'm here, let's play catch up."
Vanessa swiveled in her seat enthusiastically, spinning around a few times. Finally, I grabbed the arm rests and stopped her, facing me. Even being a few feet away from her, I could smell that enigmatic scent she always carried that was some sort of fruit blend. Looking her up and down, I began to remember those old feelings surfacing from when she was a student of mine.
Except, now she seemed to have thinned a little in adulthood, and tended to dress a bit more provocatively. Not saying she was dressed like a whore, by no means; but considering she used to wear a large Puritan coat, this was certainly a change. A form fitting, light blouse which showed a bit of her goods, and a dusty gray skirt with pleats that fell halfway down her delicious, crossed legs. Her black shoes had long been discarded by the door of her new classroom, and she sat in her girlish ecstasy before me. Her dark hair with red-golden veins teased me as she began to question me, "Are you just going to stare, Brighton?"
"Possibly."
"What's happened in your life?"
"Absolutely nothing. Yours?"
She half laughed and scoffed at the same time. "So us playing catch up was you basically coercing me into tell you everything in my life with nothing from you. I don't like those odds. Why should I give you information for free?"
"What could I pay you for your information?"
Her, "Hmm..." was a rippling purr, "Well, there are many ways I could ask you to pay, Professor Brighton. It just happens that, as a man of moral, I doubt you'd be willing to ... cooperate."
The Cheshire cat grin itself was planted on her lips, the coral lips I wanted to kiss so dearly. "Vanessa, as a peer, you may now call me James."
"James-"
* * *
