The Fifth One

I never know quite what to do about the Valentine's Day contest here at Literotica. Most of my stories have nothing to do with hearts and flowers and unconditional love, but every now and then I get an idea I think will fit. This story features some characters that also appear in

You Know That Nightmare?

, but this one stands completely alone. There's no need to read the other one... but you might wanna!

Make sure you read all the contest entries and vote up your favorites.

* * *

"So, yes, the bottom line is that the second semester has just begun. Meaning, grades are starting again from scratch. But based on Lauren's performance in class last semester?" I turned off my Maximum Sincerity tone of voice and replaced it with my Grave Disaster Might Be Coming tone. "I'd say it's important to keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't wind up failing."

Left unsaid, wisely, was the point that anyone who would fail Advanced Drama had to be a total moron. It was the easiest class in the school.

Lauren Ritter's parents looked at each other, worried. "She's just such a nice kid," Mom bleated. "I'm shocked she's having academic trouble."

I shook my head sadly. "I caught her cheating in December, so that zero took her grade way down. She's been fine since then, but I just think it's important for you guys and me to be on the same page." I tried to bring my smile back for them. "I think she can do fine. She just needs to

want

it."

They traded another shocked glance, as well they should. Lauren was a senior. If she failed my class, she wouldn't graduate. And losing out on a diploma because you've failed Advanced Drama is not exactly a predictor of lifetime success. "She's a nice kid," Mom repeated, like a mantra.

"Thanks for stopping by. I've got another parent coming in," I lied. At once I morphed my tone back to something earnest, something warm. "It was nice catching up with you guys." They shook hands and left, muttering, leaving me to pack my stuff up and head for my car.

The February parents' night was always hard. Hell, every parents' night was hard, but the February one was awful. It would be dark night when I drove home, I realized glumly, and I was just about to shrug into my heavy coat when another parent darkened the classroom door.

Dammit. They always came late like this. Dr Bourne encouraged the parents to sign up for appointment times to get us out on time, but there were always parents who figured it was fine if they kept us past time. "Hello? I'm just finishing up," I called out.

She was a small woman with something furtive about her, wearing a Cornpone's uniform. "I'm sorry. I was working late. I was trying to catch a few teachers, and I was especially hoping I could chat with you a little bit? I'm Stephanie Chandler."

I frowned. My drive home was already going to be a pain in the ass, and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. "Can it be really quick?" I asked hopefully. "Or I'm happy to set up another appointment..."

"No. This shouldn't take long. And it's important." She scuttled in and shut the door. Her eyes showed defeat, or maybe just cynicism. When you teach drama for a living, you get good at facial expressions. "You're Mrs LaPerla? Beginning Drama?"

"Ms, not Mrs. And just call me Melissa," I nodded, motioning her to the chairs I'd set up on the far side of my desk. "Who do you belong to?"

"What?" She cocked a wary head.

I smiled. "Who's your child?" I didn't have anyone named Chandler, but it's not that uncommon for parents to have a different name than their kids. Beginning Drama was mostly freshmen and sophomores, so I shifted mental gears from Lauren the senior.

She sat heavily down. "Noah Cruz." She was watching me carefully as she said it, so she must have seen my eyes light up.

"Noah! One of my favorite students!" I perked up at once, happy to not have to break the news that another kid was failing. "He's just what I need."

Her reaction to this was swift and decisive, a sharp glance to match her whipcrack tone. "What the hell does that mean?"

I blinked. "Huh?" I rewound, wondering what I'd said wrong.

"In what way do you 'need' my son?" Her eyes drilled into me now, beyond wary and into mistrustful. I felt suddenly like I was being interrogated.

"Oh," I replied with a weak wave of my hand, "sorry. I didn't mean anything weird. It's just that the Drama Club is presenting King Lear in the spring, and he's volunteered. He's every drama teacher's dream for Lear: a high school student who can grow a convincing beard." I laughed, hoping it would defuse everything. She pointedly did not join in, so I settled for a more businesslike finish and a return to a more neutral expression. "He can also do a baritone, if I can get him to sing for the Valentine Follies. I have high hopes for him, and his grades are fine too."

"A convincing beard." She stared at me again, a sandblast look that made me want to crawl under my desk, then seemed to relax just a bit. "Yes. He's a lot older than most other students."

"Yeah?" I hadn't checked. Noah was a senior, so I'd assumed he was seventeen, going on eighteen.

"He turns twenty in April." My eyebrows went up. "He's... had some problems. At other schools. He lost a lot of time over, uh, difficulties he had. With other teachers."

"Oh?" Was she talking about the same kid? "He's always been extremely respectful. I can't imagine him mouthing off to a teacher!"

She put on a smile, quickly gone, as melancholy a smirk as I'd ever seen. "No. Not that kind of trouble. And it's only some of his teachers, really just a few." She took a breath, her suspicion shading back into nervousness. "That's why I wanted to talk to you, specifically."

"Oh?" This was odd. Very odd. I'd been teaching almost ten years and I'd never quite had an interaction like this one, especially about a student as awesome as Noah Cruz. "I'm all ears, Ms Chandler."

She sighed heavily and looked into her lap. "It's a little awkward, so I'll just go ahead and ask you if you know anything about his past? His other schools?"

I shrugged. "Just what Guidance has told me. That he's new in town, just this year. But I had no idea he was so old." I tried another smile. "I just figured he was, like, mature for his age. A lot of drama students are."

She raised her eyes, her voice flat. "He's been asked to leave two other high schools, in lieu of expulsion. That's why his schooling has been so inconsistent."

"In lieu of expulsion? What happened?" I was shocked. Two other schools! I'd never heard of a kid getting kicked out of ours, except that one kid who'd almost killed the math department head by putting roofies in her coffee.

She shook her head. "Again, it's awkward, but he's had some problems with distractions. He understands boundaries, but doesn't think they apply to him."

"Um. Okay." I was having a hard time following. "But, like, why did you specifically want to talk to me, Ms Chandler?"

This time, her eyes had regained the gimlet air she'd come in with. "Because you're his type, Mrs LaPerla."

I rocked back in my chair, surprised. It was not an answer I would have expected in a million years. "Type? What do you mean?"

She rolled a critical glance over me, head to toe, very slowly. "You're, what, thirty? Thirty-two? He likes busty women in their early thirties. Long dark hair, dark eyes. Big smiles. Quick wit." She smiled with no warmth. "Bonus if they have a nice round butt; he likes that a lot. Trust me, you check all his boxes."

A chill crept up my back. This was

very

weird. "Can I just say," I began cautiously, "that it seems a little creepy for a mom to know that kind of stuff about her son?"

She shook her head, eyes closing in a moment of internal pain. "Trust me. I'd rather not know any of it. But it's all in the court documents."

"Court?" I knew my voice was rising. This was getting to be too much, and rapidly.

"When your son knocks up a teacher," she pointed out, "you wind up in court. That's just the way these things work. And trust me, you find out all kinds of details when you read the depositions."

"Knocks up?"

She nodded. "Yes." She had regained her sense of defeatism, and her next words told me why. "My son has had affairs with four different teachers that we know about, and one of them got pregnant." She sniffed. "There was a settlement, but it's why he works nights. For child support."

A puzzle piece clicked into place. Noah was often asking if he could nap on the couch in the Drama Office during his free periods; the kid was constantly exhausted. He was only taking five classes, just finishing up to hopefully graduate."Four different teachers," I mused.

"Yes." She hesitated, then shook her head. "That's why I'm here. To warn you."

"Warn?" What the fuck was this?

"Yes," she nodded tersely, "because you're hotter than all the other four."

I sat a moment, absorbing this amazingly crude statement, trying to see her point. "Wait. You think..." I leapt to my feet, outraged. "You think I'm going to pursue Noah? Sexually? I think I should call the principal!" I hoped I sounded as offended as I was, leaning on my desk with my legs firmly planted, bristling for her to rise up and argue about it... but she didn't.

She just gave an ironic laugh.

"I'm not worried you're going to pursue my son," she said slowly. "I'm worried he's going to pursue

you

." I stood a moment longer, glaring down at her, absorbing these words too. "Look," she yawned, "I'm tired. Tired from work, but also tired from Noah. I know my son. I fear for him. One day he's going to mess around with the wrong woman, and some angry husband is going to hurt him." She was struggling, I could see now, to hold herself together. "I just want to protect him long enough to get him through high school, but that means protecting others, too."

I sat down again, slightly calmer. "Ms Chandler," I told her as clearly and carefully as I could, "you have my word that I'm not going to have sex with your son. At all. Not even slightly." And those, I told myself, were words I'd never once foreseen myself saying. Never. I smiled in a way I hoped was reassuring. "Okay?"

She looked back at me, still with that pinched look of defeat. "No offense, Mrs LaPerla," she sighed, "but I heard almost exactly the same thing from the last two teachers he seduced. So." She nodded, then rose. "I'm worried. Teachers just... fall for him. And he falls for them. It'd be sweet, if it weren't so disgusting." She shrugged. "Good luck. I just want you to know."

"No! No. I get it." I took her hand, feeling the callous there. Cornpone's Grille was always busy, and the waitresses had to hustle. "I appreciate your concern. Really. But trust me, everything will be fine."

"I've heard that before." She summoned a wan smile anyway, then glanced at the clock. "I'm sorry I've kept you. I was hoping I could catch Mrs Tonelli. She's on his schedule too, and he's already mentioned her." She paused. "Just not as often as you."

"He's... mentioned me."

"You see why I wanted to come in and see you." She shrugged. "He loves your class. But he loved Mrs Pescadero's PE class too. And Mrs Klimas' science class, over on the other side of the state." She stared at me. "He had a threesome with both of them."

"Oh dear!"

"Yes. And he liked Mrs Byers' class. And Mrs Lopez, his tutor during the court case; he liked her

a lot

." Her voice took on a steel edge at that. "And now he likes

your

class." She let that sink in. "And Mrs Tonelli's.

"Oh," I said nervously, trying not to show my shock, "not to worry. Ms Tonelli's a lesbian."

"So was Mrs Klimas," she replied bleakly, "until she met Noah. He's got a lot of confidence. Too much, obviously."

"This is... a lot to take in." I swallowed. "Like, a

whole

lot."

"You'd prefer if I'd left you in the dark?" She shook her head. "It is what it is. I thought you should know. And this is his last chance at high school. Next stop is a GED, if... well."

I felt a strange sense of unreality, like I was hovering over my own body, looking down. This was the most bizarre conversation I could remember in some time. "If what?"

She stared at me a moment, and when she spoke it came out weary, bone-weary. "If he can't stay out of your bed. Or some other teacher's."

* * *

I didn't try to react differently to Noah the next day. Really, I didn't. I thought I was my usual snappy self, witty and wise, which I usually find easy: teaching drama is a great gig for a woman with my personality. So I tried to act normally around him in class, and I think I succeeded.

Until afterward.

"Okay if I crash here again, Ms LaPerla?" He stood there with his usual loose ease. He always smiled, and today was no exception, but now that I knew what that smile had done to other teachers, I tried not to return it. Which was very, very difficult.

Because his smile was infectious.

Letting him sleep on the battered old prop sofa had never really been a good idea, I reflected. He'd spent the first month of school falling asleep in his classes, and then he'd tried to crash in the nurse's office, but once I'd encouraged him in my drama class, he'd felt comfortable enough to ask, shyly, if he could just hang out in the Drama Office during his unassigned periods. I'd asked my department head and gotten the go-ahead, and everything had been fine ever since. But it had been awkward because one of his free periods coincided with my prep.

Meaning he and I were alone at least an hour a day, him sacked out on the sofa while I worked on my grading at the desk across the room. And that was why the arrangement hadn't been a great idea.

Obviously I kept the door open as often as possible, since female teachers and male students aren't supposed to be alone together. And I

had

told my department head about it; I assumed she'd told the principal. And the Cruz kid had never been any trouble around the building, least of all for me.

I stirred now, looking him up and down. Normal kid, tall and fencing-foil skinny. Long hair, scruff on his jaw. He had a permanent squint, the kind that made me think he was avoiding glasses. I cleared my throat. "I'm starting to wonder, Noah, whether I should be letting you sleep in here."

"Yeah?" He blinked a little stupidly, that surfer-boy persona of his as likeable as ever. "What's the alternative? Making me work?" He gestured at the racks of costumes in the corner. "I could, like, sort things? Try on the costumes?"

I laughed despite myself. "What would possibly be the purpose of you trying on the costumes?" I squirmed, suddenly aware of my cleavage. His mom's conversation had not been at the top of my mind that morning, and if it had been I might have chosen a top that fitted me a little more loosely. Whatever; the damage was done. But I was very conscious, all of a sudden, that I might want to grab a sweater. "It's just that I wouldn't want anyone picking on you. Or starting rumors. I mean, it's not exactly normal for me to let you sleep in here."

He cocked his head, considering for a few minutes, and then nodded. His face cleared. "Oh. I get it."

I frowned. "Get what?"

"My mom came to parents' night." It wasn't a question, his eyes resting on mine with an odd sense of presence. I'd seen it in him before; it was one reason why I wanted him to be Lear. "She talked to you."

"I saw a lot of moms last night," I shrugged, "but yes. Yours came. Lovely woman; we had a short talk. But an important one, Noah." I smiled up at him, hoping he'd take it as a warm encouragement and not a come-on. "I just think it might be a good idea if you and I have a talk. You know, get some things out in the open?"

He shrugged, one eyebrow rising. "Nah. Don't beat around the bush. My mom's not a lovely woman, and she's never been one to tell the whole story about me. Let me guess: she told you I wanted to sleep with you?"

"What? Oh my god!" Well, shit. This was certainly backfiring.

"She misinterpreted some things at my old school. And now she thinks she needs to protect me by talking to my teachers. She probably talked to Tonelli, too."

Misinterpreted

. Was it possible? "Noah." I pitched my voice low, reasonable. Calm. "She loves you. She's trying to help. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad." He smiled again, that glowing smile of his. "But if I can't crash on your lumpy couch, Ms LaPerla,

then

I'll be mad."

Dammit. I'd been thinking I ought to tell him exactly that: that his days on my couch were over. And yet...

There he stood with that radiant smile and those dopey eyes, and I ran out of determination. "Of course not. But just... be careful. I worry. Kids can be mean, and I don't want them bullying you for something stupid." Drama kids were often sensitive; I had too much experience keeping them from being bullied.

"Why would they bully me?" he shrugged. "I'm taking naps with one of the coolest teachers in the building. That makes me a hero, Ms LaPerla."

"I am not one of the coolest teachers in the building, Noah," I snapped, unable to stop myself, "I am

the

coolest teacher in the building."

"Yeah. Like I was saying." He kept his smile and then nodded, making sure his eyes stayed on my face. "So, like, I'm going to go crash on your couch. Okay?"

"Okay, Noah." Of course, there was nothing else I could say, at that point. "Sleep tight." I always told him that.

"Wake me if you need anything," he nodded, his habitual reply, and then he was striding across to where I kept the props, including his couch.

His

couch. That's how I thought of it, smoothly, automatically. No real consideration behind it at all: it was his, the place where he hung out. It would have staggered me if any other student came in there and sat down.

Yeah. Probably not a good idea to treat him that way. But he was a good kid, I told myself, and his mom had misinterpreted some things. So why kick him out?

I pulled out my grading and started in, thinking maybe I should find that sweater to cover up a little. But I didn't.

* * *

He stirred when he woke up about forty-five minutes later, as I was winding up my grading before the next class came in. "Head out, Noah," I called, turning around to face him. "It's that time again."

"Class." He sat up on the edge of the couch and yawned, and I pretended not to notice as he pulled up his shirt to scratch at his ribcage. It occurred to me, with a suddenness that must have been influenced by his mother's revelations the night before, that he might wake up with a hard-on sometimes.

I turned away. Just in case.

He burped. "I don't want to go to class."

"Want to know a secret?" I called out. "Sometimes? I don't want to go to class, either."

He laughed. "Then why'd you become a teacher?"

I forgot about his mom, then, in an effort to indulge my reputation for wit. "So that I could hang out with all the cool kids I never hung out with when I was your age." He chuckled at that, rising from the junked couch and stretching his arms high. I restrained myself from looking at his crotch, because truly I'd never had the urge to even think of checking him out until I'd heard from his mom.

Now it was a lot of what I was thinking about.

I debated opening my mouth, the question forming itself carefully in my mind as I watched Noah pick up his backpack. "Uh, Noah? Do you mind if I ask you a question? It's kind of important, if you're going to keep hanging out in the office here."

He straightened, tugging his clothes back into place as he smiled over at me. "Ask me anything, Ms LaPerla."

I smiled back. "Your mom's... misinterpretation." I said it slowly, with a built-in pause, so that he'd know I wanted a straight answer. "Do the other kids here know about any of that?"