I was feeling nervous that day; the students walking past me between periods seemed different, almost dangerous. I was afraid to be near them, I realized. I'd never looked at them that way before. I was nervous, strung out, the debris of my classroom reminding me of my shame. Just that morning, I'd gone to write the agenda up on the whiteboard beneath the date; the marker wouldn't write, though, and I knew why. And as I stood there out in the hall with my coffee and two of my teacher friends, waiting for the bell to ring, it came to me: I wasn't afraid to be near my students.
I was only afraid to be near one of them.
And, just as I thought this, she came up the stairs. My stomach dropped toward my feet; uselessly, I looked away down the hall, but of course she was moving toward me anyway. I swallowed in a dry throat as she came closer, and for a second or two everything seemed unreal. Like it wasn't really happening, though of course it was; she was, indeed, sliding toward me, right there in front of two other teachers and dozens of passing students, her messenger bag draped casually across her body with the strap passing tightly between her small breasts.
I forced a smile; hers, in return, was the smirk of a predator. "Good morning, Natalie," I said as naturally as I could.
"Good morning, Scott." Thank God, she said it softly enough that my two colleagues didn't hear.
"Don't call me that," I grated. My eyes darted around; I was certain everyone could hear us, but she plainly didn't feel the same as she rolled her eyes.
"Please," she said flatly, still mercifully soft. "I drank most of your cum yesterday while I shoved my finger up your asshole. So I think I can call you by your first name if I want." And, with a flourish, her narrow ass flowing smoothly from side to side, she headed off toward her AP calculus class, flipping her hair behind her ear with that maddening confidence of hers.
And if I hadn't known I was in trouble before, I certainly knew it then.
* * *
It had started two days before, at our Student Council meeting. Or maybe it had started on the first day of school, or even three years ago; as I thought about it later, there always had been a certain tension between us. She'd been the brightest student in my class twice, first as a junior in US History and now as a senior in AP Euro, and it had always been clear that she thought she was smarter than I was. Her hand was always raised, her essays always perfect; her analysis was at least as good as mine, and nobody could remember a time when she'd been unprepared for class.
And always, that confidence; she had the earliest birthday in her grade ever since kindergarten, and that made her lord it over her classmates with an easy, insolent sense of self-assurance. They'd made her chairperson of the Student Council, and she'd never bothered to let anyone else think they could do the job any better. That meant she'd been working very closely with me this year, and I'd been intimidated from the first moment.
She knew it too, naturally.
She was eighteen by the first week in November. And that gave her even more status among her peers, a certain arrogance based on the fact that she could vote, buy lottery tickets, and smoke cigarettes nearly two months before anyone else. She carried herself differently now too, with an unconscious new swagger that emphasized her slim, firm curves.
And of course I'd noticed; any male teacher, no matter what their age, marital status, or years of experience, who tells you they don't notice their female students' bodies is lying shamelessly. And most of the girls knew it, I figured. But there was a tacit boundary there; I thought of my high school girls like pictures in magazines. Sure they were sexy, but they were somehow unreal, or at least untouchable.
Except that Natalie was quite real. She'd always been something of a close talker, but lately during Student Council executive meetings she'd been more brazen about invading others' space, especially during arguments. I could tell it was making her fellow students uncomfortable, and I could sometimes see them glancing my way, worried, wanting me to do something; as the advisor, I knew I should.
So I had, two days before. The meeting was a morning session of the executive board, with a long and painful discussion about lining up sponsorship for the car wash next month. I'd watched guiltily as Natalie dominated the discussion, nearly forcing the other students into agreeing with her on every major point. She was not exactly a bully, really; she was just smooth, and supremely confident that she knew best. So she'd moved effortlessly through the others like a semi truck through a hayfield, wrapping up the meeting precisely on time with a brisk tap of her gavel.
"That's it, everybody," she said coolly. "Mr Herrick? Got anything to add?" She used the dismissive tone she usually used with me, stopping just short of mockery.
"Actually, Natalie, there was something I wanted to talk to you about just for a few seconds," I blurted. I could see the other students' eyes widen; I was a popular teacher, and most of them liked me, but still it was unusual to make demands of Natalie Cross.
She stared at me for a beat. "Of course, Mr Herrick. That'll do it, folks; see you guys next week, same time, same place." She stared again. "If that's okay, Mr Herrick."
"Sure." There was the usual confusion as the students gathered their bags and papers and fled for their ten minutes' free time before their first class. At last it was just me and Natalie; I sat behind my desk, she perched herself up on a counter. The door was open, students rustling past in the hall. I cleared my throat.
"Awesome meeting, Natalie," I began. "You guys got a lot done."
She stared at me. "Um. Thanks."
"Yeah." She could tell how nervous I was; I was never good at confronting problem students, even in my own classroom. Not directly; I generally just took points off. "Well, you might want to work on letting the others start taking charge of some of these things. You're a senior, after all; one of them will need to take over after you graduate."
"I see." She crossed her legs, the jeans shifting across her firm muscles. "Like, who?"
I blinked. "Who what?"
She smiled in condescension. "Who do you think will take over from me? Because," she paused, "I'm pretty sure nobody can."
