It was the last week of school, and Sandra couldn't wait for it to be over. She was 24, and this was her first year teaching. It hadn't been wonderful. These second-year seniors she was teaching were rowdy, and sometimes openly disrespectful. She had spent many nights crying in frustration. But the summer was approaching, and she was going to abandon teaching for good. Only one week left.
Because the summer was approaching and it was hot outside, Sandra dressed more simply. The school had a strict dress code, even for teachers. But what did she care? Five more days left. What were they going to do? Fire her?
Her looks hadn't gone unnoticed among the students. She was young, short, perfectly rounded. She had ice-blue eyes and full lips that had a constant pout. Her breasts were enormous. Some of the male students bet how big they were. Some said D-cup, some said DD. But they were all wrong. Her red hair was bright, and constrated nicely against her milky skin.
She walked into First Period on Monday morning wearing tiny black shorts, a tight white t-shirt concealing a tiny white bra, and her hair was pulled up. She knew she was probably showing too much skin---especially the ample cleavage on display when she bent over slightly---but she didn't care.
There was a dozen kids in her First Period class. And it was easily her worst class. They were the "bad kids." Six boys and six girls, all of them Hispanic and black. They were loud and obnoxious and rude, but she usually just let them run wild, as long as they promised not to make too much noise. It was easier to give into them than fight them every day.
The girls leered at Sandra's outfit, and the guys stared blatantly. She'd gotten used to some suggestive looks from the boys and distrustful glares from the girls, but with today's outfit, the attention on her was tripled. She sat down behind her desk as the bell rang.
"Okay, everyone," she said. "Only one week left. So just study or talk or whatever. Just don't leave the classroom." And with that, she opened a fashion magazine and tuned them out.
Fifteen minutes later, Tyrone, the biggest boy in class, said, "Hey, Miss Sandra!"
She looked up from her magazine, slightly annoyed. "What is it, Tyrone?"
"Can you do that math problem for us? It's for our math quiz later today."
Sandra looked up to the chalkboard. One of the kids had written a fairly simple algebra equation.
"You want me to help you cheat on your math quiz?" Sandra asked, incredulous.
"Nah, miss. It ain't cheating. It's just helping us study. We gots to pass this quiz, else we might fail math class," Tyrone said. Sandra looked around the room. The kids seemed to be calm, which was unusual. Everyone was at a desk, paying attention.
Sandra sighed and stood up. She walked to the chalkboard, but couldn't find chalk on the tray.
"Oh, there's some chalk down there, miss."
