This choice: Swap places with a teacher. • Go Back...Chapter #40Please, Teacher! by: Seuzz   "I was thinking about becoming a teacher," you tell Caleb.
The eyes in Seth Javits's horsey face bug out, and his mouth falls open. "What?"
"Just hear me out before—"
"Are you insane?"
"Patterson wants us to score some more masks for him, right?" you retort. "Where's a better spot to do it from than as a teacher?"
If anything, Caleb astonishment grows.
"You wanna turn yourself into— What? Mr. Walberg? Just so's you can help—?"
"I wasn't thinking about Mr. Walberg! Eeish! I was thinking about—!"
You have to stop and catch your breath.
"I was thinking about that new English teacher, Ms. Cho," you say. Caleb's expression, though still frozen with amazement, turns slightly more thoughtful. "Or, what about Mr. Hagerman? They're, like, young. Uh, not bad looking. And if Patterson—and us—if we want to get masks of, like, sophomores or juniors, then—"
"Hang on, hang on," Caleb says. His gaze is distant. "You'd use a teacher to get masks—"
"They'd have, like seven classes to pick from."
"But you'd be using, like, Mr. Hagerman!"
"Or Ms. Cho."
You keep returning to those names, because those are the only two teachers you can easily imagine would be worth becoming. Both are English teachers, and both are in their late twenties or early thirties. Ms. Cho is an attractive Korean-American, with a strong "anime teacher" vibe going. She wears red-framed glasses and her hair is tinted an auburn color. Her skin is very clear, and she wears just enough makeup to augment her lips and eyes. You bet she would look adorable, and very sexy, in skimpy lace underwear. As for Mr. Hagerman, he's a rugged-looking young man with a strong, handsome face and wavy blonde hair. You had him for English last year, and it made you really mad to hear all the girls going on about how hot and wet they got when he looked at them.
"Coach Schell," Caleb says.
"Who?"
He gestures you to follow him. "You know," he says as you trudge down the stairs, "if you're really into this idea of using a teacher, you could always swap yourself in for Sagansky."
You almost trip over your own feet. Mr. Saganksy is the school principle. He's somewhere in his early fifties, at least. He keeps himself pretty fit, though, and he's reasonably good-looking. But do you really want to throw yourself into middle-age, even if—
Hmm. It does give you a little pause, though. I could be running this dump, you think. If I wanted to, I could come down on the Molester ... and Kirkham ... and the other assholes ... even on Black and Patterson and Lynch ... like a fucking dump truck.
Caleb leads you across the the gym floor, then up another set of stairs to the mezzanine that separates the two basketball courts. It's here that the school keeps its weight-lifting machines, and some of them are already in use. But no one hassles Seth Javits as he leans over the railing to look out onto one of the courts, and because you're with him no one hassles you either.
Students of both sexes, in workout clothes, are drifting onto the floor, but it's one figure in particular that Caleb points out to you: a young blonde woman, who looks impossibly fit in her Lycra shorts and t-shirt. My God, you think as you fight to keep yourself from drooling. If I'd had her the year I took P. E., I'd have taken it about five hundred times more seriously, just to try impressing her. "Is that—?"
"Coach Schell. She teaches volleyball. Oh yeah." Caleb grips the railing that runs around the mezzanine, and arches his back as he goes up on tiptoes. "In three, four years, that's what Chelsea Cooper's gonna look like."
Long minutes pass. The bell rings. The coach calls her class to order and sets them running around the gym. Eventually Caleb slaps you in the arm and gestures you back toward the stairs. Reluctantly, you tear your eyes off Coach Schell.
But Caleb has one more suggestion for you as he leads you out of the gym. "Ms. Willet," he says.
It takes you a moment to place the name. She's an art teacher with a funky bohemian vibe. You make a point, later in the day, of swinging past her room to confirm that she's as young and pretty as you remember her being. And she is.
* * * * *
You spend the entire day in a daze as you weigh the possibilities. But when five o'clock rolls around, and you drive back out to the house where Patterson is now living, you have a name to give him if he asks whose identity you are thinking of assuming:  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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