Clarissa slumped in her chair in the office, tired from the long day with her students. She smiled. They inspired her, those seventh graders, but today was one of those where she had to do a lot of talking. It was the short story science fiction unit though, one of her favorite during the year. To Clarissa, science fiction, especially short stories, was amazing. Today, the students were both scared and enthusiastic as they hung onto her every word when she read Bradbury’s “A Sound of Thunder” aloud. She grinned; that one was a specialty of hers, with sound effects, threatening voice tone of the harsh leader, and voice inflections that caused them to flinch in their seats.
The best part of the day was when students came to her at the end of class, ones who hated to read, and told her they were going to peruse some short stories online by Bradbury and other authors. “You inspired me, Ms. Riley!” the words were music to her ears, and why she chose to teach in the first place. Thinking down through the years, she had encouraged many to read, write, and just feel good about who they were in their own right. Her desire was to make middle school at least a little less daunting, and her class environment always seemed to be one that her students liked.
Many came back to see her, year after year, during an off period or just hall time. They would slip into her room, seeing how long it took her to notice they were there. Apparently, that was one of the best games lately. The school where she taught was large, housing students ranging from pre-kindergarten all the way to high school seniors. So she saw many former students. It gave her a nice feeling, staying connected to them. Well, most of them. She laughed quietly, as she thought of some that she just wished would disappear, for not all personalities get along. However, she never let on to any of her students that she liked some more than others.
Her mind drifted to one particular student, Matt. He came to see her off and on, year after year. She had written a letter of recommendation for him when he applied to colleges. Matt was a very intense and driven individual, and she was proud of his many accomplishments in his school career. A sadness swept across her as the thought dawned on her that she might not see him again. He chose the University of Texas though, her alma mater. She mused a bit, letting her mind wander. Matt had definitely grown and matured a lot since she’d taught him as a sixth grader years ago. He worked out often, as he was a track star athlete, so his lean muscles always showed beneath his clothing. He was never one to overtly show off, unlike many of the high school boys. He had a quiet self confidence that Clarissa had always loved.
Her thoughts ran a little where they shouldn’t, to nails along chest skin, to what his lips might feel like against hers. ‘Stop it, don’t go there!’ she thought to herself, closing her eyes and trying to forget the image. Well, he wasn’t a student anymore, so maybe she could permit herself a small indulgence. A girl can dream, can’t she? Sighing, Clarissa packed her bag for the homeward journey. As usual, she took a handful of papers home to try and grade. ‘Why do I do this every day, I know I’ll never grade them,’ she thought to herself. Perhaps it was just the gesture in and of itself that made her feel better, like she had good intentions anyway.
Just at that time, Tristan popped his head in the door. “Clarissa, you’ve got to come out to the football game today, the varsity is playing Liberty!”
Clarissa smiled at him, debating. “I’m pretty beat today, Tristan, but I promise I’ll come to another one again soon.”
Tristan gave her the sad eyes/puppy dog look. He’d sat with her last game, and they had a lot of fun watching both the team and talking about life in general. Tristan was very upbeat and lively; just being with him gave her renewed energy. So whenever she was a little down or frustrated, he was her “go to” guy.
This year, they worked on the same team. He was humanities, she was language arts. She had to be careful with him though; she could tell he was attracted to her and he was married. There were just little subtle gestures he did to give himself away, like bringing her a latte once a week or so, putting a hand on her shoulder when she came to him discouraged over something, things like that. They worked well together, developing some cross-curricular units that went hand in hand. The middle eastern/Arabian Nights unit had been a blast. He was very handsome, but she would never cross that boundary with him. He was a really good person, and she was the last one that wanted to ruin anything in his life.
“Don’t give me that look Tristan! You know it won’t work on me,” she giggled, and he sighed.
“I know, I know, but I always have to try at least. I’ll bring you a latte tomorrow morning, I have to go by and pick up donuts for the robotics team anyway.”
“Thank you sir, you’re too good to me,” Clarissa said with a flourish. Tristan just rolled his eyes and looked at her with that smartass look she loved.
“All right, I’m outta here, bye for now girl.” Tristan let the door gently shut behind him.
Clarissa checked her email one more time before leaving, a typical habit. ‘We get way too many emails here at school,’ she grumbled to herself. Her eyes widened; a message with an interesting title. Intriguing. It said, “when you get home.” She opened it, and there were only a few words present, but enough to make her breath catch in her throat. Hurriedly, she got her bag and headed down the hallway.
The drive home felt like hours; she was anxious to get there and make sense of the email. Clarissa finally arrived, saying hello to her beloved dogs and letting them out. Her front door had a message on it, reading thus: “I’m coming to you, and I will not wait any longer. Signed, your forever secret admirer. p.s. you held an amazing Halloween party that year.” Her breath caught, her heart stopped. That party was with her sixth graders, the ones that were now graduated. She had a secret admirer? What? Many students came back to see her, see what was going on in her classroom, or to get help with writing assignments and essays. But this? A personal admirer?
Clarissa wasn’t naïve enough to not be aware that she was pretty, but she always played the part at school, being fairly conservative in her attire and mannerisms when around her students. Little did they know what she liked to wear under said conservative attire, or what she liked to write about when she got home some evenings. Or about where her mind sometimes wandered when she was idle. Luckily for her, school was almost never idle; sometimes too crazy indeed most days.
The letter caused her hand to shake a little; a shudder passed through her body. She was both aroused and afraid at the same time, a strange sensation. The dogs pulled at her from their leashes, bringing her back out of her stupor. After letting them walk a bit, Clarissa went back inside and kicked off her heels. She wasn’t exactly very tall, and heels made her feel at least on an even scale with most of her students, not to mention sexy. Clarissa loved feeling sexy. She had all sorts of lingerie, even her underwear was not boring. To her, whoever thought of making ugly underwear should be banished to the netherworld, and forced to create beautiful attire for Aphrodite the rest of their lives. Crazy people, what were they thinking?
She sat down, trying to find inspiration for another story. Her fingers were magically drawn to the keyboard once more, her nails lightly tapping as her story unfolded. Unlike many writers, her words seemed to form as she went along, the story unfolding and sometimes surprising even herself. Speaking of surprises, Clarissa sensed something. That feeling one gets on the back of the neck, when buried in intense thought, that something is off…or someone is watching you. Wow, the feeling was intense, there was someone watching her, she could feel it. Tingles went down the entire length of her body, causing a shiver.
She told herself to dismiss the feeling and keep writing, what a ridiculous thought. Maybe she was just jumpy. A few minutes passed; a few more sentences on the page in front of her. Words looked so much more beautiful on the screen, for a blank document was about the saddest thing she could think of. There it was again, that feeling, overwhelmingly powerful. Cautiously, Clarissa got up off her bed. She crept into her bathroom, flipping on the smaller mood light. As she passed her open closet door, she felt hands.
A scream started in her throat, but before it could come out one of the hands clapped over her mouth.