See Me After Class(22)

“Not his penis?” Stella asks, causing Keeks to frown.

“Dare I say that’s extremely forward of you, Stella. Why on earth would I handle his phallus at the inauguration of a courtship?”

Stella shrugs. “Because they’re fun to jiggle.”

I snort next to her.

“Sorry to say, but once you hover next to a flaccid penis and slowly drag your finger over it until it’s fully erect, it’s next to impossible to not want to do it over and over again.”

“I agree with that statement. Fascinating stuff, Keeks. Watching how one single flick of a finger can shoot a bout of blood to a man’s crotch in seconds.”

Keeks takes a pause, her head turned ever so slightly as she processes this information. “I’ve never considered the implications of experiencing the acts of the human anatomy firsthand. The opportunity to vividly experiment with the phallus permits great intrigue.” She taps her chin and moves toward the door. “The possibilities of surmounting the state of erection are endless. Variables such as fingers, hands, feathers all come to mind. What will procure the greatest arousal?”

“Don’t forget the female boob. An erect nipple is better than a finger,” Stella says.

“Quite right, quite right.” She waggles her finger. “I must converse with Kelvin. The theory of a nipple being greater than a finger holds great weight for conclusive evidence.”

And with that, she’s out the door, leaving Stella and I in a ball of laughter.

“Oh my God, Kelvin won’t even know what hit him,” I say.

“He won’t, but I have a feeling he’s not going to mind Keeks experimenting on him at all.”

“Depends. Think she’ll let him come?”

Stella gives it thought. “You know, Keeks very well might be the first crossover of nerdy scientist to experimental, phallus-checking dominatrix.”

“Is it weird that I picture her in a torn-up lab coat with a beaker as a probe?”

Stella laughs. “No, I have the same visual in my head.” Relaxing, she nudges me with my foot. “You good?”

“After that? Yeah, I’m good.”

“You better be.” Turning serious, she looks me in the eyes and says, “You’re a great teacher. You know what you’re doing, and Turner is going to rue the day he suggested you’re a babysitter rather than teacher.”

“Don’t mess with me.”

“Exactly.” Stella winks and heads toward my classroom door. “Just don’t fall for his charm, okay?”

My nose scrunches. “What charm?”

Stella sarcastically laughs. “Trust me, past the arrogance, there’s an even heavier dose of arrogant charm. Just be cautious.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with that. I can barely stand to have a classroom next to the man.”

“Good. See you at lunch.”

I give her a quick wave and then take a seat at my desk, reviewing my notes for the day.

Be cautious. Seriously? Does she really think she needs to warn me?

The man is positively despicable. I would never see anything but arrogance when I look at him.





“Did anyone understand that?” I look around my classroom, noting the bunch of blank faces staring at me. I usually expect that from the first class of the day, given the early morning, but these faces are confused not from lack of sleep, but from the twisty word play from Jane Austen herself. “Are you telling me that it’s hard to understand old-timey English? Preposterous.” The class laughs, and I hop off my desk and walk over to the whiteboard. “Irony is one of the themes of Pride and Prejudice. Just like the very first sentence in the book—”

“Holy God,” booms a male voice through the wall. “Evacuate. Single file. Jameson, what the hell have you done?”

My class turns toward the wall that separates Turner’s classroom from mine, just in time to miss the giant smile that passes over my face.

I waited until Thursday morning to plant the seed. Gunner and Romeo pulled him from the classroom right before we were supposed to start, I slipped in, uncorked the stink bomb, and planted it in the back. Five minutes from the start of class, just long enough for it to brew up to the front. Perfect.

Turner’s class filters into the hall, the cacophonous noise distracting but oh so worth it.

“It wasn’t me, Mr. Turner, I swear,” a poor kid says in the hallway, and for a brief second, I fear that I might get one of his students in trouble, but then I see Turner step in front of my open door, hand in hair, typing something out on his phone.

“Uh, everyone pull out their CliffsNotes and read the first chapter. I’ll be right back.”

Going to my door, I peek my head out. “Turner, you’re disturbing my class. Mind keeping it down?” His eyes flash to mine, and I add, “If you’re going to partake in frivolous field trips, please move your group along rather than staying in the hallway.”

His eyes sharpen. “We’re not going on a field trip. There’s a dead animal in my classroom.”

“Are you sure it isn’t your lecture dying in there?”

His lips flatten. “Cute.”

“Dead animal, huh? Did you kill it with your boring teaching techniques?” I tsk and shake my head. “Death by English teacher, it’s a real threat in your classroom. Saw some support groups for your students being posted out on the bulletin boards. Might have been an animal today, tomorrow . . . who knows who’s next?”