Chapter 1: Wednesday Afternoon

He had that All-American Boy look-- broad shoulders, perfect teeth, dark brown hair so perfectly feathered Molly Ringwald must have cut it. He was beside, her explaining the Pythagorean Theorem except both of them had long stopped caring about A² or B². He was close, too close. She could feel his body heat, smell his sweat. '17.' She reminded herself over and over, 'get a grip, he's 17.' He was so close she could smell his breath; hell, she could taste it--cool, mint-y. His hand touched her shoulder. Her hand touched his chest. An alarm rang somewhere...

"Elaine!"

Yvonne shook her awake, back into the present, "Come on. I thought you had a test this period. I can't believe you slept through lunch."

The bell; the alarm in her dream was the 5th period bell. She should have realized she was dreaming. In reality, they had not gotten that close to a kiss. Close enough, she reminded herself. Close enough that he had withdrawn from the school at the end of that semester without giving notice. She should have resigned; nearly did but--to her own guilt and shame--could not leave the profession or the school. This was her career, her life's joy and without it she was not sure where she would go or what she would do. She never wanted to risk personal interaction with a student again after that; these kids were adolescents and it did not take much to give them the wrong idea. Several boys had had crushes on her before that and since but no one had made her feel like ... Instead, she had slowly changed her persona and her look moving from the light flirty skirts of her slender youth to dark severe suits with long skirts or pants. She kept her long hair braided and twisted into a neat, positively librarian bun. The style seemed more suited to a middle-age frame that was by no means fat but definitely past its prime. At any rate, she rarely left campus anymore apart from the required vacations twice a year and the blind dates to which Yvonne and some of the other teachers dragged her.

She shook her head and tried to gather her books and her wits. She did not want to think about this, she did not have time to think about this. She hurried to her classroom to administer the chapter 12 geometry tests.

Around her, the student body of Peterson Boarding Academy rushed or shuffled to various academic pursuits. As she passed the principal's office, his secretary, Gail, waved her in.

"Got a test, Gail, can it wait?"

Gail rolled her eyes and handed Elaine a piece of paper, "Here. He's the new math department junior to take over the level one classes for you."

"About damn time."

"I know, but..." her phone rang, "damn. Wait, wait."

"Gotta go." Elaine headed for the door.

"Ok, ok." Gail picked up the receiver and smothered the mouthpiece against her chest, "He's here already but Dan's giving him the grand tour. He'll stop by your room after 6th."

"Got it. Thanks."

Elaine glanced at the resume as she dodged a group of students. Nothing special jumped out at her except that Mr. Williams was a new graduate. 'Just what I need' she thought as she opened her door, 'another damn student.'

In her severe suits and conservative demeanor, she had earned the nickname "the undertaker"--especially on test days. She did have a reputation for being stern and hard to please; students congratulated each other on "surviving" her classes. Still, she knew they were learning and they knew she cared; three graduating classes had named her teacher of the year.

She had not always been the strict one; ten years ago, she often let her hair down--literally as well as figuratively. But after ... she stopped her thoughts deliberately. Past is past. She made the changes she made because they were necessary.

She stood up, startling herself if not the test takers, and began walking between the rows of desks. She forced her concentration on her students--who needed help, who should move to the advanced classes, who was cheating. She heard the soft tap of folded paper hitting the floor and shifted over a row. She was able to arrive just in time to slip the note out of Wilson's fingers. Wilson's eyes darted to his right to Tran and Elaine realized that the contents of the note probably had nothing to do with math. "My desk, after class" she said just above a whisper, "Both of you." Sheepish responses came from a pair of embarrassed students and she continued down the row. After the test, she lectured them both soundly and gave them a week's worth of detention separately--the note specified what they would do if left to their own devices.

During the next class, Elaine had an easier time keeping her thoughts on the present. The algebra lesson plan was more active and more complicated. She was gratified when, as the bell rang, more students looked hopeful than hopeless. A few had specific questions and stayed late to get detailed help on the blackboard. As they worked, Elaine slowly became aware of someone waiting by the door. She paid them no attention. In the classroom, she focused on the students first; everyone else could wait. One of the girls turned, gave a short gasp and dropped her chalk. Her friends giggled and the three began whispering. Elaine struggled to re-focus them on the problem at hand and snuck a peak at the boy--only a boy could have caused that kind of reaction.

Not a boy; a man. Adonis.

Adonis was leaning against the doorframe of her classroom.

Adonis stood in the doorway of her class and grinned at her.

Shoulder-length wavy dark brown hair clasped neatly at the nape of his neck. Glasses served to frame a pair of lovely brown eyes. A well-trimmed beard and mustache accented a strong jaw line and chin carved out of marble. A suit graced the body and if it was not designed to fit that broad chest and tapered waist, then it was certainly damn well tailored.

Adonis stood there. And grinned. At her.

Elaine swallowed hard as lust--it may have been a while but there was no mistaking that feeling--lust turned off half of her brain cells. Thank God for Johnson who was still working on a problem on the board and asking for help. Elaine turned back to the students and managed to keep focused through the procedure.

Davis whispered at one point, "Who is he?"

She whispered back "I don't know. Probably someone's parent."

Davis glanced at him again and shook her head, "I don't know. Nobody's dad looks like that."

Elaine was inclined to agree--he looked distinctly un-parent-like. When the students were all more confident with the work--and Elaine felt capable of looking at him again--she dismissed them and watched them leave the room.

He was still standing there, still grinning. Still Adonis.

She made a show of straightening her desk to hide her own growing grin. When he did not speak, she ventured, "May I help you?"

"Yeah." His voice was as lovely as the rest of him, a smooth rich baritone that threatened to buckle Elaine's knees.

She waited for him to continue. He did not. She looked at him, he at her; he kept grinning. Either he was psychotic or his face was paralyzed. It was at once distressing and arousing. Something about it was vaguely familiar. Maybe he was not a parent but a sibling? He seemed to want something; she desperately wished it were herself. That grin was spine tingling. 'Has it been that long since I was attracted to someone?' she wondered, 'Am I that much of a spinster?' She ran out of papers to shuffle and looked directly at him. It was like looking directly at the sun.

"I'm very sorry but I do have other things to do..." which could have included staring at him all year, " ... I am Ms. Beaugoud, Head of the Math Department here. You are... ?"

"Curt." He grinned even wider as if the name were the question and the answer in one.

Gorgeous as he was, Elaine was beginning to find the conversation a bit one sided. "Is that a name or an adjective?"

It took him a pair of seconds to get the reference then his maddening grin changed to a velvet laugh that Elaine would have given her right arm to hear again. He actually blushed then and ducked his head, "Curt Williams, ma'am." The gesture was definitely familiar but the name was not, "Curtis Williams."

"I see." 'Can a god be named Curtis'? She thought. Aloud she asked, "And you are... ?"

That froze him, actually broke through whatever secret joke he was telling, "You--you don't know who..." He stood upright then, his whole manor changing from confident, controlled to off-balance, and unsure. "I thought you'd..." he trailed off.

Without that grin charming her witless, Elaine's brain began to function and she remembered the resume. "Oh, yes, Mr. Williams." She shifted through one of the new stacks of paper and pulled it out, "Mr. T. Curtis Williams, my new first level math teacher. I'm so sorry. Gail did tell me that you would be stopping by."

"Uh, yeah." He seemed about to say something then abruptly closed his mouth.

She watched him for a moment. He looked like a kid being sent to the principal's office for the first time. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

He actually shuffled his feet, "No ma'am."

She waited in silence for another minute. It was fascinating; clearly, he had planned to 'wow' her with his charm or his looks or something and somehow she had undone the whole idea. 'Well. Beaugoud Ends Fun. Again.' she thought 'Not that I deserve a break.' She sighed deeply, "Ok, Mr. Williams, this meeting is simply formality--since Dan has already hired you--to give you and I a chance to speak before you meet the rest of the department over dinner. Tomorrow night you'll meet the full faculty and staff and Friday we'll have a student-faculty ice cream social. We find this approach very effective for starting everyone off on good terms."

"Yes ma'am." Her heart ached over that 'ma'am'; it made her feel four hundred not forty.

"I can read this anytime," she dropped the resume on her desk, "What should I know about you that's not on this paper?"

His brow knit for a moment, presumably working out the best answer to the question. "You really don't know who I am?"

"Should I?" She must; why was he so damn familiar?

"I would think so but I don't know if, I mean, it wouldn't be my first bad idea, coming back here."

"Coming back? You were a student?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, "I didn't graduate from here; my mother pulled me out. Behavior problems, she said." He shrugged again "I did some bad things over Spring break and Mom overreacted."

"What did you do?"

He blushed again and ducked his head down. When he looked back at her, he was grinning again, "I came home with a 'thing' for older black women."

And then she saw it. With his head tilted just so, smiling at her. "T. Curtis" she whispered, "Thomas." Her knees did give way then and if her chair had not been in front of her, she would have fallen. She felt dizzy and had to grope around to pull the chair out. He was still speaking but she was not listening. She was remembering a hundred times he had given her that look and said something wonderful. All the times her heart leapt to see it. 'Of all the gin joints... ' she thought. Then she was sitting and he was beside her, holding her hand. He was calling her by name. "Thomas." She whispered again.

"Oh God! Jesus! Elaine, are you ok?"

"Why did you come back?" She managed not to say 'to me'

"I wanted to see you." He just blurted out. He hesitated then, "I wanted to know if ... if I still love you."

'Still'? She closed her eyes. This had to be a dream. She opened her eyes again and his face was above hers, worry creasing his forehead. She wanted to tell him that he could not love her--that the idea was logically, physically, ethically impossible--but when her lips parted she asked, "Do you?"

His lips hovered just above hers. Cinnamon. His breath smelled like cinnamon this time. His lips were soft and his mustache tickled a little. She parted her lips slightly and felt the tip of his tongue touch hers. She pulled her hand from his and slid her arms around him. If this moment were the end, if this was where her career died, it would be worth it to hold him. His hands were on her face and in her hair, undoing the carefully pinned bun. She could not breathe or at least could not catch her breath. He called her name. And again.

It did finally occur to her that he could not kiss her like that and call her name at the same time. He pulled back still holding her face.

The voice called her name again, "Are you there?"

The intercom. She fished the receiver out of her desk drawer with one hand. "Yes, Gail?" She was just a bit dizzy.

"Are you coming down here?"

"Down where?"

"Down to the office? Senior staff meeting?" Thomas grinned at her; she stared back. Gail's voice hailed again, "Hello? Elaine, are you ok?"

"Fine." She took a deep breath, "I'll be down in a minute." She started to put the handset away then stopped, "Gail?"

"Yes?"

"Should Tho--should Curtis attend the staff meeting?"

"No, send him to my office. I'll keep him entertained. Have you seen him yet?"

"Yes." Thomas' grin widened and he blushed. "I'm seeing him now."

"Oh Christ" Gail's embarrassment carried through the handset, "Just get down here."

Thomas leaned in and kissed her again before she could move. Their tongues twisted around each other. She thought for a while that maybe eating and sleeping were overrated; maybe she could just stay here like this for all eternity. But the intercom called her name again and interrupted this kiss as well. How he could continue grinning like that when she had trouble thinking straight was beyond her. She sighed deeply and pushed the handset button again, "Yes, Gail?"

"Bring your budget."

"Thank you." She put down the handset. And put her fingers on Thomas' lips before he could kiss her again. "Do you know what they do to teachers who touch their students?"

"That was nearly ten years ago." He kissed her hand, "Believe me, I counted every minute."

"We can't do this." Elaine pushed free of him and stood up. Her legs were as shaky as her will. "I can't do this. How can I teach ethics if I don't have any?"

"You didn't do anything," he threw up his hands, "Hell, I never got a chance to try anything."

"Doesn't matter." She restacked all the paper on her desk. The budget copies were in her office. She moved toward the door.

"Tell me you don't want this."

"I don't."

Thomas stepped into her path, blocking her, "Tell me you don't want me as much as I want you."

"I have a meeting. They're waiting." She looked at the door, the floor, the anything but him.

"Elaine," he put one hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin with the other, "Look me in the eyes and say you don't love me the way I love you." His touch was electric--she could not tell if it was agony or ecstasy.

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She knew that she could say the words but she could not mean them. Instead, she said, "This is a scene from a bad romance novel." He let her go then, the grin gone and she practically fled down the hall and the two flights of stairs to her office.