Chapter 2

Memories assailed Cecelia's mind for what seemed like ten minutes, but was in reality only sixty seconds. She hadn't thought about Mr. Hawkins for years, but it all came back like an overpowering wave of surf. She'd had a killer crush on him when she was in his class. Part of her mind heard Mrs. Miller talking to him, and his reply about the reports she had mentioned, but most of it was taken over by feelings she had thought were both silly and long gone.

He'd been twenty-five when she was in his class. On the one hand, that had seemed old at the time, but on the other hand she hadn't cared. That he was married hadn't mattered either. As she sat in class, over the months, she'd had disturbing ... but delightful thoughts about him. His smile, his soulful eyes, and especially that cleft chin had drawn her eyes like magnets. The first time she'd heard a particular song on KY-104 Golden Oldies, it had instantly become "their song," though he of course had no knowledge of that. Seeing him brought it all back.

Joe Elliott's "Pour some sugar on meeeeee," popped into her mind in what seemed like full stereo. Her left arm jerked out to her side, taking up the unconscious fingering position of the air guitar she'd played wildly in her room as she whirled to the beat and lyrics of that song. She'd fantasized that it was Mr. Hawkins singing it to her. She'd watched the video of the band playing that song exactly once, and then never again. She hadn't been able to fit Bob Hawkins into that visual rendition. She also hadn't been able to get a clear vision of what happened in her fantasies as she "poured sugar" on Mr. Hawkins, but she knew it was delicious and something wonderful that would horrify her mother. She got a taste of how delicious and wonderful it was as, in the dark of night, her fingers had slipped between her legs and played with her teenaged clitty until she felt the release that was required so she could actually get to sleep.

She blushed with embarrassment and dropped her arm as she realized what was happening. Mrs. Miller chose that particular time to say, "Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I'll expect those reports in a day or two."

"I promise," said Bob, looking earnest. His eyes went from the older woman to his new student teacher.

"Cee Cee, is that really you?" he said. He was grinning again. "Wow, what a difference a few years can make!"

Cecelia tried to get control of her mind and body. "Um ... hi," she said weakly. "I didn't know it would be you." She felt like a teeny bopper all over again and felt a surge of frustration. Schoolgirl fantasies were a thing of the past. And even though he looked just like she remembered him, she was irritated that she was feeling like that schoolgirl again.

"Same old dude," he said with a smile. "I am SO glad it's you. I had visions of having to ride herd on some..." He stopped. "Never mind. I'm just glad I have a good one to work with. Come in. Come in!"

Cecelia realized she was just standing there, where she'd stopped when she'd first entered the room. She took a deep breath and made her right foot move. Taking a step she realized she was headed for one of the student desks in the room and she swerved drunkenly to avoid sitting in the same seat she'd had when he was her teacher. Her frustration surged as she looked around for somewhere else to sit. Other than his desk chair, which was occupied at the moment, there was nowhere else to sit with dignity.

He seemed to recognize the problem.

"Hang on a sec," he said.

He got up and went to the supply closet, which he returned from with a hard backed chair just like the one in Principal Grimes' office. Her eyes slid down to examine the bottoms of the front legs before she jerked them back up to Bob's face.

"This is more fitting for a teacher," he said, smiling.

"Thank you," she said. She felt like she should say something else, but couldn't, for the life of her, think of anything intelligent to say.

"How's college?" he asked.

That turned out to be only the first of a string of questions he peppered her with. It wasn't until ten minutes later that she realized she had relaxed and that, by basically interrogating her, he'd calmed her down. She wondered if he'd somehow known what she was thinking, though he gave no direct evidence of that.

"And now here you are," he finally said. "I can imagine how this must be affecting you."

She looked at him sharply, while he went on.

"It's a little like coming back home after you've gone off to college. Your parents remember you as their little girl, and they treat you just like they did when you left."

She blinked. That's exactly how her parents had treated her. That very first time she'd come back home they'd even told her what time to be home when she'd said she was going out with some of her friends from high school. It had taken her years to break them of that behavior.

"Not to worry," said Bob. "I know what you've been through, and none of the kids will remember you. Now you're one of us, the evil staff, and you get to strike terror in the hearts of unruly teenagers." He grinned again. "I'm proud of you, Cee Cee. It's good to know that sometimes a kid gets it and goes on to do great things."

Cecelia suppressed her urge to ask him not to call her Cee Cee. From his lips it didn't sound so bad. It sounded normal, in a way. She felt more relaxed and tried to say something adult.

"Well, it's kind of weird to be back, in a way, but it's kind of exciting, too. I just hope I'm up to it. I have to admit I'm a little nervous."

"I'd be worried about you if you weren't," said Bob. "But that kind of nervousness will go away. I'm quite sure you'll be fine, with time. I won't throw you to the lions right away. You'll have a chance to wade in the alligator pond before we make you swim in it." He grinned again. "Sounds like you've arrived in a zoo, huh?" Then he chuckled. "Actually, it IS a zoo sometimes."

Cecelia found herself staring at that damned chin dimple. She jerked her eyes up to his nose and stared at that intentionally. With almost regret, she decided even his nose was handsome.

Then, as if an invisible switch had been flipped, Bob Hawkins was all business. He described what class they'd be teaching, and showed her the text book, which was a different one than what she'd had when she was in the class. Then he handed her the academic records of the fifteen students who would be in it.

"Take a look at those, so you know what to expect when the kids get here next week."

Quite suddenly he was ignoring her, going back to the stack of papers on his desk that he'd been looking at when she first arrived. She wondered why he wanted her to look at whatever was in the folders. Students were students, right? They were in your class and you taught them. What else did you need to know about them?

She opened a folder and her eyes scanned the unfamiliar format. There were test scores and grade reports. There was a synopsis of disciplinary actions taken. Attendance was recorded, as well as participation in extracurricular activities. She was astonished to see there was a page with notes on potential problems at home. The one she was looking at, for a girl named Haley Simpson, had a note that said Haley's mother was single, worked nights and wasn't there to supervise Haley's homework. She opened another one, for a boy named Theodore Johnson. He had a peculiar mixture of very high and very low grades. His standardized test scores suggested he was very intelligent. The notes section said that he was the primary caregiver for a younger brother and sister, and that his parents had been arrested multiple times for drug violations.

By the sixth one she knew that these kids were the ones that she and her friends in high school would have labeled "losers." She couldn't call them that now, of course.

"Mr. Hawkins, this is going to be a tough crowd," she said.

"Bob," he responded.

"What?"

"You can call me Bob, now." He smiled.

She was flustered again instantly. "I can't do that!" she blurted.

"Why not?" he asked, still smiling.

"I just don't think I can do that. I mean it just seems so wrong. You've always been Mr. Hawkins," she said weakly. "Maybe Mr. 'H' ... but never Bob!"

"You keep thinking of me as your teacher," said Bob. "I get that, because it's easy for me to think of you as my student. I need to get over that. The fact is that you've become much more mature in your outlook on life. And, while I am, sorta, kinda still your teacher, we're both adults now, so you need to get over it, too."

"I've had a lot to think about lately," she said somewhat vaguely. "I'll try to work on that, though. I want to think of you as a colleague, but that seems so ... I don't know ... pushy maybe?" She frowned. "I mean I AM a student teacher. It seems presumptuous to try to put myself in the category of being your peer."

Bob was quite willing to have a serious conversation with this delightful young woman. It helped take his mind off how "delightful" she was.

"At what point do you decide we're peers?" he asked. "It has to happen sooner or later. Is it when you graduate? Is it when you get your teaching license? Is it when you're hired for a full time position? Or is it after you've completed your first year and decided to subject yourself to that torture for another year? Seems to me like now is as good a time as any."

Cecelia tilted her head and stared at him. She seemed to be deep in thought.

"You always were one of the best teachers," she said suddenly. "I never thought about why that was, until now, but I realize now it's because you treated us like grownups. You gave us credit for having a brain, and let us use them."