Bobby got to French class a few minutes prior to the bell ringing, and Mrs. Renoux called him over before he could sit. She was waving a slip of paper, and his heart leapt. He strode up to her desk. “You are to report to room 107,” she said and shoed him away.
That was Mrs. Anderson’s class. He had worried that she would forget or come to her senses, but no, she remembered. Had he put too much weight on her behavior regarding her feet? They were just feet. People walked around barefoot all the time and wiggled their toes for no fucking reason. It wasn’t sexual innuendo. But they had talked about her feet; she had accused him of wanting to see them and then she showed him. That had to be something. He hoped it was something.
He was a few yards from her door when the bell rang, and Bobby ran the rest of the way, flinging the door open. “Apologies, Mrs. Anderson, I came as soon I got the note,” he said quickly.
She looked up from her computer and inclined her head. “Wait for me outside, I’ll speak to you shortly,” Mrs. Anderson informed him and went back to her task.
Bobby stood, a couple feet from the door when it opened, Mrs. Anderson stepping out and holding a notebook. She looked normal, nice, like how she had been around Kate after having several drinks. Do I have a ‘treat me like shit’ fetish, he wondered but promptly disregarded the idea. Mrs. Anderson was fucking sexy.
“I don’t have an answer key at the moment, so you won’t be grading papers today,” she said after the door snicked shut. “Is your phone on silent?”
Bobby reached into his pocket and pulled it out to check. “Yeah,” he said and put it away.
“Good,” she said. “Please, don’t even think about using it. If you’re worried about an emergency, let me know first, and you can leave the classroom.”
Nodding, Bobby said, “Understood.”
He thought he saw a faint smile at the corners of her mouth. “Despite your many failings, you have wonderful penmanship,” she told him. “I waste time writing on the board while I could be lecturing.” She handed Bobby the notebook. “Write as many of my notes on the board as is reasonable.”
Bobby glanced at the binder. “I can do that,” he said.
Mrs. Anderson tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “That’s about it for now,” she said. “I’m not inclined to spell out every little detail to you; you’re either suited for the job or not.”
“I’ll put my best foot forward,” Bobby said, adjusting the strap on his backpack.
“As will I,” Mrs. Anderson replied and turned, opening the door, and Bobby followed her inside.
Mrs. Anderson stopped when they reached the front of the classroom. “In case any of you are wondering, this is Bobby, my new aide,” she announced before nodding to him.
Bobby set his backpack down in the corner of an experiment station as Mrs. Anderson started talking biology. Walking over to the board, Bobby grabbed the nearest marker and began writing. He referenced her papers and tried making everything the same size that she usually did. It took him around ten minutes to fill the markerboard, and he penciled in a little circle where he should begin next time.
There was a table between the board and where she lectured. Mrs. Anderson used it for grading papers. Bobby sat at the table, looking at the stacks of graded and ungraded homework. It was easy to tell the difference based on the bright red Shappy she had marked them up with.
As she talked, Bobby looked out over the classroom, trying not to stare at Mrs. Anderson’s small but shapely ass. It was a chore. The woman moved a lot and when she did stand in place, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, causing one cheek to hike upward and jiggle slightly in her jeans.
Fuck me, he thought. Trying to distract himself, he surveyed the students in the back to check if they could see the board. Bobby couldn’t make out any faces at that distance, but it seemed like heads were bobbing up and down, back and forth from the board to their own notes.
There were two rows of five, heavy, long tables, fitting two students at each. Someone in front raised their hand, drawing Bobby’s attention. It was Aiko, the girl who had taken the spy footage of him. She asked about something or another as Bobby realized that he could see under her skirt. Aiko was wearing black panties and twitched her knees nervously as she dared speak to Mrs. Anderson. He suppressed a grin and looked away.
A short time later, Mrs. Anderson joined him at the table, hunching over her notebook and flipping through pages. “Should I start on the next section of notes?” Bobby asked softly.
“No, give everyone until 7:45 today,” she said offhandedly. “In the meantime, would you mind fetching me a sparkling water from the vending machine?”
Pushing his chair back, Bobby stood. “Yeah, sure,” he said, giving her backside a wide berth as he walked behind her and rounded the table. He waited near her desk, a yard from the door.
A moment passed and she straightened, going over to her good chair and rifling through her purse. She handed him a five, and Bobby slipped outside of the classroom, into the hallway.
Staring at the vending machine, he debated buying a bag of Cyorn Nuts that he could wolf down on his way back. He decided against it, shaking his head. It was his first day and thought better of doing anything risky; it was bad enough that he didn’t have anywhere safe to rest his eyes. Feeding Mrs. Anderson’s five into the machine, he selected what she wanted. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
When he returned, Mrs. Anderson was back standing in front of her students. She didn’t acknowledge him, so he put her drink next to the notebook and held onto the money. He kept an eye on the clock until it struck 7:45 and got up to continue his aide duties.
The bell rang at 8:30, and Bobby slung his backpack over his shoulders. Fishing her change from his pocket, he gave Mrs. Anderson the three bills and said, “I’ll erase the board before I go.”
She nodded and swiveled her chair around, stuffing her money into her tan purse. “You did well, exceeded my expectations,” she said, and he heard her yawn.
“Thanks,” he replied, wiping away his hard work with the eraser.
“How in the world is your handwriting so neat?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. “I would have taken you for a chicken scratcher.”
He shrugged, it was a mystery to everyone that had seen his handwriting, including himself. Bobby took it as an insult most of the time. “I have no idea,” he said, swiping clean the last foot of board and faced her.
“When I graded your first assignment, I was convinced someone else had done the work for you,” she said, twiddling the Shappy in her fingers.
Bobby recalled an incident on the second day of class, and he furrowed his brow. “Is that why you made me rewrite some answers in front of you?” he asked, smiling.
She nodded, glanced at the empty tables. “I was ready to lay it on you,” Mrs. Anderson said, “but it was just as nice. Shocking.”
Bobby rounded the table, heading for the door and PE. “Yeah, it’s my only saving grace,” he said. “See you in chemistry.”
*
He arrived for chemistry earlier than normal—Alessio was at a dental appointment—and didn’t look at Mrs. Anderson. Bobby wanted to say something but pretending like she still terrified him seemed like the best course of action. She was incredibly strict and even a dropped eraser could set her off in class, outside however, she shared her vape, wine, allowed Megan strip him. Mrs. Anderson had stood by, watching as Megan had her fingers in his briefs and did nothing but tell her to stop. Bobby wanted to see more of that side of her, and he knew, deep in his bones that he could fuck that opportunity up in class.
“Bobby,” Mrs. Anderson called as three students walked in.
He got to his feet, brushing past another rushing student; Melissa, who was chubby and quieter than Alessio. “Yeah?” Bobby asked.
“If you’re willing to write notes on the board for me, I’ll make copies of them for you,” Mrs. Anderson said.
Before Bobby could answer, she made a loud shushing sound, glaring at somebody around his shoulder. “Quiet!” Mrs. Anderson spat the word, and Bobby flinched.
When she redirected her attention back on Bobby, he said, “Yeah, no problem.”
He did the exact same thing as before, filling the board with her notes as she dictated and shouted. First period biology had been much different regarding her attitude toward the class; she hadn’t been pleasant, but she only raised her voice once in biology. Chemistry was a yell fest, and the majority of her ire was directed at Adam or Cynthia.
Adam was a short guy who thought everything he said was funny and sat all the way in the back. Bobby didn’t like him, so he found himself rooting Mrs. Anderson on in his head. Mrs. Anderson didn’t just scream, she had a sharp tongue to go with it, saying incredibly insulting things that bordered on abuse.
Bobby did like Cynthia; she had bald, painted in eyebrows and a stud piercing in each cheek and always wore extremely baggy sweatshirts. Cynthia called everyone ‘kid’ and talked back the most; she was also the oldest student in the school and had been held back three times. She would be turning twenty-one soon and half the school was excited about her upcoming party. Cynthia’s brother was a semi-famous rapper.
Placing the last period on the board, Bobby sat in his seat and zoned out until Mrs. Anderson asked him to erase everything and continue. He repeated the cycle another time and daydreamed of ways he could give his mom more money. Bobby flirted with the idea of buying thousands of scratch-off lottery tickets until the lunch bell rang.
He dallied, putting his book away slowly and hoping Mrs. Anderson would ask to speak with him. She didn’t disappoint and before everyone had a chance to flee her proximity, Mrs. Anderson said, “Bobby, after class.”
As the final student left, she half sat on the edge of her table. “Do you have lunch with Megan?” she asked, grasping the lip of the table and drumming her inked fingers.
He hadn’t been hanging out with Megan for very long, and she hadn’t come looking for him in school. It was probably a blessing that she left him alone; lord knows what she would do or say. “No, I usually eat alone or with Alessio, if he doesn’t feel like studying during lunch,” Bobby said, zipping his backpack.
“You can join me here if you’d like,” she offered and lifted a hand, indicating her table.
“Yeah, I’ll grab my food and be right back,” Bobby said, standing.
As he bent, shoving his arm into the vending machine’s trapdoor, Aiko appeared above him. “Do you think Mrs. Anderson would accept me as an aide?” she asked without preamble.
Bobby pulled his chips free and went back for the two muffins and chocolate bar. “I don’t know, ask her,” he answered with a grunt and straightened, towering over her petite frame.
“Did you need references from other teachers?” Aiko questioned, looking up at him. She had big, almond-shaped eyes and incredibly pink lips. An earnest face.
His lip quirked sideways. “No, I just asked her,” he said and stepped around her, eyeing the sodas.
“Are you an honor student? Related to her?” she asked, following him.
He selected a sprike and sparkling water before slipping his card into the slot. “No.”
Her eyes widened and she chuckled, smiling. “I’m a lock then,” Aiko said happily and held her fist out to him.
Reluctantly, Bobby bumped her fist and said, “Congratulations.”
Aiko beamed like she just won the lottery. “Ooh,” she said and wiggled her fingers. “This is so exciting. Thanks, Bobby.” Aiko sped past him and disappeared around the corner.
That was fucking weird, he thought and grabbed the drinks.
When he arrived in room 107, Mrs. Anderson was sitting at the table, a lidded, plastic container in front of her and a fork on top. A bottle of salad dressing was nearby, and his chair was placed across from her.
She made a face, one side of her mouth twitching upward. “That’s what you’re having for lunch?” Mrs. Anderson asked. “Why didn’t you buy real food from the window?”
Setting his stuff down, he said, “I’d be stuck in line for twenty minutes.” He sat but didn’t scoot his chair in since the table didn’t leave much leg room for both of them.
“Here,” she said, popping her salad open and giving him the lid. “Use it as a dish, I’d rather not have to clean up after you. Muffins can be messy.”
“I’ll be careful,” he said and flipped the indented lid before opening his first muffin.
Mrs. Anderson shook her salad dressing, squirted some on the chicken and lettuce. She glanced at the lid, and his unwrapped muffin perched on top. Sighing, she mixed everything with her fork, awkwardly. A clump of lettuce and creamy dressing flopped over the edge, splattering on the table.
Bobby willed himself not to cackle. “Do you want the lid back?” he asked, daintily breaking off a chunk of muffin and popping it in his mouth. “Salads can be extraordinarily messy.”
She leveled a glare at him, but it lacked the venom she was known for. Getting up, Mrs. Anderson made her way to the nearest workstation, where a roll of paper towels sat next to the sink and cleaned the mess. “How do you like being my aide?” she asked, sitting down.
Bobby grabbed the paper towels and broke a few off. “That reminds me,” he said and swapped the paper towels for her lid, setting his muffin on top. “Aiko wants to be your aide too. She was practically frothing at the mouth when she learned I didn’t need a resume.”
Mrs. Anderson took her lid back, snapping it in place. “Aiko is a good apple,” she said, shaking the salad.
Bobby snorted, imagining what other incriminating footage Aiko kept on her phone and opened a bag of chips. Crunched into one. “I got you this,” he said and offered her the sparkling water.
“You are a brown noser,” Mrs. Anderson said and thanked him. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
Breaking another piece off his muffin, Bobby said, “I like it. There’s less to do than I expected.”
She speared a forkful of lettuce and chicken. “What did you expect?” she asked and ducked her head, meeting the mouthful halfway. Mrs. Anderson chewed, and her tongue snaked out, cleaning a smudge of dressing that had gathered in the corner of her lips.