Schoolgirl Crush
Title: Schoolgirl Crush
Characters: Girl, teacher, her pencil
Young Teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasies...
The dampness had seeped into her shoes, chilling her toes thoroughly. It didn’t stop her from kicking her feet to and fro as she sat at the desk in the college-fashioned tiered style room.
One hand was pressed warm against her crusty cheese-filled pastry, and the other was wrapped around a traditional, yellow-lacquered pencil. Tension fluttered through her hands, and she tried to still them by smoothing them over her crinkled papers, all before her.
Her stomach gurgled as she moved, and she bit her lip. “Do you mind if I eat?” She did not look at him as she spoke, but at the floor as she fiddled through her bag to find her black matte calculator. He murmured a ‘no’, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, uh, good. I haven’t eaten my lunch, yet.” The words reached her own ears, it sounded as if she were cotton-mouthed; her tongue made of lead rather than flesh. He made her nervous, she realized with a small amount of chagrin.
She snuck a look at him over the rim of her red, cat-eyed spectacles; he was looking at her. His dark eyes were staring at her expectantly, staring out from a shelf of strong black eyebrows and two small slips of wrinkles. A small ‘oh’ fell from her slightly parted lips.
“Um, what do you…” Her words fell ineffectual from her mouth. They no longer made any sense and began to sound incredibly inane.
He grabbed a black, dry-erase marker from the table he was standing behind. “Why don’t we go over today’s questions.” What he said was not a question; it was a flatly-spoken order.
Suddenly, she was starting to regret coming to a one-on-one tutoring session. She flipped the pencil around her middle finger and ring finger, setting it into place for some work. She looked down at the paper, staring at all the questions.
A small terror filled her. Okay, she told herself, simply see first if you have all that you require. Paper, pencil? Check. Calculator? Check. Reference Table? Check. She sucked in a small breath, batting away at a stray hair as she tried to make her horror subside.
“Um, how about this-why don’t we go over tonight’s homework.” He offered, grabbing a small, off-white booklet off his desk. He placed it on hers. “Do it from this book.”
She flipped open to the correct page and readied her pencil, then turned to stare at him as he contemplated a question in the book. A loose, black hair had fallen over his eyes, over his forehead, wrinkled in thought. She suppressed an endearing smile; it made him look younger, somehow. His dark-skinned hand was enclosed around the booklet, and the marker was threaded through his fingers; while on his other hand, his fingers played with each other in a nervous manner. He did that when he thought, it was quite the nervous tick-he would do it in front of class, too.
“Yeah, let’s do…” He trailed off in his usual, soft-spoken manner. “Let’s do this question-number eleven.” He started to jot down the variables on his white board with the dying marker. “This is an easy one, yeah. A confidence builder.” He stepped back from the board to watch her solve the equation on her own.
Diligently, she set down to work, ignoring her warm lunch in the corner of the table. The problem dealt with simple division-a skill she did not posses. Nervously, she set about solving the number of equations, frantically trying to solve each one in her head. The fact that she could not do simple math mortified her, and she loathed to let anyone know; especially her teacher. She couldn’t let him find out, or it would make him believe that she was even worse off than she really was. Besides, she could not handle it if he thought her an idiot; although she was acting a right one at the moment.
He waited quietly, but she could almost hear his internal musings about the amount of time she was spending on the problem. She winced at her paper, she knew what he was thinking without looking at him: hopeless. No amount of tutoring could help her.
“You have it?” He asked gently.
She scrambled over her paper, pencil slipping from her fingers as she tried to erase the wrong answer before he saw it. “I-haha, I keep getting the wrong answers, haha.” She tittered uneasily.
“It’s not that bad.” He ventured.
Oh, if he only knew, she thought to herself. He strode over to her desk, and her legs, under the table, practically started to uncontrollably shiver. “Here,” He mumbled, pointing a finger down onto her paper. “I apologize about my hands, they’ve got marker all over them.” She realized with dismay, that he must have noticed her gawking at his hands. She’d been imagining his large, dark fingers wrapped around her pale wrist, softly pressing into her skin.
“Oh, uh.” She gave a soft burst of mirthless breath.
He walked back to his desk, and showed her the right answer on the board with his sputtering marker. “All right.” He said lightly. He put his palms on the desk and looked at her. “That was tough.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You wanna take a breather?”
She burst into a half-relieved, half-mortified laugh. She covered her face as she laughed, trying to shake it off.
He gave a bark of a laugh, smirking easily with his full, dusky lips; the messy moustache above it curling up. His eyes met her meek gaze across the table. “I realize you’re nervous. You’re all red.” He said plainly.
She resisted the urge to touch her cheeks, feeling them get ten degrees warmer.
“All right, let’s move on to the next one.” He said, turning back to the board.
The bus ride that afternoon back to her house was a surreal thing, dappled shadows racing across as she half-daydreamed, half-denounced the whole thing. It was important, after all, to remain thoroughly grounded in reality. She shook her head, telling herself to wizen up. He was married. He has a daughter the same age as her.
She tried to shake off the feeling on the way home but it clung to her like mist of the morning.
So, she thought glumly, this is what a Schoolgirl Crush was, huh?
Characters: Girl, teacher, her pencil
Young Teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasies...
The dampness had seeped into her shoes, chilling her toes thoroughly. It didn’t stop her from kicking her feet to and fro as she sat at the desk in the college-fashioned tiered style room.
One hand was pressed warm against her crusty cheese-filled pastry, and the other was wrapped around a traditional, yellow-lacquered pencil. Tension fluttered through her hands, and she tried to still them by smoothing them over her crinkled papers, all before her.
Her stomach gurgled as she moved, and she bit her lip. “Do you mind if I eat?” She did not look at him as she spoke, but at the floor as she fiddled through her bag to find her black matte calculator. He murmured a ‘no’, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, uh, good. I haven’t eaten my lunch, yet.” The words reached her own ears, it sounded as if she were cotton-mouthed; her tongue made of lead rather than flesh. He made her nervous, she realized with a small amount of chagrin.
She snuck a look at him over the rim of her red, cat-eyed spectacles; he was looking at her. His dark eyes were staring at her expectantly, staring out from a shelf of strong black eyebrows and two small slips of wrinkles. A small ‘oh’ fell from her slightly parted lips.
“Um, what do you…” Her words fell ineffectual from her mouth. They no longer made any sense and began to sound incredibly inane.
He grabbed a black, dry-erase marker from the table he was standing behind. “Why don’t we go over today’s questions.” What he said was not a question; it was a flatly-spoken order.
Suddenly, she was starting to regret coming to a one-on-one tutoring session. She flipped the pencil around her middle finger and ring finger, setting it into place for some work. She looked down at the paper, staring at all the questions.
A small terror filled her. Okay, she told herself, simply see first if you have all that you require. Paper, pencil? Check. Calculator? Check. Reference Table? Check. She sucked in a small breath, batting away at a stray hair as she tried to make her horror subside.
“Um, how about this-why don’t we go over tonight’s homework.” He offered, grabbing a small, off-white booklet off his desk. He placed it on hers. “Do it from this book.”
She flipped open to the correct page and readied her pencil, then turned to stare at him as he contemplated a question in the book. A loose, black hair had fallen over his eyes, over his forehead, wrinkled in thought. She suppressed an endearing smile; it made him look younger, somehow. His dark-skinned hand was enclosed around the booklet, and the marker was threaded through his fingers; while on his other hand, his fingers played with each other in a nervous manner. He did that when he thought, it was quite the nervous tick-he would do it in front of class, too.
“Yeah, let’s do…” He trailed off in his usual, soft-spoken manner. “Let’s do this question-number eleven.” He started to jot down the variables on his white board with the dying marker. “This is an easy one, yeah. A confidence builder.” He stepped back from the board to watch her solve the equation on her own.
Diligently, she set down to work, ignoring her warm lunch in the corner of the table. The problem dealt with simple division-a skill she did not posses. Nervously, she set about solving the number of equations, frantically trying to solve each one in her head. The fact that she could not do simple math mortified her, and she loathed to let anyone know; especially her teacher. She couldn’t let him find out, or it would make him believe that she was even worse off than she really was. Besides, she could not handle it if he thought her an idiot; although she was acting a right one at the moment.
He waited quietly, but she could almost hear his internal musings about the amount of time she was spending on the problem. She winced at her paper, she knew what he was thinking without looking at him: hopeless. No amount of tutoring could help her.
“You have it?” He asked gently.
She scrambled over her paper, pencil slipping from her fingers as she tried to erase the wrong answer before he saw it. “I-haha, I keep getting the wrong answers, haha.” She tittered uneasily.
“It’s not that bad.” He ventured.
Oh, if he only knew, she thought to herself. He strode over to her desk, and her legs, under the table, practically started to uncontrollably shiver. “Here,” He mumbled, pointing a finger down onto her paper. “I apologize about my hands, they’ve got marker all over them.” She realized with dismay, that he must have noticed her gawking at his hands. She’d been imagining his large, dark fingers wrapped around her pale wrist, softly pressing into her skin.
“Oh, uh.” She gave a soft burst of mirthless breath.
He walked back to his desk, and showed her the right answer on the board with his sputtering marker. “All right.” He said lightly. He put his palms on the desk and looked at her. “That was tough.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You wanna take a breather?”
She burst into a half-relieved, half-mortified laugh. She covered her face as she laughed, trying to shake it off.
He gave a bark of a laugh, smirking easily with his full, dusky lips; the messy moustache above it curling up. His eyes met her meek gaze across the table. “I realize you’re nervous. You’re all red.” He said plainly.
She resisted the urge to touch her cheeks, feeling them get ten degrees warmer.
“All right, let’s move on to the next one.” He said, turning back to the board.
The bus ride that afternoon back to her house was a surreal thing, dappled shadows racing across as she half-daydreamed, half-denounced the whole thing. It was important, after all, to remain thoroughly grounded in reality. She shook her head, telling herself to wizen up. He was married. He has a daughter the same age as her.
She tried to shake off the feeling on the way home but it clung to her like mist of the morning.
So, she thought glumly, this is what a Schoolgirl Crush was, huh?