Teach a Teacher a Lesson

California, ten years earlier...

"This is going to be a perfect year," Sam said to himself when he got out of bed. He made his way to the bathroom, stretching his arms and legs. He took a quick shower, and after brushing his teeth, he squeezed a handful of hair gel out of its tube. He shaped his hair in a way that seemed to be naturally tousled, and after checking his reflection in the mirror, he went back to his bedroom to get ready for his first day at school. He put on a white t-shirt, tucked it into his faded blue jeans, tossed his high school football team's jacket casually over his shoulder, and grabbed his schoolbag.

He ran down the stairs, passed through the kitchen, kissing his mum goodbye on the way and out of the back door toward the garage to get his brand-new car.

"An early graduation present," his father had said when he brought home a shiny red Ford pickup truck two days ago and tossed the keys to his bewildered son.

Sam got in his car, threw his bag and jacket on the light grey leather seat beside him and rolled the window down to enjoy the gentle breeze. It was a sunny day, and the gleam on the windscreen blinded him. He found his sunglasses in the glove box, put them on and drove off.

***

Samuel Roberts was an eighteen-year-old boy in his final year of high school. He was tallish with an athletic slim figure and an extremely handsome face. His unblemished and clean-shaven skin along with his bright hazel eyes and his chestnut- brown tousled hair made every young girl in his school gape at the sight. Being a successful quarterback for his school football team and an excellent guitarist as well, automatically awarded him the title of the most popular guy at school. He was every teenage girl's dream and he acted the part. During his first two years of high school, he had dated so many girls that it seemed as though he had a different girlfriend every week. He was a playboy, and though young at age, he could already number a lot of girls with broken hearts and shattered dreams on his path.

Arriving at the school premises, Sam parked his car as close to the main entrance as possible, so that everyone would be immediately aware of his pride and joy.

Pampered by his mother as the youngest of her children and the only one still residing at their home, he was used to drawing everyone's attention and having his way. When the younger of his two brothers had left home five years previously to pursue a military career, following the footsteps of their elder brother as well as their father's-a retired Major, awarded for his bravery during the Gulf war, who now worked as an instructor at a military camp for troublesome teenagers-his mother lost every ability of refusing Sam, and indulged in his every little wish, regardless of how irrational it might be.

"Sweet!” said an approaching thunderous voice, the minute Sam got out of his car. That voice could belong to none other than Ben Smith, the paramount defender of the team and Sam's best friend.

Sam went to greet his towering bulky friend. "How are you, bro?" he asked, exchanging a manly hug in which they patted each other's backs.

"My God, Ben!" Sam said, releasing his friend. "You've grown even bigger. I can hardly put my arms around you. No one would dare stand against you this year," he added with amusement.

Ben smirked, proud of himself, and strutted closer to the car. Sam watched his friend admiring his car. Ben had definitely grown taller over the summer, maybe as much as another foot, and he had thickened up. He was wearing a green t-shirt that struggled to fit his overflowing muscles, and a pair of khaki Bermuda shorts. His curly black hair seemed different as well, shorter than it used to be.

"Sweet ride, man! When did you get it?" Ben asked, demanding his friend's attention. He had been away all summer vacationing with his family, and had only returned yesterday evening, having no chance to see Sam before now. Sam stood next to him.

"Only two days ago! My father's graduation present." He traced a finger absentmindedly over the car's glossy coat paint.

"Hmm, a little too early for that, I think," Ben teased. "Let's see if you manage to graduate first," he said, sarcastically, as he noticed his friend's gaze drifted over some passing girls. "It seems to me that you'll be easily distracted this year." Sam gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Yeah, like you won't be," he scoffed.

Sam knew that Ben was equally affected by pretty distractions as frequently as he was. After all, they had been friends for a long time now and knew every little thing about each other.

"By the way," Sam added, "how is Gina? I haven't seen her for a while."

"I don't know," Ben replied nonchalantly.

Sam thought there was a tremor in Ben's voice and shot him a quick glance. Seeing no sign of emotion on his friend's face, however, he thought he had just imagined it.

"You don't know what your girlfriend's been up to?" he asked.

Ben shrugged and for a few moments looked down at his shoes. "She's not my girlfriend anymore. I dumped her right before I went on holiday."

"Are you sure it wasn't you who got dumped?" Sam snorted.

His friend was infatuated with Gina, the head cheerleader, and one of the most beautiful girls at school, and it was hard for Sam to believe that Ben would ever want to let her go. Ben snapped his head up and scowled at him. "Piss off."

Sam adopted an angelic smile and raised his hands in front of him defensively. "Easy, bro, easy," he said as calmly as he could. "I was only kidding!" Staring at the angry but hurt dark eyes of his friend, he knew he was right. Gina had been the one to terminate the relationship.

Although Sam was curious to find out what had happened between those two, he thought it best to let the matter rest for now. His friend might be a kind soul, but he was, nevertheless, huge and extremely strong for a boy of his age; making Ben infuriated was never a good idea. Sam wouldn't stand a chance against Ben's punches. Besides, he knew he would hear all about it soon. News about what went on during the summer travelled fast once school reopened. Sam changed the subject and talked about his car again, giving details on the horsepower and speed, allowing Ben time to cool down.

Ten minutes later, they headed for the school building. On the way, they heard the sound of a car exhaust backfiring. They saw an old faded-brown station wagon parking a few meters away from them.

"What a piece of junk!" Ben said, and nudged Sam's arm with his elbow. He had returned to his playful mood once again, but Sam couldn't reply. He was lost in thought, mesmerized by the woman sitting behind the steering wheel of the car. She opened the door and stood beside the car for a moment to straighten her skirt and change her shoes. She was wearing a plain white shirt and a grey, knee-length pencil skirt that hugged her curves beautifully. As Sam gaped, she changed the trainers she was wearing for driving, into a pair of black high heels.

Sam's gaze roamed over her body. Her perfect face, her full breasts outlined by her shirt, her curvy hips, her long slim legs... He couldn't tell if he was more lost in her long legs or her cascading hair.

She fumbled in her ridiculously large bag-Sam couldn't help wondering what she would be carrying in there-smiled triumphantly when she found what she sought, took out a rubber band and fixed her hair in an upswept ponytail. To complete the process, she put on a pair of black thick-framed glasses. Sam wondered why, as it made her look older than she was.

As she was walking toward them, Sam dropped his gaze from her face again and followed the slight sway of her hips. She stopped right in front of them.

A delightful voice came out of a set of perfectly shaped, plumb, rosy-pink lips. "Can any of you show me the way to the principal's office, please?"

Sam was speechless, captivated by her large hypnotic green eyes, framed with long thick eyelashes. He blinked a couple of times to determine if this was real or one of those morning dreams he often had. Was this fiery-haired, creamy-skinned angel standing before him a mere figment of his imagination?

Since neither of the boys answered her question, she cleared her throat loudly and asked again in a more urgent tone. "I'm running a little late here. Can you show me the way, please?"

"Of course, madam," Ben replied. "This way," he added, motioning toward the school building.

She turned around and headed there, apparently expecting the boys to follow.

Sam made no move; his eyes remained glued to her body, following every step as she walked away. No, don't leave! cried a little voice inside him. He almost reached out to stop her.

Ben grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as if to wake him up from his trance. "Come on, man! We have to follow her," he said, urging him.

Sam snapped out of it, and they both ran in pursuit.

***

Once inside the building, they walked down a long corridor full of children scurrying toward their classrooms. The boys flanked her and bombarded her with questions. Ben went first. "Are you a teacher, madam?"

"As a matter of fact, I am! I teach history," she replied, and smiled at him.

"And you're going to teach here this year?" That came from Sam.

"Yes, I am."

"Are you going to be our teacher?" Sam continued.

"I don't know yet. Which year are you in?" She turned her head toward him.

Sam gulped, receiving the full impact of those green eyes. She was as tall as he was, and having her face in so close, stole his breath away. Stuck for words, he forced a timid smile.

Ben stepped up to answer the question. "We're seniors," he said, proudly puffing out his chest. "I am Ben, and this is Sam."

She opened her mouth to introduce herself, but before she had the chance, she heard somebody calling her name.

"Miss Evans?" a husky male voice echoed in the corridor. She looked up to the man standing a few steps away.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Welcome, Miss Evans! I've been expecting you." He closed the distance between them in three quick strides. "I am Principal Jones." He offered her his hand, and she shook it lightly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones," she said.

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He let go of her hand and turned his focus on his two students. "What are you doing here, boys? Shouldn't you be in your classrooms already?" he asked sternly. "We were on our way, sir," Ben replied, feeling intimidated.

"It's my fault, actually. I delayed them asking to show me the way to your office. I hope they won't get in any trouble," Miss Evans explained apologetically. "Off you go, then! Back to your classrooms!" the principal ordered.

"Thank you very much, boys," she said, stopping them as they were turning to leave. She offered her hand to Ben. "Nice meeting you, Ben!"

Then she shook hands with Sam. "Nice meeting you too, Sam." she said, and smiled widely. She tried to pull her hand back, but he held it tighter.

"Go on, boys," said the principal again. Sam dropped her hand. "I'll take care of Miss Evans now," he added and turned his back to them heading for his office.

***

Principal Jones closed the door behind them and motioned her to take a seat.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Miss Evans?" he offered in a most gracious tone.

"That would be lovely, Mr. Jones," she replied.

"Please, call me Christopher or Chris if you like," he said, as he moved toward a small table at the corner of the room. He picked up the coffee pot and poured two mugs. He returned to his desk and placed one mug in front of her before taking his seat across the desk.

She was astonished. "I can't possibly call you by your given name. It won't be respectful."

She pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She didn't actually need glasses, since her eyesight was almost perfect, but she was of the opinion that they gave her a stricter kind of look, and as this was her first job as a high school teacher, she welcomed anything that might help her maintain control over her students.

She brought the mug to her lips and sampled the strong-smelling coffee.

His bellow of laughter startled her, and she almost choked.

"Miss Evans," he started, when he calmed down again, "by the way, what's your first name?"

He paused, and before she could answer, scanned a piece of paper in front of him searching for something.

"Oh, right, Rita. How could I have forgotten such a nice name!" he said, having now read it from what seemed to be the résumé she had sent him. "Well, Rita, I don't like to keep the standard protocols here at my school. I'm strict with my students, of course, but I'm on friendly terms with my colleagues. Everybody refers to me as Principal Jones in front of the students, but as you'll see, all the other teachers call me by my given name when we are alone." "Okay, I'll try then," Rita replied. She playfully rolled his name in her tongue. "Christopher!"

She took another sip of her coffee. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, "but it still doesn't seem right. I've been taught to address my seniors respectfully."

His deep laughter echoed around the small office again.

"Oh, Rita, how delightful you are! Please, don't make me feel like I'm some old and ugly high school principal. My students already do that." "Old and ugly?" she repeated, astounded. "You? You are..." she broke mid-sentence and blushed a bit.

Principal Jones, Christopher as he preferred, was an exceedingly attractive man in his early forties, tall with a lean body that reflected nothing of his supposedly sedentary, inactive line of work. He was elegantly dressed in a beige tailored suit and a light blue shirt that brought out the grey-blue color of his eyes. His black hair was cut short and there was stubble of a-day-or-two beard on his face that seemed to serve as a cover-up for a prominent cleft on his chin. His hairstyle and facial hair gave him an unrefined look, a sort of tough image that was in striking contrast with his gentle, intelligent eyes, eyes that drew her into their depths, guiding her through the swirling passageways of knowledge. After all, he was a renowned historian, and she had read several of his theses while she was studying at university, but not having seen a recent photo of him, she hadn't expected to be finding him so charming now. When Professor Northam-her old university history professor-had called her a month ago to ask if she would be interested in working alongside Mr. Jones, one of his most brilliant former students as Professor Northam claimed-who was now a high school principal, she grabbed the opportunity. He had told her that Principal Jones was in such a desperate need for a new history teacher that he had contacted his old professor in hope that he might know someone available for the post. She was the first person who came to mind and Professor Northam was sure that teaching under the guidance of Mr. Jones would be beneficial to her. Certainly, when she accepted the offer and sent in her résumé, she had no idea what to expect of Principal Jones. She could not fathom why a man so accomplished in his domain, with so many accredited theories of historical events and so many incredible findings in his time as an archaeologist, would abandon everything to become a high school teacher and a principal afterwards. Her university professor had suggested when she asked him about it-that Christopher was probably tired of having to travel the world all the time and needed a place to settle down and start all over again. He said that Christopher had been a guest professor in several universities around the country, however. But if that were the case, why not accept a permanent position as a history professor at a university of his liking instead of settling for the demeaning one of a high school teacher, she had wondered at the time.

She could not understand his life choices, but now after meeting him in person and seeing how utterly handsome he looked, she suspected that perhaps a more personal motive was behind his actions. She wondered if he might have been involved in a love scandal, or something of the sort, and now hoped to hide in the anonymity the position of a small-town high school principal could offer. Of course, when she had gladly accepted the offer after coming into contact with Christopher on the phone, she only considered how much she would have the opportunity to learn from him. She had been certain that once she started working for him, she would find time to approach him, and after they became friends, she would be able to discuss history and absorb his extensive knowledge.

However, now, finding herself feeling so inexplicably attracted to him, she rather doubted that if, given the chance, she would remain a mere friend to him. The way he was staring at her with those dazzling grey-blue eyes, she was sure that she would comply with his every command.

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"I'm what?" Chris asked then, casting a brilliant smile at her, bringing her out of her thoughts.

Uncertain of what to say, she fidgeted in her seat and scanned the room in search of a change of subject. She spotted a glass display case filled with trophies and got up. "Who has won all these?" she asked, as she regarded the prized items inside.

"Well, that would be our football team," he replied, a sense of pride coloring his voice. "This school had always displayed a prowess at sports, but during my years as a principal, we have established a tradition of winning the championship every year. Young Samuel Roberts has been a valuable help, and, hopefully, he will deliver another one of these trophies this year, as well."

"Samuel Roberts?" she asked curiously. "Who's that?"

"You've already met him," he replied, moving to stand next to her. He crossed his hands behind his back. "You know, the boy who brought you here along with Ben. They are both in the team. Sam is our quarterback, and Ben is part of our defense line."

She nodded.

"Magnificent players, both of them," he continued. "I'm certain they'll make a career in sports, especially if I can draw the attention of the scouts and media this year."

So much for hiding in anonymity, she thought, erasing that earlier possibility from her mind. The man truly remained a mystery, and she found herself unconditionally intrigued in unravelling his secrets. She rested her eyes on his well-shaped lips, as he was recounting the successes of his students. She was glad she would be working under such a fascinating, handsome man.

He came closer then and pointed at a cup. "This is the latest addition to our collection." A strong scent of masculine cologne tickled her nose, stirring her up inside. Still gazing at him as if hypnotized by his smooth, melodic voice, she was certain working was not the only thing she was willing to experience under him. She closed her eyes, taking a whiff of his scent, flashes of how she would feel in his arms coming into her thoughts. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

She opened her eyes in an instant. Startled to see she had been leaning toward him, Rita flinched backward, straightening herself and immediately averted her eyes from him to conceal the embarrassment her train of thoughts had caused. "No, no, by all means, please continue," she hurriedly replied, her voice coming out as flustered as her face must have seemed. The phone ringing interrupted them. Chris smiled at her. "Excuse me."

Chris returned to his desk and picked the receiver. "Yes, Ms. Granger, I remember," he replied to what his secretary had said. "I'll come by your office later to sign them." Chris was looking at Rita while talking on the phone. His eyes were shining with mirth. He was enjoying her blushes, or rather the obvious impact he had on her. It had been a while since he felt wanted by a much younger and beautiful woman like Rita. And there had been lots of them following him around in his travels over the world. He had spent many nights of passion with them, but they were always so straightforward. Rita seemed different. She was timid; she was blushing even when he was only standing there beside her. He liked that. He hung up the phone. "So where were we?" he asked Rita.

"You were telling me about the team. Would you like to continue?"

"Maybe later," he replied. "I think it's time for me to show you around the school premises now. And of course, I should inform you about your weekly schedule."

He retrieved a manila envelope from a drawer and placed it on the polished surface of the mahogany desk. He opened it and handed her a piece of paper.

Rita smiled. "I would like to thank you once more for the opportunity and being so understanding with me. I know it is not standard procedure for a teacher to arrive on the first day of the new school year ready to teach without even having seen the principal or the school building before. It was very kind of you to wait for me to take care of my affairs back home and move here. And most of all, thank you for taking a chance with me as I've not taught before. Ever since I got my teaching license, it had been really hard for me to find a position in my town."

"It was a bit unorthodox, I admit, but you are doing me a favor, as well," he replied. "It has been very hard for us to find a new history teacher. There is a desperate shortage of them around here. I really owe Professor Northam for telling me about you."

Rita lowered her gaze and studied the paper he had handed her with for a while and then raised her head to look at him again.

"I'll be teaching the seniors, as well?" she nearly screeched, the pupils of her eyes wide in terror.

"Well, yes," he replied matter-of-factly, not quite grasping her tone of voice.

"Don't you think I lack the necessary experience for such a high level?"

Suppressing an urge to laugh at the terrified expression in her eyes, Chris said, "Rita, this is only a high school, and from what Professor Northam said about you, I have no doubt you'll be excellent at your work."

Chris was pleased to see her partially relax after his reassuring words, and he circled his desk to stand in front of her again. He gently placed his hand over her forearm and gave her a light tug, urging her to accompany him out of the room. "Let me show you my school," he offered.

"Of course," she murmured, evidently distracted by his touch, and followed him out of the door.