Oliver and Lina’s style of facilitation, however, is particularly annoying in that they require a lot of collaboration and group work, often with other teachers not on your grade team, building shared definitions of “rigor” together or forcing productive conversation on homework policy. Not wanting to be rude, especially to my new coworkers, I always participate. Even more irritating is when I actually learn something from a veteran teacher. I hate when Oliver is right about something.
Today isn’t one of those collaborative PD days, though, since Oliver has just returned from his district meeting. It’s an info dump day, one of new, somewhat arbitrary directives and initiatives and expectations from District 13. Normally, it would be the perfect time to grade papers, or plan for the following week, or simply disassociate, but today, I watch Oliver like a hawk.
He’s taken off his jacket and tie, and I can see how well his torso fills out his white button down, can almost see the divots of his chest through the fabric. He’s pushed the sleeves of the shirt up, exposing the ropy veins of his forearms. I watch his hands as they point out data points on graphs, watch his pillowy lips explain those data points, imagine what they would look like wrapped around my nipple. His strong thighs seem to take up most of the room in his pants. I try to zero in on a dick outline, but it’s impossible from where I’m sitting.
I try like hell to make eye contact with him, wanting thosehoney eyes on me, but he is Oliver in the Zone, and he is fully immersed by his slide deck.
I feel an elbow in my side.
“You have horny eyes,” Emmanuel whispers to my left.
“Everyone in this room has horny eyes,” Chaya whispers from his other side, her poor, swollen feet propped up on a chair in front of her. She’s now about one hundred months pregnant.
“It’s impossible not to,” a kindergarten teacher in front of me whispers backwards.
Tamika hums from my right side. “Nothing hotter than someone talking about benchmarks.”
“Our state test scores from the spring show that eighty-four percent of our students met or exceeded expectations—-” Oliver is saying with a sexy little grimace, and there is a collective swoon across the auditorium.
He doesn’t look at me once that entire hour, so afterwards, I sprint up to my classroom and throw on a deep red lipstick and some mascara. I fluff my hair, re-tuck my boobs into my bra so that they are at peak perkiness through the “v” of my sweater. I look at myself in the small mirror I have in the closet.I am sexy as fuck. Throwing my belongings into my backpack, I run downstairs.
The running requires another re-tuck of the girls, so I do so right outside his office. I knock on his door and walk inside.
To my dismay, Lina is there, seated in the chair across from his desk.
“Hey, Georgia! How’s it going?” she asks warmly.
“Hey, Lina,” I say faintly, not looking at her, looking at Oliver instead. “Hey, Oliver.”
He meets my eyes for a second, then his eyes travel down.They linger a few seconds on my mouth, darkening, then move down to my chest. He licks his lips almost imperceptibly. He fidgets with a cheap plastic pen in his hand. “Georgia,” he greets me, voice hoarse.
“You lookhot,” Lina grins, oblivious. “Where are you off to?”
“I… um… I’m, ah… I have…” I stammer, meeting Oliver’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow. “I have a date.”
Oliver becomes preternaturally still.
“Oh, that new boyfriend your team was talking about?” asks Lina.
“Yeah… yeah, him,” I tell her.
There is a noise, as the pen Oliver is holding cracks under the force of his grip.
“What’s his name? Where are you guys going?” Lina pushes.
“We…” I truly don’t know what to say. Then, an idea comes to me. “We’re going to Tim’s,” I say, making direct eye contact with Oliver. “We’re meeting there in half an hour. His name is Reggie. Reggie Kensington.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Oliver
Incomprehensible to meis the split second of rage I feel when I think Georgia is going on a date with a new boyfriend.Mine, I think,that lipstick is mine. Mine to smear all over her lips, mine to smear on my cock.
Maybe not beyond comprehension, though, since I’ve spent almost every night jacking off to the memory of the feeling of my finger jammed in her mouth.
I avoided her all week, keeping my office door locked. I didn’t trust myself, afraid that if she came in and we were alone, that I would take her over my knee.
Not trusting myself to not cross the line, the line safely dividing the two of us from professionalism and the DOE code of conduct. Not entirely sure it was worth the risk, especially with both of our jobs under a magnifying glass held by Superintendent Daniels.
