Two weeks later …

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As the kids file in for our first day of nitty-gritty sex ed (the kind that requires separating the boys from the girls so we can talk about The Act of Doing It), I sigh and brace myself for the cringeworthy shit that’s sure to happen.

The penis is upon us.

I wish mine would stop fixating on Roxie every waking and sleeping moment. My dick would suffer a lot less if she didn’t dance and sing in the cafeteria at lunch with the kids, or shake her ass and bounce her tits with the cheerleaders in the gym before and after school, or break into rap greetings and slap palms with every kid who walks through our door. But who am I to tell a woman not to flaunt her beauty and talent?

Look at her, sitting at her desk, hiding her smile with her left hand. That damn engagement ring flashes a glaring reminder that I have no business thinking anything but professional thoughts about her. Yet, the more engaged she is to Elliott, the more I want her. It’s like my dick knows she’s a complete disaster who’ll be way more trouble than she’s worth, but it must conquer her anyway as some point of macho pride.

#DicksAreDicks

“I think we’re all familiar with what a penis is,” I say once my all-male sixth period class has settled into seats. I’m careful not to look at Roxie.

The boys burst into laughter.

Thank God Vino took the girls. I can’t even imagine what kinds of questions they’d be asking right now. They damn sure wouldn’t be laughing. No, girls, even the sixth-grade variety, are way too mature. They’d probably be asking when, during the menstrual cycle, is the optimal time for conceiving children—before, during, or immediately following ovulation? Instead, I have boys guffawing over the technical term for male genitalia.

“What? ‘Penis’ is funny?” I ask.

The uptick in volume confirms it is indeed funny.

“Guys, you can’t laugh every single time I say ‘penis.’”

“Yeah, we can!” Quentin shouts amid more giggles.

Yes, giggles. These eleven- and twelve-year-old boys are literally giggling about penises.

“Then I must desensitize you,” I declare, slapping the desk I’m leaning against. I straighten and lift my hands like a conductor in front of an orchestra. “Everybody say it with me now. Penis.”

More giggles.

No one says penis.

“Again,” I try.

A few kids repeat the word. The rest keep laughing.

I shake my head. “You gotta say it with feeling. Like you really mean it. Peee-nis.” I draw the word out.

“Peee-nis,” they say shyly, looking at each other to see if it’s socially acceptable to continue down this dark, literally adolescent path.

“Penis,” I repeat. “Penis, penis, penis.”

“Penis, penis, penis,” the boys sing, the chorus growing louder.

“Peee-nis! Peee-nis! Pee-nis!” I shout.

Now the boys sing it with feeling. About time.

The door opens without a knock. Dr. Dragov peeks her head in, looks around, finds me. Fireballs from the twin barrels of her evil dragon eyes pelt me.

“Mr. Slater,” she bites out between gnashed teeth. “May I have a word?” She beckons me with a crooked talon.

I sheepishly slink to the door, more careful than ever to avoid Roxie’s gaze. The humiliation of being called out by the principal in front of her is almost as bad as having to pretend I don’t give a fuck about that goddamn rock on her finger.

I slip into the hall and shut the door, absently covering my balls in anticipation of the kicking they’re about to endure. Again.

The Dragonlady lasers me open with a white-hot glare.

“What’s with all the penis—” she whispers the word as if she’s never seen one and never wants to— “chanting? That is wholly inappropriate for sixth grade!”

“Have you seen the kids in my class?” I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “They could probably teach me a thing or two about sex.”

A throbbing vein pulses in the ridge between her eyes. She looks like she might spontaneously combust. I briefly consider calling Acuff for backup.

Nah, let her blow. I’ll go down in flames with her, but it would be worth it.

“We only use the correct biological terms,” I explain, “and every time I said … that word, they broke into laughter. I was just trying to desensitize them.”

“I think it’s time I paid an impromptu visit for your first evaluation. Where shall I sit?”

I close my eyes for a moment and hold the door open for her. “Anywhere you like, Dr. Dragov.”

Roxie quickly assesses the situation from the front of the room. God bless her. She hops up and casually walks over to Attila’s desk. She’s been working with him one-to-one, and to her credit, it’s proved helpful in keeping his outbursts to a minimum. Maybe her proximity will serve as a leash to keep him in line, but I’m not holding my breath.

Please don’t screw up this evaluation for me, Attila, I pray.

“That the new Chokeman?” Attila says as Dragov takes the open desk in the back of the room.

Roxie squats beside him. “Let’s focus on the lesson.”

“As I was saying,” I continue, sweat dripping between my balls, “the penis is the primary male sex organ. The vagina is the birth canal in women.”

The laughter is even louder this time.

Attila’s face brightens. “Let’s all say it together,” he coaxes. “Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!”

The boys look at each other, then to Dragov, then to me. They join the chant with renewed fervor, and the room echoes with vaginas.

I motion for them to chill. “All right, I think we got it.”

Roxie shakes her head and mouths, Sorry.

The shouts die down, and I turn on the presentation I’ve prepared. The whiteboard displays a drawn diagram of the male reproductive system. I run through the labeled parts, explaining their functions. A raucous welcome of whistles and cheers greets the appearance of the female parts slide, and I have to wait for everyone to settle again.

I chance a glance at the Dragonlady. She’s staring at me with a disgusted look, arms crossed tightly over her chest, fists balled. Like a still Komodo dragon flicking its tongue, testing the air for fresh meat to envenom. And here I thought things were going so well, post penis-and-vagina chants.

“I got somethin’ for your sex ed question box, Mr. Slater,” Attila says out of the blue, not bothering to raise his hand. “Why do a woman scream when a man lick her pussy?”

“Do you sing in church with that mouth?” slips out and ricochets around the room before I can rein it in.

A roar of laughter explodes, and part of me dies from a combination of embarrassment and fear for my job’s uncertain future. Forget Teacher of the Year. That shit is a pipe dream. I’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the year with my teaching certificate still intact.

The Dragonlady’s jaw seems to have unhinged. Snakelike shock rattles her tail as she grips the corners of her desk. Twenty bucks says she starts levitating any second.

Passengers, this is your captain speaking. We’re coming in for a hard landing. Brace for impact. #AbandonShip

“Scientific terms only, Attila,” I say. “Those are the rules. And all questions must be submitted via the box.”

Attila makes a show of looking around. “I don’t see no box.”

I turn to the spot on the demonstration lab table where it’s supposed to be.

Gone.

Shit.

“And I really want to know the answer,” he says, batting his lashes innocently.

My face is on fire, and there’s nothing but gasoline to put it out. “I’m gonna have to pass on that one.”

Thankfully, the bell rings. Sweet mercy.

“Don’t forget you have a quiz over the parts of male and female anatomy this Friday,” I say as the boys pack up and head for the door. None of them write anything in their agenda books. Most seem more interested in surrounding Attila and showering him with compliments about his question.

I imagine my mom calling tonight. How’s school going, dear? Did you win Teacher of the Year yet?

No, Mom. I completely lost control of the class when a little fucking Hun asked me about pussy-licking, and Dragov is going to fire me. In other news, mind if I move back in for the next eighty years? I’m clearly not equipped to adult anymore.

“I’ll take notes for you at the team meeting,” Roxie says tightly, grabbing her notebook. She rushes out the door and closes it behind her.

I mosey to the back of the room as the Dragonlady stands to lay her basilisk’s gaze on me.

“Did you not set down guidelines for how to act during these lessons?” she demands. “Where is the question box?”

“Yes, and I don’t know. It was there yesterday,” I say, scrubbing my face.

I’m just an English teacher. Why must I deal with this shit?

She exhales heavily and gathers her clipboard and pen. “I must say, I’m dismayed at what I’ve seen here. You had no control over those boys. Your behavior monitoring was limited to a couple blanket redirections with no use of proximity or one-on-one refocusing.”

My defensive shields fly up. “That’s not fair. I’d have had to speak individually with nearly every kid in here.”

She leans closer. “Then, speak with every child. Mr. Slater, nothing you’ve done so far this year has given me much faith in your abilities as a teacher at Bracken Middle. You’re inappropriate with the students. You’re not effectively monitoring their progress. Your lesson today lacked engaging activities and was generally subpar—”

“Subpar?” I roar. “It’s the district’s approved curriculum! What kinds of ‘activities’ would you have liked to have seen? A demonstration? Should I have gathered the students around me, whipped my penis out, and pointed out all of its amazing features? Come on, this isn’t exactly the kind of subject matter that lends itself to memorable, engaging, or hands-on activities. Not without a doctor present.”

She narrows her eyes. The muscles in her cheeks bunch and not in the friendly way.

I know I should stop while I’m ahead, but goddamn it, this is bullshit.

“As for monitoring, it’s kinda hard to do from the whiteboard. My student teacher sat right beside the main offender, and Attila still got his jabs in. So, I’m wondering how I’m the bad guy in all this. You just witnessed Attila’s complete disregard for rules with your own ears. Would you have written him up?”

“He had a point,” Dragov sneers. “There’s no question box.”

“The point is, there’s no filter on his mouth,” I fling back like dog shit. I’m steaming now.

She bows up into my personal space. “You are the teacher. You set the tone. You are responsible for what your students do.”

The bullshit meter is officially off the charts. There’s no reasoning with this woman. She wants me gone, no thanks, I’m sure, to Darcy and her backstabbing way of sucking up to the administrators while she pits teachers against each other, spreads rumors, and trash-talks behind closed doors.

Dragov will do whatever it takes to boot my ass out at the first opportunity. She’s gathering ammo so she’ll have everything she needs to turn me over to HR for decommissioning.

“You’ll have a copy of your evaluation tomorrow morning. You have one more chance to get your act together, Mr. Slater.” With that, the Dragonlady storms out of the room, leaving me fuming.

I fall into the chair behind my desk and stretch my hand across my forehead, pressing thumb and index finger to my temples.

I’m going to lose my job.

Attila the Hun is going to get me fired.

A quiet knock taps on the doorframe. Roxie fills the space, her beautiful face pinched with uneasiness. “You okay?”

I blow out my breath in a great whoosh. “No. You?”

She comes in and shuts the door behind her. “Not really.”

I gesture to her desk. “Have a seat.”

She does. “Mr. Slater, that wasn’t your fault.”

At least someone’s on my side. It’s the person I’d least expect to be, who has exactly zero power to help me, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Attila has a behavior disorder. We know this. His special ed teacher has been out all week. Without the usual support, he’s been a beast. Hell, he’s a beast even on a good day.” She leans closer and presses a meaningful look into my eyes. “It wasn’t your fault,” she repeats.

I fake a smile. “It’s fine. We need to talk about your first day teaching tomorrow. Show me what you have planned.”

She hesitates. Biting her bottom lip, she opens her three-ring binder to a section marked language arts and pushes it toward me.

As she describes the lesson, I sense reticence from her. Uncertainty. She’s been reserved ever since she kicked my ass on the basketball court, not her usual chipper self. I glance to her left hand. My brain spasms at the sight of the stupid ring. I want to rip it off and flush it down the nearest shit-filled toilet.

If things are good with Elliott, what’s bothering her? Is it her unit? The heinous kids?

“Do you think this is okay for an essential question?” she asks.

Rubbing my forehead, I shake off my musings and scan the paper, not really noticing what it says. “Yeah, that works.”

“You’ve got a lot of things on your mind,” she says, closing the binder. “I’m sorry to bother you with this.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” I say, and then pause, searching for the right way to say what’s on my mind. “You seem a little distant lately.”

She sighs. “I apologize. I’ll get it together—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I start to touch her hand, but I pull back before making contact. Because goddammit, if I touch her and she doesn’t run away screaming, I might do the dumbest thing ever and forget how she ruined my life and start lying to myself about how I’ll rescue her from hers.

“If you need to talk about anything—even stuff that’s not school related, I’m here,” I finally say, hoping it’s enough to let her know I care, but not so much that she thinks it’s more than casual concern.

“Thank you, Mr. Slater. I really appreciate that.” She looks me square in the eyes, cautiously opening the shutters that usually keep her emotions on lockdown. I see overwhelming anguish behind the windows.

She’s got that sad, haunted look she had as a kid. It sometimes lasted for days. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I ignored it. She was such a little shit, it was hard to care.

But I care now.

When she worries her engagement ring, spinning it nervously around her finger, my resolve crumbles to dust.

I turn away, casting around for a distraction, and settle on checking my email. I can’t sit this close, trapped under the lens of her microscope, and hide the fact that I’m crushing on her. Hard. Or that I want to save her from Elliott if he’s what’s bothering her. Or that I want to be the one who makes her laugh and dance and sing like she does with the kids.

My students are out of control.

My job is falling apart around me.

I’m pining for a former student who fucked me over and who’s engaged to another former student.

This tug-of-war in my chest is giving me whiplash.

Thank God tomorrow is Staff Development Friday.

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