Message-ID: <47207asstr$1080011402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: by_jane@literotica.org (jane) X-Original-Message-ID: <80045de.0403221036.767c5f9e@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 22 Mar 2004 18:36:46 +0000 (UTC) X-Spamscanner: mailbox2.ucsd.edu (v1.4 Mar 2 2004 11:47:57, 0.0/5.0 2.63) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 88953 i2MIatA1006496 mailbox2.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 22 Mar 2004 10:36:46 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} Glimpses 42/94 by jane Lines: 200 Date: Mon, 22 Mar 2004 22:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hecate Author: jane Title: Glimpses 42/94 Summary: An admiring student asks Anna for some help. Length: 1230 *Chapter Six Winter 1997* *20 November 1997, Thursday* _evil spirits haunted mai that summer ... they hid in crannies of a smile ... they lurked in shadows of her dreams ... they kept her leery, kept her hoping ... spirits only, nothing more, no letter from chicago ... no phone call in the night ... no rumour of the life in tinas womb ... no indication how her breasts had swelled and leaked and entertained poor peter ... penny had a baseball birthday ... number ten ... and anna kept her plans a secret ... and then discarded them in sober second thought and went with spikes and gloves and hot dogs at a makeshift batting cage ... andrew liked it ... and when he wasnt watching penny win, he watched the blue jays falter ... he watched the bombers miss their grey cup chances ... he nursed his beer and watched the fall turn into winter ... manitoba ..._ *§* "In ancient Baghdad," wide-eyed, as if her kids were six instead of teens, Anna leaned into her audience, "a clever man invented a special kind of puzzle." _Make it magic._ "He wrote a book about it." She turned and wrote in chalk, Al-jabr wa'l muq balah, then drew a line beneath it. "It's Arabic. Try to sound it out." Some tried. "Can you find an English word in there? One we got from him?" _Now wait them out. Let them think a bit. Don't give up on me. I know this isn't sports or lunch or sex. I know you want to get to work on your assignment. Just relax. Humour me. Just a little time to hook you. Timing's everything. A game. You haven't seen a lesson yet. It's not just numbers._ "Anything? Come on, take a chance." Anna looked at Tara. A ponytail who sat in front, Tara wouldn't know the answer, but her ears, if pricked, would signal there was hope. My pert barometer. "Gary." "Mug? A cup or something. Some kind of measurement?" "Good try. But, no, not that." _Time to change directions._ "Let's try the puzzles. We'll come back to titles." _You weren't supposed to get it. Yet. Suspense. A little drama. Let you get involved._ She walked back to her desk and lifted up an antique scale. "He probably used one of these. Let's see what we can do with it." _Tara's totally engrossed. Eyes on the wrought iron balance. Leaning forward. God. Her blouse hangs loose. It's thin. She wears such lacy underthings. A little wild for school, but Tara's such a rebel. A mind for rhymes not numbers. She uses clothes for statements. Fran says that she's her brightest, most creative writer, the most voracious reader of the lot. Provocative, she called her. Rules must bend for special kids. Codes of dress especially._ She placed three plastic cubes on one tray of the scale and then dropped paperclips, one by one, onto the other. "Four, five, six ..." The balance moved to level. She watched her students simmer. "The cubes are all the same. Three cubes are fifteen paperclips. How many clips would equal just one cube?" _Oh, Tara! The blouse. You've undone buttons. An accident? Or isn't that the fashion? Don't look at me like that. Concentrate on numbers. Arms are waving, Anna. Call on someone. Tara's eyes say, Look at me, Ms Walsh? God! Tara being Tara. That's all. Just Tara's way. Just teasing. A schoolgirl crush? Oh God, the algebra!_ "Be patent, class. Let's see if _everyone_ can get it. Here's a clue." At the board, she drew a paper clip collection in groups of five and then explained it. _I know. It's sounding more and more like math._ Tara smiled again, a ghost of Summer. Puzzles of a different sort disrupted class that day, the fantasy of Tara's careful fingers, a dream of Tara's moistened lips. Anna struggled on with paperclips and plastic cubes, objectives now forgotten. Anna coasted to an early stop and raised the text and told them, "Homework, page 235, one to forty." She let them get a start, then cruised the rows; she checked their answers and looked for troubled faces. At Tara's desk, the first five problems all were right. "Well done!" she quietly encouraged. "It's easy. I think." "Great. You'll like this unit." "Ms Walsh," Tara looked up into her teacher's eyes, "the integers? I know I blew that test. Are they in Algebra?" "I'm afraid they are." "Could I get some help with adding and subtracting minuses? I kinda get the rest." "Of course. "Whenever is good for you." "After school today? I've got a club till four. Is that too late?" Without a second thought, "That's fine. I'll see you then." Lunch scattered them. She did her hallway supervision, then sat alone behind her desk to eat a tuna salad sandwich while pondering that smile. _It might not be that simple. It could be anything. A one-on-one with Tara all alone?_ Anna felt a chill and tried to concentrate on marking. *§* The clock read half past four when Tara walked to Anna's desk. "I'm sorry. We had to make a deadline. If it's too late, I understand." "No. That's fine." The blouse was still undone, melting formulae before they formed in Anna's brain. _Tara being Tara. No reason for alarm._ "Ms Walsh?" "Integers, right? Adding and subtracting is sometimes confusing. All you have to do is think of ..." Anna fumbled with the text while speaking. She laid it out as simply as she could with number lines and plastic money. "Oh, right. I get it now." Then, too quickly, Tara added, "What kind a things do you like reading, Ms Walsh?" _Stick to business._ "Are you sure you have it? Well, mysteries, I guess. What do you like, Tara?" "Yeah, me too. Do you like poetry?" "Well, yes. It's been awhile. The integers?" "Ms Olson gave us sonnets. They're kinda cool." _A sweet child. A small, cute crush. A strand of hair that might need straightening. Anna felt a quiver. Tara's eyes were cocoa._ "We should really finish up these integers. Shakespeare will have to wait until another time." _What other time?_ "Ms Walsh. Would you read one of my poems? Please. It'd mean a lot to me." Anna's heart began to sprint. She placed the folded foolscap on her desk as carefully as if it was a votive on an altar. "Of course, Tara. Now ... let's subtract a negative from a positive ..." Anna lost the train of thought. _Could be just a poem. Not a declaration. Could be just about a cow or tree. Could be "Casey at the Bat." Probably nothing. Not something scandalous that found, just sitting on my desk, could be the grounds for my dismissal. It couldn't lead to touching. Not caressing lacy bras. She only wants advice about a poem. Just needs a slight encouragement. It needn't be disaster. There's not a balcony. I'm sober. There's nothing like an ocean. It's winter. Manitoba._ It was fantasy that Anna pressed her lips to Tara's as they said their, "Thanks" and, "Don't forget your homework." It was fiction, the warm, sweet tongue that found her mouth that frozen afternoon. This story cannot be reposted or published without the author's permission. All comments and queries can be addressed to by_janeNO@SPAMliterotica.org by deleting the capital letters before sending. If you would like to read earlier chapters in an html format they are available at my website: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/jane/www/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+