Authors: Mackie Malone
Tags: #Fiction, #thriller
Copyright © 2014 by Landon Skyward Enterprises, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Landon Skyward Enterprises, Inc.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
tuart Renly sat
at his wooden desk explaining to Bailey Howard how to complete the square in a quadratic function. If it took much longer, he feared, he’d start showing a rise in his pleated khaki pants. He’d done that before. It was hard to hide when they stood so close that a random glance down would give them an eyeful of his lap.
He needed to relax.
He needed to stop imagining perverted things.
But it was unlike Bailey to wear such a revealing top to school—a tank top, no less! Until today, she had only worn loose t-shirts. The tank top was a game-changer. It made his throat tighten. While she stood beside his desk, leaning over her paper with a pencil in hand, the lacy edge of her bra showed. And she smelled good. She smelled like fresh lilacs in full bloom.
And he peeked.
After her shower this morning, he decided, she must have caressed her naked breasts, rosy tips and all, with a hand-picked bouquet of lilacs.
In the name of tingling torture, he tried to relax his groin. Why couldn’t he be a 17-year-old high school football stud instead of a middle-aged, balding, coffee-addicted math teacher living alone in a well-kempt house on an elderly, dead-end street?
He glanced up to see Eric Cady watching him suspiciously, and it crossed his mind to ask the class if anyone else had questions on quadratic functions. That would end Cady’s eyeballing. It would also distract his own mind from the fixation that caused the swelling in his pants.
“Mr. Renly?” Bailey asked, hovering the tip of her pencil above the equation she’d scratched on her paper.
“Factor two—” he began, but his voice cracked from the lump in his throat, and he had to reach for his coffee and take a quick sip before starting over. “Factor two out of both terms, then add and subtract.”
As she did that, Stuart Renly glanced up to see Eric Cady now talking reluctantly to Carla Cummings, who had spun around in her seat to flirt with him like the dirt cheap floozy she was. Nobody else was watching either, so Stuart helped himself to another peek at Bailey’s jiggling lilac breasts.
“Is this correct?” she asked.
“Perfect,” he told her. “Now complete the square and group like terms. See? You’ve got it. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“Sure, Mr. Renly,” she agreed sarcastically. “Algebra’s a beautiful thing.”
She moved away, toward her seat, and he adjusted himself secretly.
He observed her perfect hips, not quite fully developed, knocking awkwardly as she went. Thanks to practice, he could watch a student walk without staring at her directly. In Bailey’s body, there was still a lamb’s grace, and a softness that hinted at her womanly promise. Already her breasts had developed fully, quite massively in fact, which often happened with girls who ultimately grew too fat. Bailey’s mother was disgustingly fat, he knew. But there was usually a stage of delightful perfection, and Bailey Howard was in that stage now.
Exactly why she had dressed in skimpy attire today he didn’t know. Probably, she was trying to impress some jock, trying to emerge from her over-shy shell. But the shelled and shy Bailey Howard was, in his opinion, perfect.
Good student, too. She sat near the teacher in every class, wanting to learn. Because her family was poor, she needed lots of scholarships for college.
He flipped his smart phone to silent, cued up the camera, and turned off the flash. In the final minutes of class, no one ever watched him. Most just chatted. Zooming in, he filled the screen with Bailey’s cleavage. Then he backed it off to also include her naked shoulders, her darling face, and her dark and flouncy hair, which dangled coquettishly as she leaned over her paper, still working. He took several clear pictures.
The bell rang.
The students clamored up, starting to move out.
“Bailey, let’s see that problem again,” Stuart Renly called.
She was folding shut her binder. “I understand it now,” she said.
“I think I might have showed you wrong,” he lied.
She reopened her binder, slipped from her chair, came over, and handed him the paper.
He glanced at it until the other students had left. Then he looked at her. Using the paper as a fan, he waved air over the front of her tank top, not really thinking about the inappropriateness of the action, nor the possibility of it making her uncomfortable. What occupied his mind was what he wanted to ask her, and then, depending on her answer, to tell her.
“Why are you dressed like that today?” he asked.
She turned away and arrested her binder. Cradling it against her chest, she replied, “Like how?”
“Because it’s hot outside.”
“Nature’s first green is gold,” he said.
“That’s from a poem. You’re a special woman, Bailey. You don’t need to flaunt your blessings to attract a man.”
“I’m not trying to attract anyone.”
“You’re more than a lilac-scented body. More than a sexual object with great curves. Keep that in mind.”
She lowered her eyes to the floor, considering briefly. Then she looked up again. “Is my quadratic equation right?”
He handed back her paper. “Your functions are golden,” he said, winking at her. “Just like you. See you later.”
She put the paper in her binder. He tried to hold her gaze, but she spun away, making for the door.
She just blushed, he thought. Look how fast she’s moving because she’s giddy with embarrassment that I caught her blushing.
He adored the way she jiggled out, a tender lamb on knock-kneed legs.
he creepiest part,
in Bailey’s mind, was when he had called her womanly parts—mainly her breasts, she assumed, since that’s where his eyes kept gawking—her
. It was creepy to the point of making her skin crawl!
like some kind of religious gift. Like she’d bare her breasts before him by the light of a stained glass window. With horror, she imagined him kneeling down and lifting them and kissing them and thanking the Lord Almighty above.
That was a sick thought, and she didn’t want it in her head!
She shook it out as she opened her locker.
He had also called her golden, and quoted her a poem.
Then he commented on her perfume, which was
, by Mia.
So he was sitting there inhaling her scent?
Creepy teacher be gone!
she commanded silently, not wanting to think about Mr. Renly any more. She should tell Jany, though, she decided, and see if Jany thought he’d crossed the line.
“Hey, Rockstar. What’s up? Nice tank. Sportin’ that for you know who?”
Speak of the devil.
Jany slipped in between her and Chester McDoogan, bumping Chester back until Chester took the hint, made room, then closed his locker and split. Chester was nice, but sort of a goofball.
“Shut up,” Bailey told her. Then, under her breath, she added, “Mr. Renly just gave me the willies, that’s what’s up.”
Jany was the kind of girl whom everyone liked. She played volleyball and basketball—without pretending to be a jock—plus, she excelled academically—without pretending to be a brain. She crossed back and forth easily between all the groups because she wasn’t overly shy and she worked hard and she rarely had a beef with anyone.
“What’d he do, breathe on you?” she asked, meaning Renly.
Everyone knew that Mr. Renly had the nastiest coffee breath on earth.
“That, too. He made a comment about my outfit and my perfume,” Bailey said. “He was actually smelling me while he answered a question I asked.”
Jany leaned in and took a big whiff of Bailey’s neck. “Um, nicey. Renly likey Bailey’s necky.”
“He called my ta-ta’s
“No, he didn’t,” Jany said, screwing up her face.
Bailey nodded. “He said I was flaunting my blessings.”
“Not for him!”
“Not for anyone,” Bailey said. But then a grin slowly worked it’s way onto her face, and she couldn’t fight it off. She grabbed her English book and closed her locker.
“Oh, okay. Did E.C. notice?” Jany asked.
Obviously, Jany knew the truth about Eric Cady. Jany had, in fact, been the one to suggest that the tank top would be an effective strategy to get his immediate attention. She had called it an offense.
Bailey wasn’t super hip on sports, and she totally despised mental games. But she did like Eric Cady! And Eric Cady was in “high demand”—as Jany so annoyingly put it. He was the king of jocks at Freemont High. Last fall, as a junior, he had broken some long-standing school record in passing yardage. This year, he was even stronger people were saying. She knew he lifted a lot of weights, like all the other jocks. But he wasn’t huge like “Jackson the Sackston,” who crushed opponents with his 300 pounds of blubber. No, Eric Cady wasn’t huge. He was perfectly sized, in her opinion, about a foot taller than her, not to mention handsome as handsome could be. He also played point guard in basketball, she knew.
“I caught him looking more than once in Algebra,” Bailey admitted happily.
“Perfect. Let’s go make him eat his heart out.”
They started walking together toward English class.
The hallway was a bustling metropolis of pimpled students milling around and yammering loudly about this and that and everything else. Bailey followed Jany, and they fished their way through the crowd, heading in the general direction of the senior lockers, where they both knew they’d see Eric standing amongst his many pals and clingers.
“You think Renly’s a psycho?” Bailey asked from behind.
Jany turned back and said, “Forget Renly. You need to worry about C.C. She’s up there lousing around your heartthrob.”