Lesson After School

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Betty Wingate paced up and down the rows. Her students were absolutely quiet, or as quiet as high school seniors ever can be, especially when it is spring, and graduation is only a few weeks away. They were writing themes, and Betty walked around, peering over their shoulders, trying to see how well they were doing.

She congratulated herself. At twenty-two, she had nearly made it through her first year of teaching English. Everyone told her she would never get a job, that English teachers were a dime a dozen, but she had shown them. Of course, she had to admit that her blonde good looks and her deeply violet blue eyes helped, but what did that matter? If Mr. Saunders, the old principal, was turned on by fresh, young females whose skirts fell above their knees, that was not her fault. She had taken advantage of the situation, the way anyone would. Betty smiled to herself as she remembered that first interview. She had held her eyes as wide open as she could, looking sweet, innocent, and available. When she crossed her legs, and Mr. Saunders' bifocal covered eyes fell to her bare knees, she was quite sure she had the job. She was right.

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