Hot for Teacher

Czolgolz

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For Phantom Rochelle

I can sense Mrs. Snow’s presence. Even when I stare down at my book, I can feel her at the front of the detention room. I don’t know why that always rattles me.

I mean, I’m here practically every week. Hell, it’s my last semester of high school, time to raise a little hell, right? Okay, maybe I went a little overboard with that last prank, but hey, you only live once, right?

But there’s something uncanny about being here when Mrs. Snow has detention duty. Especially when I’m the only student here. I risk a glance up at her. Though her blue eyes aren’t pointed in my direction, I still feel like I’m being watched.

She doesn’t look up from her laptop screen. I venture a look. As usual, she’s wearing a severe white blouse and long black skirt. As usual, her auburn hair is pulled back into a tight bun. As always, she wears no makeup, and no smile. Not ever. I wonder how old she is. Probably forty or so.

She looks up unexpectedly. I try to hit her with a smile. She does not return it.

“Get back to work, Leon.”

So much for being friendly. The other teachers, they don’t mind if I crack a joke or get out of my seat when I’m in here. Not Mrs. Snow, though. She won’t even let me use the bathroom. I’d almost say she takes a sadistic pleasure in it.

Hell with it. Who cares. I’ll be out of here in a few months. And my hour is up. I begin to gather my things.

“Sit down, Leon.”

“But it’s four o’clock.”

“I dismiss you.”

I sit there, pointlessly for another minute.

“You may leave,” she eventually says, staring at me like I’m a slightly grotesque lab specimen.

I head for the door.

“Same time tomorrow, Leon.”

Sigh.

*

Detention the next day is much better. Mr. Howard is in charge, and he doesn’t care how much we move around and talk. Why can’t every punishment be this fun?

For some reason, I think of Mrs. Snow again as I collect my things from my locker. I wonder if she has it in for me. I wonder why she never smiles. I wonder why she’s on my mind so often.

I probably should think of a way to get her back. Some prank, something to take her down a peg.

Then again, I’d probably wind up suspended. Besides, school is almost over and I have one final project that requires all of my time.

Checking to make sure no one is watching, I sneak down the unused stairwell behind the gymnasium. This is why I try to wind up in detention as much as possible. So I’ll have an excuse to stay at school until everyone else has left. So I can have some alone time with my work.

Only the staircase is not empty. I curse my luck when I hear a woman’s voice coming from below. No one ever comes down here, not even the custodians.

I pause, listening. Much to my shock, I recognize Mrs. Snow’s voice. What the hell is she doing down here? Intrigued, I slowly descend.

“Michael!” I hear her shout. “Michael, please!”

My face breaks into a grin. Oh, my. Just who is this Michael? I wrack my brains, trying to remember my male teachers’ first names. I never would have thought the old witch had it in her. Retrieving my phone, I slink silently downward, hoping to snap a compromising picture. I wonder if I should shout ‘Cheese’! first. The looks on their faces would be priceless.

Unfortunately, I soon realize nothing exciting is happening. Mrs. Snow sits on the bottommost step, unaware that she’s blocking the door to my workshop. She’s alone, apparently talking on a cell. While I can’t see her clearly in the dimly lit stairway, she seems disheveled. Her hair hangs limp and her purse is spilled on the ground next to her.

I consider leaving, but then she speaks again.

“Michael, how could you?” Her voice is raw, angry. “Please...”

There’s a long pause as she listens to the man on the other end. I kneel down to eavesdrop.

“Michael, we’ve been married for nearly twenty years! Don’t do this to me! Not now!

“Yes, I know I’ve been working a lot. I’m sorry, what do you expect me to do?

“That’s not fair! I’m not twenty anymore! How thin do you expect me to be?

“Michael...” She’s really choking back a sob here. “I’m begging you. Come back home. We can work this out. Remember how it was when we first met? Remember the magic? Say you remember, Michael. Say you remember the magic...

“No...no, it’s not dead. Michael, the magic...Michael? Michael?”

I flinch as she hurls her phone across the landing. And then she breaks into agonized crying. Weeping. Miserable, miserable sobbing.

I move, silently back upstairs, my own plans on hold. I can’t let this knowledge go to waste.

Mrs. Snow, you’re about to get what’s coming to you.

*

I have to wait over two weeks before I manage a detention with Mrs. Snow, on a day when no one else is in trouble. Good. She’ll be annoyed that I’m the reason she has to stay after. During the whole delay I second guess myself, wondering if what I’m doing is right.

But then I remember the pathetic way she was begging on the phone. I can’t let an opportunity like that slip by.

She doesn’t look up when I enter the room. “Take out your homework. No talking.”

“Actually...” I smile. “I didn’t bring any homework today.”

She shakes her head. “Then go get a dictionary and begin copying from it.” Mrs. Snow believes in busywork. At least for the detention kids.

“Actually, I do have something I could do.” Here goes nothing. “An art project. But I’d have to go to the school maker space. Do you think we could have detention there?”

For a horrible moment, I think she’s going to say no, and all my plans will have been for nothing. She tilts her head, as if wondering if I’m trying to wiggle out of my punishment.

Then she stands. “Very well.” She grabs her jacket and purse.

I’m wary as she follows me down the hall, fearful someone will see us together. Fortunately, no one notices, and I lead her to the staircase where I witnessed her humiliation the other day.

As we hit the lower landing, she stops short. “Leon, this isn’t the maker space. There’s nothing down here.”

And I know why you know that. “Yes there is,” I insist. I pull my illicit key from my pocket and unlock the unused door. “Right in here.”

Is she going to bolt? Does she suspect something? But she only rolls her eyes in that annoying manner and follows me in.

She gasps when she sees my workshop. I first broke into this abandoned furnace room when I was a freshman, and I’ve been making my creations here ever since. Things best that no one else should see.

Mrs. Snow takes a moment so take everything in. The workbench, the tools, the floor to ceiling mirrors, and the several large, ornately painted wooden boxes.

“Leon, what is this place?”

“Just a little extra work space for the theater department,” I lie.

Her eyes fall on a bright red box, mounted on wheels, about waist high. “This is lovely. Who made this?”

I grin. “I did.”

She runs a finger over the finely detailed paint, and the velvet lined interior. “It’s exquisite.”

I can’t help but beam with a little pride, and feel a little guilt over what I’m about to do. “Thank you, Mrs. Snow.”

“What, exactly, is it?”

“Are you familiar with stage magic? Have you ever watched a magician saw a woman in half?”

She takes a sudden step backward, as if the device is something deadly. “Oh! Oh my!”

“It’s my own design. I’m just finishing it.”

She timidly leans forward. “What do you have left to do?”

I smile at my teacher. “Test it out.”

She stares at me blankly, then her eyes go wide. “Wait, you don’t mean...oh, no! No way!” She begins to back toward the door.

“Please, Mrs. Snow. It’s just a silly trick. But I need to do a test run, to work out any glitches.” I gesture to the hinged lid of the box. “Would you mind terribly?”

She rapidly shakes her head. “Surely there’s a classmate of yours who would volunteer?”

I quickly think of an excuse. “I plan to use this for the school talent show. And a good magician never gives away the trick. Please?”

She takes another step back. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate, Leon. It was nice of you to think of me, but...no.”

Her hand is on the doorknob.

“C’mon, Mrs. Snow. Don’t you believe in magic?”

She freezes and stares at me, frowning. “Why do you ask?”

“I think you do believe. Don't be scared. It’ll be fun.”

She hesitates. She moves to the door, then back toward the box. She tentatively touches it, as if she’s afraid it will burn her.

“What would I have to do?”

I let out a secret sigh of relief. “Just step inside and lay down. Um, remove your shoes first, if you would.”

She looks dubious, but she removes her sensible flats, as well as her stockings. I’m amused to see her toenails are painted.

I place a step stool near the box and she awkwardly climbs up. Unconsciously, I offer her my hand. As she positions herself inside, she looks at me and smiles. Actually smiles at me, just a little, for the first time ever. My guilt increases. But it’s too late to stop now.

I help her adjust her neck in the head rest, and position her legs in the stocks.

“Comfortable?”

“Not really.” But she’s smiling again. A lock of her tightly bound hair has slipped loose, and is hanging across her forehead. She looks like someone younger from this angle.

I close the lid of the box. For a second I have trouble getting it to fasten. I realize, much to my embarrassment, because I designed this box for a teenage girl. Someone not as buxom as Mrs. Snow.

With the box latched, I know I’m finally safe. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s absolutely trapped now. It would take a pneumatic drill to get her out of that box without my permission.

She stares at her reflection in the wall mirror. “So how does this trick work, Leon? I know you’re not supposed to give away your secrets, but I kind of have to know.”

“A good question, Mrs. Snow. This is one of the oldest tricks in stage magic, but there’s really only three methods of pulling it off. It’s the magician’s job to make none of them seem possible.”

I grab the set of foot stocks and gently place them over her ankles. “Method one: the lovely assistant (my teacher flushes at this description) is actually free to move within the box, able to wiggle out of the way of the blades.” I open a hatch at the top of the box and instruct her to slip her hands through the holes. I clamp them into place, her hands sticking up about halfway down the length of the box. “With your feet and ankles visible and restrained, combined with the thinness of this box, the audience will know you’re just as helpless as you appear.”

Mrs. Snow waves weakly at her reflection. “So if that’s not the case...”

I continue. “The most common method, of course, is to use dummy legs, or have a second woman in the lower half of the box.” I walk toward her feet. “It’s my job to make sure no one suspects that these are false feet.” I gently pinch her toes, causing her foot to wiggle. “Or that they belong to someone else.” I run a finger down the sole of her foot. She lets out an involuntary giggle.

My God, her skin was so soft.

I open two small doors on the side of the box, revealing her restrained arms and legs. “The more the audience can see, the more believable the trick. Of course, it would be better if you were wearing something a little more...revealing.”

She stops smiling, so I quickly change the subject.

“The last method, of course, is to use a retractable or false blade.” From my bench, I pick up a large handsaw. One big enough to reach from the top of the box to the bottom.

Mrs. Snow looks worried. “And that’s how you do it? A fake blade?”

I position the saw above the box. “You’re about to find out, aren’t you?”

My teacher wiggles a bit, but the wrist, ankle and head stocks keep her immobile. “Do I need to do anything? I, uh, don’t want to get sliced, you know.” The authoritative voice is back.

“Relax. All smoke and mirrors. Just watch your reflection and make sure you can’t see how I’m doing this.”

I insert the blade into a slit, positioned around the bottom of her rib cage.

“Leon! I can feel that blade against me.”

“Part of the trick.” I begin to cut. Slowly, methodically, enjoying the slight resistance as the saw slices and slices.

“Leon!” It’s a good thing this basement is soundproof. “Stop! I think you’re cutting into me!”

I continue, of course. “Are you in unbearable agony?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m obviously not cutting into you.”

She struggles against her bonds, shaking the box. “But I can feel the blade on my belly...and my back!” Sweat beads on her forehead.

“Mrs. Snow, this is just a silly trick. But you’re going to hurt yourself, jerking around like that. Please be still.” After all, I don’t want a jagged division.

She stops twitching and stares at the mirror. The blade finally passes through the other side of the box.

“See, you’re fine.”

She nods, unconvinced. I produce two modified cafeteria trays and line them up at the cut. I drop one. It slides into the opening with a thunk. Mrs. Snow jolts at the noise. Or perhaps the sensation. The second tray only falls a few inches. I tut, then reach into the side of the box and gently pull her by the shoulders. The second tray clatters into place.

Mrs. Snow looks at me with wide, unbelieving eyes. “Leon, I can’t believe it,” she gasps. “Such an incredible illusion. I had no idea you were so talented. I mean, here I am, right in the middle of things, and I can’t even figure out how you made it look like...look like...”

Her voice trails off as I gently wheel the two halves of the box apart. Just a few inches. Then two feet. I step between them and pose for the mirror, a hand on each half of her.

I swing her lower half around until her feet are parallel with her face. For a moment she stares at her own cute toes, as if they’re the most horrifying things in the world.

Her ensuing scream causes me to cover her ears. I did the right thing, installing soundproofing down here.

After a minute, she falls silent, her wide, blue eyes looking up at me in terror.

“How?” she stammers.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

“Then why?”

I pull up a chair and sit backward, my face level with hers. “Mrs. Snow, I heard your phone call down here last week. The one to Michael.”

There she lays, in two pieces, her feet next to her face. But at my comment, she manages to look offended. “That was private! You had no right!”

She struggles to get out of the box, which, in her condition, would be a very bad idea.

“I didn’t mean to. Really.” I place a hand on her soft, bare foot. She jolts, but doesn’t resist. Not that she has a choice. “So who’s Michael?”

For a second, I think she’s going to argue, but then her mouth sort of collapses. “My husband. My soon to be ex husband.”

Slowly, slowly, I begin rubbing her foot. She must use some kind of cream or moisturizer on her skin. “May I ask what happened?”

She glances at me, her reflection, her feet, and then back at me. “He decided I’m not as fun as I used to be. Not as thin. Not as young.”

Without letting go of her foot, I lean in close to her face. I never noticed the tiny smile lines near her eyes or the faint freckles on her cheeks. “He’s a fool, Mrs. Snow. You aren’t lacking in the looks department. And I have a feeling your husband is not the most fun guy in the world himself.”

A hint of a smile passes over Mrs. Snow’s face. “I think my days of being good looking are over. But that’s nice of you to say.” She suddenly seems to remember the state of things. “But what does that have to do with anything? My marriage is none of your business, Leon! Why did you saw me in half?”

I reach in and move the stray lock of hair from her face. “Your phone call. I worried that you don’t believe in magic anymore.”

She looks away. “Not recently.”

“I wanted to show you that magic does exist, Mrs. Snow. I wanted you to know that there are unbelievable things in this world, and maybe hanging onto your ex isn’t the right way to find them.”

Her eyes look sad. I think she may be holding back a tear. “You kind of make me believe it, kiddo.”

I feel very warm. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t have left you. Not ever.”

Suddenly embarrassed, I stand. “I guess you’d like to be put back together.”

She smiles for real. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

I move her feet back into position. But I don’t reconnect them. Instead, I remove a feather from a box on my workbench.

“Before I put your legs back, Mrs. Snow, I’d like to register my opinion on all the detentions you’ve given me over the years.”

I run the feather over the bottom of her foot. She squeals loudly. “Leon! Don’t you dare!”

I dare. And while I could have tortured her feet all night, I only work them over for a minute or two. By the time I’m finished, she’s wailing so loud I worry the soundproofing might not hold. She’s shaking so hard, she nearly tips over her lower half.

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” I wheel her parts together and remove the trays. When I open the lid, I’m a little frightened. She is, after all, a teacher. If tells anyone how I locked her in a box, I’ll be in serious trouble.

Mrs. Snow allows me to take her hand and help her out of the container. She’s silent as she replaces her stockings and shoes. Then she steps toward me.

She smiles. A full on smile. Such a beautiful smile.

“Leon...thank you. I mean, I ought to kick your butt for that stunt, but...I needed to be reminded that there is magic. I mean, not literal magic, but...well, I was in a bad place. It’s nice to get my mind off of some things.”

I step closer to her. “Well, you sounded so sad. I wanted to cheer you up.”

We’re standing closer than we ever have before. Mrs. Snow’s clothes are disheveled and her hair is hanging lose. “I had no idea you were so talented, Leon. I hope you put those skills to use someday.” Much to my surprise, she gently takes my hands.

I struggle to maintain eye contact. “You know, you’re a lot...prettier when you smile.” My authority is long gone. She’s reduced me to a frightened child.

“Well, you’ll have keep making me smile.” Our hands are touching. Our faces move toward each other. Her eyes begin to close. The secret fantasy, the one I wouldn’t even admit to myself, is about to come true.

But then something falls to the floor, almost inaudibly. The moment broken, we both look down.

The bottom half of her blouse has fallen down around her feet. The top half remains, right where I sawed her, exposing the palest belly I’ve ever seen on a woman.

Mrs. Snow suddenly steps back. Her smile vanishes and her face collapses into the familiar sneer.

I don’t see it coming, but I sure feel it when she smacks me across the cheek.

Sadly, I watch her gather her things and leave, without a backward glance to me.

I sit on my chair and sadly toy with my saw.

So close. So very close.

She’ll never talk to me after this.

Oh well, maybe it’s for the best...