Hot for Teacher Part Two
By Czolgolz
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For Phantom Rochelle

It’s been a week and a half since I tricked Mrs. Snow into letting me saw her in half. Ten days. And ten days since she’s talked to me. I might as well not exist.

She seems happier since my little experiment. Though her uniform of long black skirt and white blouse hasn’t changed, she now wears a little lipstick. And lets her hair down sometimes. And she even smiles. But not at me.

Stupid me, I thought we’d shared kind of a special experience. I thought maybe I cheered her up. I thought, who knows?, maybe we’d become a little closer or something.

Nope. She doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t acknowledge me, and sure as hell doesn’t smile at me.

I was dumb to think things would change.

It’s Friday, and I’m shocked when I receive notice that I’m to serve detention that day. Detention rarely happens on Friday, the teachers are just as eager to start the weekend as the students. I’m even more surprised to see that Mrs. Snow was the one who assigned me.

Warily, I approach her classroom after the last bell. She sits at her desk, staring at her laptop, her hair done up in the tight bun I know so well. She glances up at me as I enter, then looks down at her screen.

Good to see you too.

Halfway to my seat, she looks up again. “Close the door, Leon.”

She never asks for the door to be shut. This is promising. I rush to obey. When I turn around, she’s still sitting at her desk, but now her chin rests on her hands and she’s giving me the world’s largest, goofiest grin.

I can’t help but return it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you, Leon. It’s just that I couldn’t let anyone suspect we’d been doing anything outside of school hours.”

“It’s okay.” I’m too mesmerized by her smile to be angry.

“I...I haven’t been able to stop thinking about...well, I’m sure you can guess.” She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh. “Tell me, how did you do that to me?”

I wish I could tell her. “That’s a secret, I’m afraid. A good magician...”

“I figured you’d say that.” She stands and glances at the door. “I don’t suppose there’s any way that you could...” her words trail off, her big blue eyes looking at me expectantly.

“Give you another division lesson?” I smile, cockily. I lean back on a student desk, which slides, nearly dumping me on my butt and ruining my confidence. “Sorry. I disassembled the box.”

“Oh.” She smiles sadly. “It was just a thought.”

“But I’ve created a new trick that I’ve been dying to try out. Are you game, Mrs. Snow?”

“Yes!” She suddenly catches herself and clears her throat. “I mean, certainly. I think a demonstration might be very...educational.”

“For both of us.” We’re smiling like a couple of idiots. I can hardly stop from jumping up and down as she locks up the room and we sneak off to my secret lab, in the school’s abandoned furnace room.

“So how are things with your ex?” I ask, hoping she won’t find the question intrusive.

She shrugs. “Still a jerk. But for the past week or so, I find that I don’t really care anymore.”

“I glad, Mrs. Snow. That makes me happy.”

We arrive at the locked door and I quickly let us in and turn on the lights.

“The place looks kind of empty, Leon.”

“School’s coming to an end. I’m moving out.” All that’s left is a table, the full length mirror, and a pool of green paint that I spilled earlier. That, and the odd looking device in the middle of the room.

“Is that...does that do what I think it does?” says Mrs. Snow, her hand over her mouth.

The machine is nothing but a box on wheels, with the rollers from an old laminator mounted in front.

“I guess you’ll soon find out, won’t you?” I’m feeling more confident, now that we’re on my turf. “If you’ll remove your shoes, I think you’re in for another magical experience.”

She sits on the bench, dropping her shoes into an old cardboard box, followed by her socks and her purse. I offer her a hand to help her down, but she pauses.

“Leon...when you do...whatever it is you’re going to do...well, I have a feeling I’m going to wind up helpless again.”

I chuckle. “No tickling this time, I promise.”

“Thank you. But that’s not what I meant.” She kicks her long legs. “I’ve recently felt like my life was really out of control, with the divorce and everything. So when I’m under your spell today, could you promise to be a gentleman? Be the nice guy I know you are?” She looks at me, half-friendly, half-stern.

I lay my hand on hers and she doesn’t pull away. “Mrs. Snow, I promise. No funny business. And I’ll restore you after two minutes. Scout’s honor.”

She allows me to help her over to the device and climb into the top. “Say five minutes. No more than ten.”

Wow.

My teacher sits in the box, her shoulders emerging from the upper opening. I wink at her and press a button on the side of the machine. The rollers start moving very slowly.

“I’d prefer this to be hand-cranked,” I tell her. “Maybe the next one.”

“So what...” her voice trails off and her eyes widen. There, between the rollers, her toes are beginning to appear. Still painted cherry red, they slowly emerge through the front of the device. Completely and utterly flat.

“Oh, Leon,” she gasps. Her head is just slightly lower than before, as her body is pulled farther into the wringer. Her feet now flop down limply, then her ankles.

I take one foot in my hand and slowly rub it between my fingers. Less than a quarter inch thick. So soft and pliable, so yielding and warm. Mrs. Snow lets out a moan.

I expect to see the hem of her skirt, but it must be bunched up against the rollers. Her pale calves emerge, limply dangling from the front of the machine. I’m pleased to see her bare plump thighs next. Her head now barely reaches over the top of her box. I take the opportunity to gently stroke her long, soft legs.

Her skirt must really be bunching up, as her bland white panties come next. I run my finger over the sliver of white belly visible just above the elastic. The machine chokes and her skirt passes through, bunched up around her midsection. Her ample chest is now as completely flat as the rest of her.

Mrs. Snow’s face has passed into the box, though her hands still cling desperately to the top.

“You doing okay in there?” I ask.

“Just fine,” she calls weakly. “But remember your promise.”

I rub her shoulder between my thumb and forefinger. So very soft and pliant. “You’ll be fine, Mrs. Snow.”

“You know, Leon, it seems kind of silly for you to call me that. If you like, you can call me Ro....mmmmm!”

Her face emerges, two dimensional and immobile, her eyes shining, her mouth locked in a surprised gasp. I hear her nails scraping against the inside of the box. Then her arms emerge.

Her boneless body flops to the cement floor. I turn off the machine and pick her up by the hands, smiling at her ridiculous state. My teacher, my former enemy and longtime obsession, reduced to a paper doll. Completely immobile, her skirt coquettishly pulled up above her hips, a serene, not quite intelligent look in her eyes, her mouth temptingly half open.

If I were another sort of man, I’d consider doing something unthinkable to her. Or just leaving her like this. But a promise is a promise. Instead, I hold her up in front of the mirror, one hand on the top of her head, the other on her shoulder. Her body billows slightly.

“Mrs. Snow,” I whisper into her smashed ear. “Looks like your down to your idea weight of five pounds. You’re now my living poster. You don’t know how badly I’d like to take you home and tack you up on my wall. Or fold you inside a pillowcase and sleep on you every night. Or to use you as a bath towel every morning. Or...”

As I’m trying to think of other indignities I could threaten her with, my guts turn to ice. I hear a terrifying sound. A key sliding into a lock. Of the door down here.

Somehow, we’re about to have company.

No one must see her like this. And it’ll take a few minutes to restore her.
Panicking, I wad Mrs. Snow up into a basketball-sized lump and hide her behind my back.

The door swings open. One of the night janitors stares at me in surprise.

“I thought I saw a light on down here. What the hell are you doing, kid?”

I can barely speak through fear. “Just, um, working on a little abstract sculpture for art class,” I babble, pointing to my machine. “A little extra credit.”

He’s not buying it. “What’s that behind your back?”

Shit. “This? It’s...it’s a paint rag!” I gesture to the half-congealed puddle of green paint on the floor. “Just about to clean up my mess.”

I drop to my knees and plunge Mrs. Snow into the pool, rapidly coating her on both sides before the custodian can see what I’m really holding. Within seconds, she’s an unrecognizable green blob.

I stand, nervously folding my teacher again and again. Why won’t this guy leave?

Much to my horror he pulls a walkie talkie from his belt. “Officer McKenzie, could you come down...”

Shit! The school security officer! I cannot let him see what I’m really holding.

“I gotta go!” I burst past the janitor and up the stairs. He yells at me to wait.

Trucking down the empty hallway, I realize I have to make a choice and make it now. I could make a break for it and try to bust out the front doors. But there’s a very good chance they’ll catch me and wonder why I’m so attached to my drop cloth.

My other option is to hide Mrs. Snow and retrieve her later.

There’s a locker in this hall that belongs to a kid who just moved. I know the combination and I’m pretty sure it’s not been reassigned. Frantically, I dial the knob.

I barely have a chance to stuff Mrs. Snow inside and close the door.

“Hold it right there, kid!” I turn and face the security officer.

“Me?” I ask innocently.

The janitor hurries in from the other direction. “That’s him. I caught him messing around in the basement.”

They’re closing in on me. “I was just working on an art project,” I protest.

The guard looks past me to the janitor. “Is that true? Did you smell any dope down there, Steve? He wasn’t there with a girl, was he?”

The custodian shakes his head. “I think he was just painting something.”

The guard demands my ID. I have to force myself not to keep glancing at the locker where my flattened, painted, and folded up teacher is trapped. Eventually, he gives it back.

“Stay out of the basement, that’s off limits. Now go home, the school’s closed.”

They’re both staring at me. I cannot go to the locker without them realizing what I’ve hidden. With a sick smile, I leave school for the weekend.

*

I can’t sleep that night. I promised Mrs. Snow I wouldn’t keep her flattened more than a few minutes, and she’s already been stuck like that for ten hours. The poor woman, wadded up in the bottom of that locker, probably not realizing where she is or why.

I’m an idiot. I should have planned this better. Things were going so well. Now she’ll never talk to me again after I restore her.

If I even can restore her.

But I have a plan. There’s a girls’ basketball game at the school tomorrow night. All I have to do is buy a ticket, then slip away from the game and retrieve her. Slink down the basement and restore her. Then take my lumps.

This will work. It has to.

*

The next night, I attend my first basketball game ever. I’ve got this planned perfectly. Right when the game is about to start, when everyone is singing the national anthem, I’ll be retrieving my teacher. Even if I can’t fix her tonight, I can take her home, clean her up, and spend hours apologizing for her state. Monday morning at the latest, I can restore her third dimension.

The first part of the plan goes well. No one notices when I sneak away from the gym, down the darkened hallway, and to the locker where I abandoned Mrs. Snow the previous afternoon. I let out a sigh of relief when I see the wadded human paint rag on the bottom of the locker. She’s kind of dried and become stuck to the sides of the locker, but I managed to pry her off.

Since school officials have been known to search bags, I’ve thought of an alternate way to transport her. It’s a cushion, the kind people bring to sports events to soften the hard wooden bleachers. I’ve removed the interior padding. Struggling, I force my teacher inside it, and then do up the zipper. It’s lumpy, but no one will guess it’s filled with Snow.

Part one is a success. I consider leaving well enough alone and taking her home for the rest of the weekend, but decide I owe it to her to at least try to fix her tonight. Carrying her under my arm, I slink toward the staircase.

Damn it! That same stupid guard is there, talking to the vice principal. They don’t see me, but they’re close enough to the stairwell that I’ll never get by them.

Well, they can’t stand there all night. I’ll slip back to the gym and come back later.

*

The gymnasium is packed. Apparently this is some kind of big rivalry game tonight, I dunno. I can barely find a place to sit down. Finally, I find an empty bench at the very back of the bleachers. I sit Mrs. Snow down next to me and pretend to watch the game. I so want to unzip her cushion and apologize, but I can’t risk anyone seeing.

“Hey, Leon, anyone sitting here?”

Shit. It’s Christy, a blond girl who I think might kind of have a thing for me. I’m so worried about my teacher that I distractedly answer ‘no’ without thinking.

Christy sits down right next to me. On top of our teacher. And the thing is, while Christy is not fat, she is a rather large girl. Very solid. With a rather generous posterior.

Mrs. Snow completely vanishes underneath her rear.

Christy immediately engages me in conversation, and there’s no way I can ask her not to sit on my cushion. Fortunately, she stops talking when the game gets underway.

Unfortunately, she’s really into it. She keeps bouncing around, leaping up and then flopping back to her seat. Every time, Mrs. Snow’s container gets flatter and flatter. I wince when the crowd starts doing the wave, with Christy standing up and slamming back down on her seat a half dozen times.

When halftime is upon us, Christy informs me that she’s going to go get a snack. Thank goodness. As soon as she’s gone, I grab what’s left of Mrs. Snow. Her cushion is now flatter than a notebook (and quite warm). Inside, I know she’s wadded up and covered in paint. It’s time to end this. I stand.

At that moment, a great deal of shouting breaks out from the court. I can’t tell what caused it, but a visiting player is shoving a girl on our team. Both sides move forward. Things are about to get nasty.

From out of the visitors’ stands, a cup of soda comes flying. It hits one of our players in the back of the head.

The gym erupts in chaos. The two teams fly at each other, girls wrestling, tearing at each other’s hair, wrestling. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to watch. This is the perfect cover. Every security guard and teacher in this place will be distracted. I make my move.

Trash rains down and I rush the stairs. People are throwing food, drinks, books, whatever they can get their hands on. I keep my head down.

I’m halfway to the floor when it happens. Someone snatches the cushion from my hand and hurls it like a Frisbee down toward the court. I watch, helplessly, as my teacher bounces off the back of a player and glides to the floor.

Shit!

I take the steps five at a time and leap over a bench to the gym floor. Where the hell is she?

There! I spot the cushion being kicked across the floor by some brawling girls, then stepped on by a sprinting teacher. I rush for it.

Unfortunately, I think I started something by rushing the court. Dozens and dozens of students follow me, diving into the fray. I’m knocked around, pushed, and lose sight of the cushion.

Aha! The women’s basketball coach is standing on her. I wince when I realize the cushion is starting to tear. If it takes any more abuse, Mrs. Snow will be exposed to the world. The coach steps away and I dive for it.

Bingo. I have her in my hands. I move to the sidelines, hoping to escape the gym in the confusion. I’m barely aware of a PA announcement directing everyone to leave the building.

Someone shoves me from behind. I trip. I try to right myself, but I go sprawling and let go of Mrs. Snow. Fortunately, she lands in a cart, the one the players drop their used towels in. I reach in retrieve her.

A heavy hand grabs my collar. I turn, and in horror realize I’m in the custody of a local police officer. Not a school security guard, but a real cop. He doesn’t look happy.

“Game over, kid. Out. Now.”

“But I dropped...

“Get it on Monday.” He taps his handcuffs meaningfully. I take one last guilty look at the laundry cart and follow the retreating crowd.

*

I wait in the bushes outside the school until nearly four in the morning. It takes forever for the rowdy crowd to disperse and even longer for the police to leave. Then the night custodians get busy cleaning up the mess in the gym. I pray that Mrs. Snow is still stuffed in the laundry and not been tossed in the garbage.

Finally, the last custodian’s car leaves. There’s only one vehicle left in the lot: Mrs. Snow’s. Thank God she’s divorced or someone might have reported her missing already.

What I’m about to attempt is dangerous. If I get caught breaking into the school, I’ll be suspended and I’ll never be able to restore my teacher. But if I risk waiting until Monday, whoever is in charge of the team’s laundry might have already found Mrs. Snow and thrown her away. I must act now.

It doesn’t take me long to disable the school’s alarm and pick the lock. I’m in. I quickly head to the locker rooms and locate the industrial washers where the clean the teams’ uniforms.

There it is! The same laundry cart. I rush toward it, throwing sweaty towels everywhere. For a horrible moment I think she’s not here, but I finally locate her cushion, buried near the bottom.

Gingerly, I remove the wrapping. I wince when I see what’s left of my teacher: she looks like a used rag, crumbled up and covered in dry green paint. Here and there I can make out a feature: a finger, an ear, a crumpled shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” I whisper and I begin to straighten her out.

I shortly realize that this won’t work. The paint has dried on her so solidly I worry that I might tear her. And I can’t send her back through the wringer unless she’s more or less perfectly flat. There’s no telling how she’d turn out otherwise.

God, I’m going to have to scrub her in a sink or something. Or...

I look over at the enormous washing machine in front of me. I check the settings. Delicate? But that paint is really on there good. Eventually I settle on ‘colors.’ I drop her in, along with a scoop of detergent and fire up the machine.

The load takes longer than I expect, but I’m pleased to see most of the paint has washed off and she’s much less wrinkled. Soaking wet, though. Ashamed to look her in the eye, I drop her in the dryer.

As she cooks, I practice what I’m going to say to her. She’ll understand this was all a mistake, right? Just a screw up on my part. She’ll forgive me, right? Maybe let me make it up to her.

I’m fooling myself. She’s going to be pissed. She’s going to kill me. Maybe get me expelled or even call the cops. I don’t look forward to restoring her.

Of course if I didn’t restore her...

No! Don’t even think like that.

Tempting, though.

The dryer dings and I take out Mrs. Snow, who’s now as soft, warm and fluffy as a comforter straight off the line. I spread her out on a table.

And that’s when I realize something obvious, that I had overlooked in my distressed state.

Mrs. Snow is completely and totally naked.

The rough treatment, combined with the industrial strength washing, has ripped her paper thin clothes to shreds. They’re gone.

She lays there, her arms above her head, the same goofy, open-mouthed smile on her face. But that’s not where my attention lays. My eyes roam downward.

Her bare shoulders are almost solidly freckled. The freckling continues downward, dotting her chest. Oh God, her chest...

Thanks to the wringer, she has a flatter chest than I do. But it didn’t take away the impression of her large breasts, or her saucer sized, pinkish nipples. They wink up at me.

Looking lower, her comically white belly mounts the thatch of brown hair above her long, slightly open, legs.

Oh God. Just what I’d been dreaming of these past four years. And my dreams don’t even come close. She’s amazing.

I suddenly realize what I’m doing. Mrs. Snow’s going to be pissed off enough as it is, without me standing here staring, studying the curve of her hips and speculating on her cup size. Taking one last look, I gently fold her up, leaving her bare back on top. I then slide her into a gym bag I found, along with a pair of sweatpants and a basketball jersey. Picking up after myself, I sneak off toward my basement lab.

*

I’m relieved that the janitor hasn’t messed with the wringer. If I had to build another one from scratch, Mrs. Snow might be stuck like this for a month. Fortunately, all this ends right now.

I remove the spare clothes from the bag and place them on the bench, where she’s certain to see them. I then tuck her head into the rollers. Fighting back an urge to kiss her frozen lips, I hit the reverse button. As she starts to vanish backward into the machine, I turn around. Silly as it seems right now, I want to give her some privacy when she emerges.

I hear her gasp. I hear her sigh. I hear the machine turn off and Mrs. Snow climb out of the box. I wait for her to say something, but she’s silent as she dresses. The tension is becoming unbearable.

“Turn around and look at me, Leon.”

I steel myself and face her. The clothes I stole for her are too large. She’s holding up her pants with one hand, and one bare shoulder protrudes from the neck hole.

She’s looking at me with undisguised contempt.

“I guess all that talk about being a gentleman was pure bullshit, hmm, Leon?”

“Mrs. Snow, please, let me explain...”

“I trusted you. I haven’t trusted anyone since my divorce, but for some reason, I thought you were different. But I guess when you said you wanted to do something special for me, you were just having a laugh at your dumb old teacher’s expense. Is that it?”

I feel so awful I want to cry. “No! We almost got caught. The custodian—”

“Drop it! I’m sick of your excuses. The custodian wasn’t the one who used me as a paint rag. He didn’t stuff me in a locker all night. You were the one who thought it would be funny to have your friend sit on me for an hour! You were the one who used me as a Frisbee and then dropped me in the dirty laundry!”

She looks like she’s going to smack me. I wish she would. I deserve it.

My teacher is right. If we both hadn’t been very lucky this weekend, Mrs. Snow could be sitting in the bottom of a dumpster right now. I was careless.

“Mrs. Snow...”

“Don’t talk. Leave this school right now. Do not speak to me for the rest of the year. Don’t look at me. I can’t believe I trusted you. I can’t believe I thought you were...special.”

I think what makes me the most miserable is the knowledge that Mrs. Snow and I really had connected. And if things had gone smoother on Friday, who knows what could have happened? But I blew it. Blew it with the one woman I have feelings for.

I will myself not to tear up. “I’ll go. Your shoes and purse are still in that box. When you leave, go through the math hall exit, I’ve disabled the alarm there.” I trot to the door before I lose all control.

“Why me, Leon?”

I stand there, my back to my teacher, one hand on the knob. “What?”

“Why me? Surely you would have rather tried your tricks out on one of the cute little girls at this school. Why did you choose your worn out old teacher?”

I turn around. She’s leaning on the bench, not smiling, but not as wrathful as a moment earlier.

I’m ashamed to tell her the reason I picked her.

“Does it matter, Mrs. Snow?”

“I think you owe me. Why me, Leon? Did you want to get me back for all those detentions?”

“No.” I rub the back of my neck.

“Did you think it would be funny to bring me down a peg? Was this some kind of senior prank?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why?”

I sigh. I owe her the truth. “I guess you’d call it...a crush.”

She looks shocked. “Excuse me?”

I can’t meet her eyes. “Freshman year. When I first saw you. That hair and that body and that face...I fell kind of hard. And you used to be so funny and nice...and then last year you suddenly seemed angry all the time—I guess that’s when you started having marriage problems—and I just...Jesus, this is embarrassing. I like you, Mrs. Snow. I know it’s dumb for a student to say, but...you’re pretty damn hot. And nice, at least you used to be. I really was trying to help you have some fun. And maybe...I dunno...transforming you was kind of a turn on for me. I’m sorry.”

I finally look up. My teacher is staring at me in disbelief. Then she frowns.

Here it comes. The lecture about how inappropriate my feelings and actions are. How I need to control myself. How I shouldn’t feel that way about someone so much older than myself.

Or even worse, the talk about how someday I’ll meet a sweet girl my own age and forget all about her.

She clears her throat. “Leon...”

“Yes, Mrs. Snow?”

“Would it surprise you to know that I feel the same way?”

I’m too stunned to reply. I can barely stand upright. I must have misheard her. She can’t mean...

“Honestly, kiddo, did you really think I gave you all those detentions because I thought you deserved them?”

I’m trying to focus. “Then why...”

“Because I liked having your little punk ass under my control. Every time you smarted off in class, I really wanted to pull down your trousers and take you over my knee.”

She’s walking toward me. I can barely focus. I can’t speak.

Mrs. Snow reaches out and thumps my forehead. “Are you really that dense, Leon? I’d spend every evening taking shit from my asshole husband, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I could take it out on you, you naughty boy. Remember that time I made you clean out my cabinets?”

“Yes...”

“The lower cabinets? How you kept having to bend over again and again?”

Things are falling into place. “I wondered why you kept standing over me.”

“I was enjoying the view. You’re not as smart as you think you are, Leon. I always knew you had nasty little fantasies about me, and I liked the idea.” She suddenly reaches out and grabs me by the collar. “Detention after detention, alone in that room, and all I really wanted was for you to grab me by the shoulders and kiss the hell out of me.”

My entire world has turned upside down. Is Mrs. Snow fucking with me? Gaslighting me out of revenge? She seems sincere. I reach up to touch her arms.

She steps away and frowns. “And then I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the computer monitor and I’d remember that I’m not a teenager anymore. And that you’d never invite me to hang out or go to the arcade or whatever you kids do these days.”

I’m too excited to feel bad. “But Mrs. Snow, I’m eighteen. I’m going to graduate in a month.”

She holds up a palm. “Leon, believe me, I’ve thought of that. But if word got out...it doesn’t matter that you won’t be my student. The point is that you used to be. I’d lose my job. I’d never teach again. And my ex left me with nothing. I can’t risk this job, much as I’d like to.”

“But...” No! Not reality! Not now! We’re so close.

She touches my cheek. “I know what happened this weekend was just shitty luck. But it could have ended badly for both of us. We have to end this.”

She’s right of course. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m really going to miss you, Mrs. Snow.”

“And I, you, Leon. I’ll always remember how you pretended to have trouble with your work, just so I’d lean over in front of you.”

I wince. “You knew?”

“I’m not an idiot. You liked my teal bra, the best, right?”

God, was I that transparent? I hold out a hand.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Snow.”

She takes it. “Goodbye, Leon.”

I grab her by the shoulders and kiss the hell out of her.

After making an initial surprised noise, she lets me. Our mouths, our tongues, merge. It’s an experience I’ve been waiting four years for, and it’s better than the many times I imagined.

She smells like pine needles, though that might just be the fabric softener.

After a few minutes we disengage, resting our foreheads against each other. We’re both breathing hard.

“Leon?”

“Yes?”

“Did you...grow?”

About six inches just now. “Um, what do you mean?”

She stares up at me. “I’ve always been able to look you right in the eye. But you seem taller than me tonight.”

“Oh, um, you’re still barefoot. And I’m wearing these big ol’ boots.”

She nods. “That must be it. Goodbye for real, kiddo. Think of me.”

I nod, breathless, as she walks out of my workshop, hitching up her pants.

Oh shit. Oh shit.

That wasn’t her imagination.

I left her in the dryer too long.

She shrank in the wash.