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You’re still here because you’re strong, maybe not strong enough to win, but strong enough to live. How many knights and soldiers can say that? How many people in history do you think have clawed their way through the mud, gnashing their teeth and howling in pain, all for that little victory? You being here, after all that bloodshed and horror, is an accomplishment you shouldn’t dismiss.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.

“Yeah, you wish,” she said with a smirk. She pecked me on the cheek. “Just you. But next time I want to be naked.” There she goes again with the “next time” stuff, I thought. “Now get out of here so I can clean up and come back to earth before my next class. I zipped up her dress as we went to the door. She twisted the lock, peeked into the hall to make sure no one was there and pushed me out. “I’ll see you next class.”