Drinking with the teachers

Once the school bell rang, signalling the end of that first school day, and the last of the students left the class room, you gave yourself a pat on the back. _Good for you, Tim, you mentally cheered. You somehow managed to not fuck things up. Truthfully, if you had to admit, you rather enjoyed the whole teaching thing. It was a confidence boost that you had needed, especially after your life had so drastically changed. If the rest of the term was anything like today, you might find life as George Hanson pretty great.

This apparent ease continued throughout the rest of the week as you got yourself more and more settled into your role. You enjoyed telling people what to do, finding a thrill in solving problems and offering instruction, not to mention the adulation you got from the female students.

It was crazy how much female attention George Hanson's body attracted, and there was something validating about feeling Brandi and her friends constantly checking you out, a few of the bustier ones making sure to show off their charms whenever humanly possible. It was during moments like that when you thought back to Brandon Walsh, beating you and Randall up for even glancing in his girlfriend’s direction. How the tables have turned Brandon. Your girlfriend’s into me you fuckin prick…

After finishing the final lesson of the week was done, and you finished up your paperwork and locked the classroom door, you bumped into Miss. Card and Miss Wells outside, walking down the hall.

“So, how was the first day back?” Miss Card asked, her voice kind. “You didn’t have any trouble with them? Didn’t get overwhelmed trying to remember stuff? No migraines?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her doting. “It went fine. More than fine, actually. It went great.”

“Lucky you," Miss Wells laughed. "Because I'm seriously rethinking my career options. Brandi Summers and her little clique are absolute nightmare.”

“Don’t forget, we’ve got PTA coming up next week,” Miss Card put in, nudging her friend teasingly. “You’ll get tell Mrs Summers all about it.”

Miss Wells facepalmed. “Fuck my life, I’ll be going from the stuck up princess to the absolute Bitch Queen.”

You chuckled. “You’ve got my sympathies.”

“So, anyway,” Miss Card said, redirecting awkwardly, “it’s Friday and uh…we…”

“-were planning on hitting up a bar,” Miss Wells finished, giving her friend a look. “Carla’s already booked a booth, so, you in?”

Considering that you had never been drinking in a bar before, there was a thrill of excitement that flooded you through you, but also caution. What if you fucked up, made a fool of yourself, or inadvertently revealed your true identity? This life you were building as George Hanson could coming crashing down.

But then you looked at Miss Card, saw how intently she was looking at you. She really wanted you there, that was plain as day. “Ok,” you said after a moment’s thought, “sounds good.”

—

“HEY!" Miss Esposita waved excitedly as the two of you entered the sports bar, a bowl of curly fries sitting before her within the corner booth a cocktail. You couldn’t help but admire just how curvaceous she looked, how her olive skin glistened in the heat of the bar…

Eyes up, you told yourself. Keep it together, and maybe this won’t be terrible..

Although you were clearly out of your depth amongst these three adults, as soon as everyone began chatting away, you felt yourself instantly start to relax. The drinks did their fair share too, helping you loosen up and joke with the others. Once gain it struck just how nice your teachers were outside of the classroom. Miss Esposita was cracking jokes that had you snorting beer your nose, Miss Wells was never anything less than bubbly and upbeat about everything, and Miss Card…

Laura had been sitting next to you the whole night, watching you attentively and smiling warmly whenever you made a joke or reference to something at work. You were no Casanova, but it reminded you of how things were early on when you started to date Alison. But unlike Alison, there was something holding Miss Card back and that gave you pause.

Something Miss Esposita was saying dragged you from your thoughts. “So, did you have the boy in your class, Amanda?”

“I did,” Miss Wells answered, shaking her head and looking into the glass of her martini with a sign. “That poor boy. There was a dark cloud over him, even the other kids were pretty upset on his behalf.”

You frowned. “Sorry, who are we talking about?”

“David Connors,” Amanda clarified. “The younger brother of the one who died. Absolutely awful…” her blue eyes widened a little when she studied your expression, “oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how you must be feeling.”

The combination of booze and emotional turmoil made you misunderstand, and for a moment you thought she was talking directly to Timothy Connors. But then the other penny dropped. “It’s …ok,” you managed to mutter out.

“Still,” she insisted, giving your hand a squeeze. “You went through something really traumatic. You nearly died, someone else did die. It’s ok if you’re not doing so great.”

You **** a smile. “Thanks M-Amanda, but really I’m ok. My wounds are mostly healed, my car’s gonna be back in order soon enough and the jerk who caused the accident is doing his time. I’m ok,” your expression faltered, “It’s the Connors family who are the real victims here.”

A solemn silence fell over the table, until Miss Esposita- Carla, slammed her hand down and woke them all up. “Ok, no more being sad,” she stood from the booth, “ this calls for tequila!”

There was a groan from the rest of your group, but when Carla returned with a tray of shots, you all dutifully did the old salt/lemon trick and knocked the burning substance down. More shots followed, and then things got lively. A song came on that Carla liked and she was up and moving, gyrating her big juicy ass to the flow of music. She winked at you wickedly, her dark eyes full of playful energy. Mandy to her credit, drunkenly cheered at a hockey game that was being played on the tv, slapping you on the arm and gesturing to something that was being replayed. Laura started talking to you about something, about some mutual acquaintance that you shared, at some party that you didn’t have the foggiest about. But the shots had gotten you buzzed, and bold. You interjected here and there with little jokes, teasing her and laughing when she blushed.

The mood became jubilant and the most fun you had had since the accident happened. But eventually as the night wore on and you drank a couple more beers you had to excuse yourself to take a leak. You were coming out of the stall when you felt a female body crash into you and press her lips furiously into yours, her tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.