She pulls her phone from her bag

Then, with an almost theatrical calm, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She tapped at the screen, casually flipping through screens and apps, until I watched her scroll through something. Her mouth curled with a big grin for a moment before giving way to a look resembling appreciation. She tilted her head, studying whatever she’d found.

Finally, she turned the phone toward me.

“You know,” she said, as if offering a compliment, “it’s nicer than I would’ve given you credit for.”

My eyes snapped to the screen and my body went rigid.

The image wasn’t subtle. It was a hand wrapped around a hard cock. It was large, and the head was almost purple it was so swollen.

“That’s not me.” I stood halfway from my chair, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. “You’re way out of line, Mia. You shouldn’t even have a picture like that on your phone, much less be showing it to your high school guidance counselor.”

She turned the phone back toward herself, continuing to stare at the image. She licked her upper lip slowly, then caught the bottom one between her teeth, as her eyes flicked toward my hand resting on the desk.

“So it’s just a coincidence,” she pressed, “that the guy in the picture Amelia sent me has the exact same scar... right here.”

Turning the phone back to me with one of her delicate nails tapping the screen, and she nodded toward my hand. Her tone was soft, almost curious, like she was still deciding whether to play dumb or press her advantage. My fingers curled instinctively, but it didn’t matter. The mark was obvious. The same small, jagged scar across the ridge of my thumb. I felt my pulse thudding in my ears.

“Funny how small the world is,” she said, tapping the edge of her phone with the same nail. “One little scar, and suddenly everything feels a lot less hypothetical.”

I sank back into my chair slowly, trying to think, trying to figure out what she wanted out of this. My stomach tightened as she stood and walked around the side of my desk, her skirt brushing lightly against the edge as she leaned into it with one hand.

“I wonder,” she said, her eyes moving down toward my lap, “if there’s any other identifying marks we’d find if we were to take a peek around.”

“Mia.” My voice came out, but there was a warning in it. Or at least, I hoped there was. “This stops here. I’m not going to–”

“You’re not going to what?” she cut in, looking at me with a feigned innocence that felt like a knife under the skin. “Take advantage of a student? Be unprofessional?” Her mouth curved tightened and her eyes squinted with a look of judgement. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”

“You don’t actually know that that’s me. I haven’t touched anyone,” I said, turning my chair slightly as I turned to face her. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve thought about it, though.” Her voice dropped, taking a more intimate tone. “I’ve seen it. The way your eyes linger. The little hesitations when I sit too close. You think you’re subtle, but you’re not.”

I shook my head. “You’re reading into things that aren’t there.”

“No,” she said, stepping in closer. The movement brought the hem of her skirt to my knee. “You forget how good I am at paying attention. I don’t have the GPA I do because I’m some kind of bimbo who isn’t aware of what’s going on around me. I see the way you and half my teachers look at me and my big doe eyes.” She exaggerated the last words, sounding pouty and batting her lashes.

I could feel the muscles in my jaw tense. My thoughts were a blur of disbelief and something far less defensible. Every instinct told me to stand, to end this conversation, to call someone in… but I didn’t move.

“You act like this is some big shock,” she went on, sliding herself up onto the edge of my desk. “Like you haven’t looked. It’s okay to admit it. You wouldn’t be the first faculty member who has. Hell, even a few minutes ago, the janitor just happened to drop his mop so he could bend down right next to my cute little butt at the water fountain in the hall, right outside the admin door.”

She crossed one leg over the other, the movement clearly deliberate. The hem of her skirt lifted a little higher, baring more of her thigh than was decent. Her fingers toyed loosely with one of the pleats.

“I’ve even caught a female teacher or two blushing when their eyes wandered a little too long,” she added, giving a small, knowing smile. “It’s not that big of a secret,” she added wrinkling her nose. “I know what people fantasize about when they look at the smart girl. The one with the pristine reputation that makes her seem like she thinks she’s above everyone else.”

“Mia,” I said, and I could feel the tightness in my voice. “You need to stop this.”

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head. “Because you can’t honestly deny that you look at me? That you don’t think about the same things as everyone else around here that knows me?”

I pushed back from my chair and stood, trying to regain control of the conversation. My throat was dry, and I could feel my pulse in my neck.

“This isn’t you,” I said. “Whatever this is, this… game you’re playing at, or I don’t know… you don’t really want to do this.”

“I’m not a little girl,” she said, her eyes locked on mine. “And if you’re not the guy in the picture, then what are you getting so worked up about?”

I stared at her.

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