A window reflection tells her what nobody else would

Maria pushed the door of 202 open with her shoulder and stepped back inside the empty classroom. The interior of the room smelled like it was smoldering in the late-summer sun. She crossed towards her desk where she’d left her purse and some other items; the reflection in the windows threw her own shape back at her before she had quite reached her chair.

She stopped.

The woman in the glass was her: Same bun, same heels, same stockings, same glasses and waistline and wide hips… and the same lacy panties cutting across her hips, and above that an uninterrupted tableau of skin, the same breasts visible as prominent orbs in the glass, dark nipples obvious on the pane. For a stupid half-second she thought it was some trick of the angle, a poster on the wall being mirrored maybe, or the reflection of somebody behind her? Then she looked down at herself and back up at the reflection and all the facts arrived together.

A sound punched out of her, gasping and undignified. Both arms crossed hard over her tits. Oh god, oh god! She flung herself into a crouch, crawling behind — nearly under — the desk. I taught class like this?! I stood in Nelson’s office like this? I said hello to colleagues with my chest hanging out and smiled at them like a fool! She shuffled behind her chair, the normally more-than-proper black lace panties making her look exactly as sluttish as she suddenly felt. So this is why Calloway left, she thought to herself. Another thought flashed through her head, as determined as her grip on her breasts, No, I… Maria Vargas is no quitter! I’m a professional career woman! I’m not gonna let myself be beat so easily! But first… I gotta get to my car.