Oblivious, it takes an encounter with the principal to realize

Jordan had not quite reached the door. He turned in the aisle, phone up, and snapped a picture of Maria. She blinked, one hand half-raised against the flash. “Thanks for the lesson, Miss Vargas. Same time next week.” Vargas wanted to ask what was up with that, but Jordan was already in the hall. The door eased shut.

Maria shook her head. She passed between the aisle and inspected the windows. Her classroom didn’t have the winch to reach the mechanism to open and close them. She’d need to collect one from another one, or find the janitorial staff and ask them. She stepped into the corridor. Her classes were scheduled late in the afternoon, at the end of the week, and the schoolbuilding was relatively quiet. She heard the far-off thump of a locker. Cars going in the distance. The smell of various chemicals — chlorine, polyurethane, styrene — drifting into a blend you’d only find inside of schoolbuildings. Above it all, the sound of her heels clacking on the hallway floor. She’d barely taken a dozen steps when a large shape filled the junction.

“Miss Vargas! There you are.”

“Oh, hello Mr. Nelson.”

Principal Thomas Nelson was a heavyset, jovial man, whose commanding and physical presence left little space in the hallway to pass him by. His walrus-like moustache was animated when he spoke. “First period done. I like to catch the new ones before they vanish into the staff room. How did they treat you? Not too lively, I hope. He he he. Calloway used to say they were, well, things I ought not repeat in polite company.” He laughed as if there was a joke there. “They showed up on time, I take it? Punctual bunch, dedicated. And the room, 202 gets the afternoon glare from the sun you see, you might want the blinds if you’re writing on the board.”

Maria smiled on instinct as the principal continued to waffle and guffaw, and when she managed to get a word in told him the lesson had gone well. Much better than she’d been warned to expect. They’d been asking questions and taken ample notes.

Nelson nodded, pleased. His gaze drifted downward. “Well. They must like you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“They’ve left you a few stitches to wear. That’s almost polite, for that room.”

She followed his eyes down, glancing at herself. She was standing in her underwear. There was no sign of her sweater, nor her skirt. Have I been teaching in this? “Wh- how did- where is my-” she stammered. Her voice cracked into a shriek. Her knees went. She dropped into a crouch with both arms locked over her chest, face burning. I’ve been standing in front of an entire classroom in lingerie!

Mr. Nelson put his hands on his hips, sounding chuffed. “A promising start, Miss Vargas. Be pleased you’re not that substitute last year who’d decided to go commando for their first outing into Room 202. No, when I hired you I said to myself, I doubt that young lady will make such a rookie mistake.”

“Th- thank you Mr. Nelson.”