"Keep outa my way and keep your fuckin' nose outa my business,"

Jessica suddenly added, "or I'll let Riley go ahead and ream you out."

"Okay. Jeez!"

Lane slumped in her seat and stared straight ahead.

She imagined herself telling Jessica to take a flying leap, but realized she'd better keep quiet. It wouldn't take much, she thought, to set the girl off. Jessica, alone, could probably take her apart. Not to mention what her scumbag boyfriend might do.

Mr. Kramer entered the room.

Lane sat up fast, pulling in her legs and swinging her knees together. She straightened her back. She folded her hands on the desktop.

Kramer took off his sport coat. He draped it over the back of his chair and began rolling up his shirt-sleeves as he stepped to his usual position at the front of the table. His forearms were tanned under thick, black hair. He sat on the edge of the table.

Lane smiled when he met her eyes.

He acted as if he didn't see it, picked up his roll book and gave the classroom a quick scan. "Mr. Billings is apparently having himself another holiday," he said, and marked the student absent. "Okay. This week's spelling words. Who'll volunteer to write them on the board?"

Lane raised her hand. He chose Heidi.

No big deal, Lane told herself. But she couldn't help feeling a small letdown. First, he hadn't returned her smile. Now he'd called on someone else to go to the board. Was he ignoring her?

Don't be ridiculous, she thought. I'm not the only kid in the room.

But as the class went on, Kramer continued to ignore her. He rarely gave her a glance. He called on other students to read from the poetry book, to answer questions about rhythm and meter, to offer interpretations.

Lane's uneasiness grew.

Is he mad at me, or something? What did I do? Maybe he thinks I took advantage of him at the library. But hell, I didn't ask him to check out the book. That was his idea.

She began wondering whether he still wanted her to stay after class.

Go on, get out of here.

He wouldn't say that.

Lane imagined herself sitting alone in the room, humiliated. "But you asked me to stay and help you."

"I don't care. Leave me alone."

Maybe I should go ahead and leave when the bell rings, she thought.

But I said I'd stay. I can't just walk out. He'd think I'm nuts.

"Lane?"

Startled, she looked up at Kramer.

"Would you like to read the next stanza?"

"Uh..." She felt herself shriveling inside. "I'm afraid I've lost the place."

A few sniggers came from the back of the room.

Kramer shook his head slightly. He looked amused. "You should try to follow along in the book."

"Yes sir." She lowered her eyes to the page.

"Aaron, will you read the next stanza?"

Aaron began to read. Lane hunched over her book, shielded her eyes with one hand and studied the page.

Where the hell are we?

Shit!

She couldn't find the stanza.

Dipstick, you wanted him to call on you. And he did. He sure did.

Why don't I just die now, and make it easy on myself?

Aaron finished.

A hand appeared beneath Lane's face. Kramer's hand. It turned the page for her, pointed to a middle stanza, and went away.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Everyone else in the classroom seemed to find this quite amusing.

Lane kept her head down.

"Would you care to favor us with a rendition?" Kramer asked.

She nodded against her sheltering hand and began to read aloud.

She was halfway through the stanza when the bell rang.

"That'll be fine," Kramer said. Raising his voice, he announced, "Don't forget your spelling sentences for tomorrow. In ink, please.

Class dismissed."

Lane shut her book and stared at it. Kids walked past her. Someone rubbed the top of her head. She looked up. Benson grinned down at her. "You gotta pay attention, babe."

She sneered at him.

He sauntered out with Jessica, a hand on her rump.

Soon the room was empty except for Lane and Kramer.

Lane forced her head up. Kramer stood behind his table, busy stuffing books and folders into his briefcase. He seemed unaware of her presence.

I should've left with the rest of them, she thought. God, how did I get into this?

Dad and his yearbook. Thanks a bunch, Dad.

She wondered if she should say something.

"Do you have a red pen?" Kramer asked, and finally looked at her.

The tension spilled out of her. "Uh... no. I don't think so."

"No problem. Let me get you one." He stepped over to his desk and opened the top drawer. He found a pen, shut the drawer, and searched through a stack of folders on the corner of his desk. "Here we go. I'll give you first period. How does that sound?"

"Fine."

He came toward her. "If you get done with these and want some more, I've got plenty. Don't want to keep you all afternoon, though."

Lane nodded.

I don't believe this, she thought. He's acting as if nothing happened.

What do you want, a lecture?

She cleared her desk. Kramer set the folder and pen in front of her.

"It's five points a word," he said. "But I guess you know that."

"Yeah."

"Any questions, just ask."

"All right."

He turned away.

"Mr. Kramer?"

He turned to her again, a pleasant smile spreading across his face. "I'm sorry about losing my place."

"Daydreaming?"

"I guess so."

"Well, no harm in that. I hope you weren't too embarrassed."

"I was pretty embarrassed."

"You're the best student in the class, Lane. Don't let one little lapse of attention throw you. Happens to everyone."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Of course, I had to give you an F for the day."

"Oh."

Laughing softly, he squeezed Lane's shoulder. "That was supposed to be a joke."

"Oh."

His hand stayed there. Lane felt as if its warmth were spreading down through her. He rubbed her shoulder gently, then let go.

"I really appreciate your staying after to help like this. It takes some of the pressure off."

"Glad to help." She could still feel where his hand had been.

"Teaching ain't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being consumed by paperwork. All I seem to have time for is grading papers, preparing lessons." He shook his head. "A real drag."

"If you'd like me to, I'll stay more often and help you out."

Her heart thudded. She couldn't believe she'd said that.

He'll think I've got the hots for him.

Kramer's head tilted slightly to one side. He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. "Well, I sure appreciate the offer.

You must have better things to do with your time, though."

"I wouldn't mind. Really."

"It's up to you. I'd certainly be glad to have the help." Smiling, he knuckled the folder on her desk. "Now, get cracking. Talk's cheap, and time's a-wasting."

Lane laughed. "You're a real slave driver."

"Start correcting those papers, or I'll give you a taste of the lash."

"Yes sir."

He turned and headed for his desk. Lane's eyes stayed on him.

His sport shirt tapered down from his broad shoulders to his slim waist. The tail, just a bit untucked, puffed out over his belt. His wallet made a bulge over his left buttock. There seemed to be nothing in his right rear pocket. That side of his slacks was smooth against his rump, and Lane watched the way it moved as he walked.

Twenty-one