The Principal

chapter 8

For the past month, I've been helping Mr. Smith with graduation planning, prom preparations, and grading papers. We've grown closer, but only as friends. Our conversations are normal—just everyday topics. I’m not sure he could ever see me as anything more than a student.

My friend Cathine always teases me. "He’s always checking you out when you walk by," she says, grinning. I laugh it off because I never notice it. I’m always watching him, but I’ve never caught him giving me a second glance.

Today, I walk into his office during fourth period. I’m stressed. This semester, we have to take two languages, and my French final is coming up. I have a C in that class. He notices my expression immediately.

"April, what’s wrong? You look upset," he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

I feel guilty for worrying him, so I tell him the truth. "French and Spanish finals are coming up, and I need help studying."

He doesn’t hesitate. "They offer tutoring for Spanish and French after school on Mondays and Tuesdays. You should stay after and get some help."

I bite my lip, feeling anxious about the idea. As I look at him for the second time today, I can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black dress shirt and matching black dress pants. His suit jacket hangs off the back of his chair. Despite the 80-degree humidity, he’s perfectly put together—clean-shaven and not a drop of sweat on him.

There’s something about the way he looks in black. It’s distracting. I push the thought aside and focus. "Who’s tutoring the students?" I ask.

He smiles. "Me, Mr. Ryan, Ms. Clover, and Ms. Suavez."

I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God he’ll be there. I don’t really trust any of the other teachers.

We start organizing papers. Five minutes into the period, I can’t hold back a question I’ve been thinking about for the past month. We’ve gotten closer, so I feel like I can ask him. "Mr. Smith... can I ask you something personal?"

He looks at me, calm and attentive. "Of course."

I hesitate, then blurt it out. "I’ve tried... you know... masturbating. But it doesn’t seem to work. I’m not comfortable with my body yet."

For a moment, I’m afraid of his reaction. But he doesn’t seem shocked. Instead, he’s calm and composed, like always. "Have you tried focusing on your clit?" he asks gently.

I think back to the last time I tried and shake my head. "No... I tried fingering myself, but it felt weird and uncomfortable."

"Start with your clit," he advises. "That’s the key. It’ll help you relax and enjoy it."

I nod, absorbing his words. Just before the bell rings, he smiles and says, "That’s your homework for tonight. Don’t forget it."

I laugh, catching the secret meaning in his words, and head off to my next class, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement.