A Piece Of Strange

Fall 2000,

Mr. Lewis’s eyes met Rosaline's as she walked into his quiet second period classroom. Every head turned and the attention of the entire class was on her.

“You must be Miss Amador,” he said over the class.

She felt everyone’s eyes on her as she stood at the back of the class, ignoring the stares.

"I'm Mr. Lewis," he said with one hand to his chest, an open text book in his other hand.

"Welcome to basic math I. There's an empty seat here," he said, motioning to a chair and desk to his left. It was smack dab in the center of the classroom. She moved gracefully, setting her backpack beside her foot. Ignoring the whispers and scoffs from her peers, she unzipped her backpack to pull out her binder.

Twenty minutes later the new student wasn't paying any attention to Mr. Lewis's lesson. Mr. Lewis was going over formulas from his open book, leisurely strolling the aisles of desks. He caught her attention when he put pressure on the top of her pen with his fingertip. Rosaline looked up his muscular arm, to his bulky shoulder. When her eyes reached his face, she saw that he was frowning, and his dark eyebrows made him appear hard. Threatened by his authoritative expression, Rosaline rigidly raised her shoulders and slid upright in her seat.

“We’re reducing fractions, Amador. Turn to page thirty-two in your textbook and get with the program,” Mr. Lewis advised. He slowly walked away and went back to reading equations from his book.

Rosaline folded up her lined paper and tucked it away in her binder. She took out her book and doodled in the margins.

In the following weeks her grades slipped but math was hands down her least favorite subject. One day Mr. Lewis caught her staring out of the window. She wasn't focused yet again and so he called her out on it.

“And since it’s your third warning this week, you can stay after school with me.”

Sounded like a theat.

Mr. Lewis went back to grading papers with his red sharpie.

It was an inconvenience, but Rosaline showed up after school that day where a few students were sitting at the back of the classroom. Preferring solitude, she sat at the front of the classroom next to Mr. Lewis’s desk, away from everyone else.

The other kids teased and begged for some of Mr. Lewis’s lunch, but he ignored them and advised them to get to work on their math homework. Rosaline looked at the problems on the page and worked out the equations. Afterward, she looked up at Mr. Lewis. He had dark hair that he side-parted with a hard line. He was young, and obviously worked out, though she couldn’t picture it. He always looked and smelled clean like he was fresh out of the shower.

Rosaline tilted her head as she noticed other things about him. Something was sharp in his features and his seriousness drew her in. In that instant he looked directly at her.

Oh man were his eyes electrifying. In embarrassment she averted her gaze. This was it. She was developing a crush on him. And every day thereafter she pretended to pay attention when he lectured. But she was studying his face, his lips when he spoke, his eyes, his body...

“Amador, stay after class. I need to see you,” he casually said to her one morning. He went on discussing decimals and how they must always remain lined up.

"I learned this in like, third grade," a boy behind her commented.

"We're retards," another replied.

She ignored the banter, studied Mr. Lewis, a tad hopeful, thinking that maybe he had noticed her too.

Mr. Lewis’s classroom was empty later that day, his beating heart the only other in the room. He was grading papers at his desk when Rosaline walked in. He looked up to see her leisurely stepping toward him, in blue jeans and a zip up sweater.

“Come up here,” he called to her.

He sounded serious and not too happy with her, so she knew it was a lecture. She felt stupid for even thinking he was romantically interested in her. Yeah right! My Lewis and a sixteen-year-old? He would never.

'He probably has a family. I bet his wife is pretty.'

Rosaline walked up to his desk. He took his time to finish up what he’d been working on and, seemingly remembering she existed, asked her to pull up a chair. He jotted down an equation and asked her to work out the formula. She nervously did her best as he watched over her like a warden. She feared looking stupid to him, so her palm was sweaty.

“If you can do that why is your grade slipping? You know you’re down to a D? I don’t want to fail you.” He kept his eyes on the paper as he wrote out another equation. Rosaline couldn’t help staring at him as he focused.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he suggested, putting his hand over hers. “To avoid writer's wart.” He moved his hand away from hers, but she was still charged by his touch.

"Here," he said, reaching into his desk drawer. "Study this. Learn this. Practice."

She took the study guide from him.

“Is everything all right at home?” He asked.

Rosaline never answered his question. She agreed to try harder and to stop cutting his class.

He looked at her as she stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder, sliding her sweater zipper all the way up.

“See you Monday,” he called to her.

She waved bye.

He sighed,muttered to himself and continued grading papers.