From my first day in her Latin I class, I was in love with Mrs. Rawls. Besotted is probably a better word. My guess is, every boy in that class felt the same way, but it wasn't something we could talk about.
Because she was a teacher. She was, in fact, the cutest teacher in the school. Maybe, in the history of the school. But that still didn't give us license to harbor sappy feelings. There were only a couple of girls in the whole school that a guy could legitimately be in love with and still be cool...
"You in love with her?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too."
But you couldn't say that about Mrs. Rawls. So we kept it to ourselves, thinking we were the only ones with sense enough to appreciate her rarer qualities.
The strangest thing that ever happened to me with Mrs. Rawls was the summer afternoon she appeared at the door of my house, where I lived with my parents and my brothers. No teacher had ever come to my house, before. And she had on short shorts and a halter top. No teacher had ever had so little on, in my presence, before. I was struck dumb.
There was a perfectly good reason why she came to my house, but I can't remember what it was. I think I invited her in, but I'm not sure. She had some message for my parents. I promised to tell them. And then she was off.
My brother came by the door as she was leaving. He said, "Who was that?"
I said, "Just some girl."
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