Love 101: Mistaken Identity Part Deux

Love 101 - Part 2: Learning To Love

Sylvia Hubbard

Sensual Noir

Published by HubBooks Literary Services

Copyright 2012 Sylvia Hubbard

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All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

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For information address:

Sylvia Hubbard | PO Box 43439, Detroit, MI 48243

Visit her website at: http://SylviaHubbard.com

Author’s Note

The original Love 101 was written on a whim. I had just completed Teach Me To Love and was yearning another salacious teacher romance with pizzazz. Cheyenne and Evan’s story came to light but unfortunately back when I originally wrote this story there was no end of the tunnel. I could never see the ending and it took a couple of years before that time came when their entire story came to fruition.

Included in this story you will meet an interesting couple – to say the least: The Lotts. Their story actually begins in the book titled Mistaken Identity, continues in Secret, Lies & Family Ties and then also in Sex Weed.

If you did not read the original version of Love 101, it’s here in the prologue so you don’t have to go and buy the first part. If you have read it then just jump to Chapter 1 and began the journey of Cheyenne and Evan’s wonderful story.

As always, I appreciate your support to my independent literary endeavors and I hope I can give you much much more.

Enjoy….

Your author,

Sylvia Hubbard

Prologue

Even though St. Alphonso’s Catholic School was scheduled to close next year, the staff carried on as if we would be open for a hundred more years.

I’m not even sure where the debate about students not wearing uniforms started at, but somehow it had become a big deal. St. Alphonso had always been strict in its uniform policy and now students felt with the school nearing its final year that it should lax policy.

It’s only two days out the week, Ms. Roberts, Stacey said, flipping her back shoulder length dark brown hair away from her face. Being one of the popular eleventh grade students, she lived up to her image always looking as if she stepped out a salon every day. She reminded me of one of those Jet Magazine’s Beauty of the Week and maturity showed very evident in her face and those ever seeing dark brown eyes.

Pushing my glasses that had moved down my nose back up, I paused before answering her. Calculus is not the place to discuss this issue, Stacey.

Adamantly, she stated, You don’t have to wear uniforms because you wear what you want to wear.

I couldn’t help but respond to her, even though I had tried to resolve to put this subject to an end and finish up getting them to understand computations involving velocity. Teachers have a dress code.

But not stupid horrible looking plaid uniforms. They’re hot and itchy and I, along with the majority of the other students, hate them. She stood up to stress her point.

There was verbal encouragement around the room. I decided to maintain my own annoyance in this subject and return to our honors Calculus class. They barely passed their integral Calculus finals and I really needed them to get an understanding of all the aspects of differential Calculus. Take a seat, Stacey. When everyone can actually ace one of my examinations, then you can discuss the uniform policy with me.

From my peripheral vision, I watched her grit her teeth and plopped back in her chair.

I returned to the lesson glad the subject was over with, yet it wasn’t. The next day, Stacey must have been speaking with the rest of the class, because when she stood up in the middle of class as we were going over the slope of a curve, she stated, I issue you a challenge, Ms. Roberts.

Of course my attention was perked because I loved a challenge.

If at least half the class passes the finals with over eighty-percent for the last week of school you’ll wear our uniforms for one whole day, whether we get our way or not next year, you’ll still do this. Not only that, you won’t get away with driving that car back and forth to home to hide it. You’ll get on those smelly public buses to get to work so you can feel how we feel when they look at us.

Filled with suspicion, I asked, Why is this so important?

Because I see you whispering in Father Avery’s ear all the time. I know he holds a lot of respect for your views and all, but you think we’re a bunch of spoiled rich kids and you’re wrong. You don’t have to go through what we go through. It’s like you became an adult and forgot all the trials and tribulations teenagers have to go through. There was a lot of frustration in her voice.

I took pity on her, but my gut told me to refuse this deal. Many of the students were on edge awaiting my response. What about if eighty percent of the class score over eighty-five? I suggested.

How many is that? Lexus asked. He wasn’t my brightest student, but he could hold his own when it came to Algorithm’s.

This is math class, Lexus, figure that out, I remarked.

Impatiently, Stacey asked, Is it a deal, Ms. Roberts?

No more than seventy percent of the class scored higher than eighty on average so I felt I was secure in knowing I would win.

I especially made my tests harder than most Calculus teachers because I wasn’t one to take exception that these were high school students. They needed to understand that no one would give them anything for free.

A deal it is, I confirmed. Are you through interrupting my class?

She sat down with excitement in her brown eyes.

The thought of wearing the uniforms didn’t irk me much, but it definitely gave my students initiative. Usually our long drawn out sessions were now filled with questions as they tried to understand complex equations and put together theories they never comprehended before.

The uniform vote passed with the board. The students were excited because St. Alphonso’s very last year would seem good for them. The staff was happy the debate was over and prepared for finals. As my class took their finals, I began closing my books and completing my paper work glad another school year was soon going to be over with.

As always, I felt confident I had done my job as a teacher and that my students had progressed well.

Our last week of school consisted of the school’s picnic at Belle Isle in Detroit, the last prom of the season and the regular staff luncheon. We had completed all the awards programs, dances and other end of the year activities. Since I had been at St. Alphonso, I was usually the event coordinator or teacher assistant for all the events going on.

I knew the other teachers appreciated my help because I was the only one of them that had no children and no husband to get home too. Taking leadership and doing large events seemed to be some kind of hidden talent of mine.

I wanted my last week to be free; even if it was just for me because I had no husband or kids to go home to. Teaching was my only life and I was content with just that, although my subconscious yearned for much more. I suppressed these feelings to break out of my ordinary life and my dull existence as a teacher even though I was considered very young to be a teacher. I wouldn’t be with St. Alphonso for the last year. I had accepted the position of becoming an assistant principal at a charter school in Detroit and finishing off my second masters at Wayne State University over the summer.

Ms. Roberts, Stacey said, catching my attention.

I turned to her and took her paper.

How’s it feel? she inquired her large doe eyes filled with curiosity.

What? I asked, falling for the bait.

To be single and …old?

Insulted, I said, I’m only twenty-four, Stacey.

She actually looked confused. Don’t you think you need to do more with your life?

I go to school. Proudly, I stated, In three years I should have my doctorate in education.

You still haven’t answered my question, she said put out. Don’t you think you should be looking for a man or something?

Why is my personal life so important to you all of a sudden?

She shrugged. You’re like the only black woman I know that don’t do things other black women do.

Are you calling me strange?

Shaking her head quickly as if she didn’t mean to insult me, she said, I’m just saying, I feel for you. You’re a great teacher and all, but I just think you deserve more. Quickly feeling my annoyance, she left.

That night I checked the finals and was amazed at how many students actually scored over eighty-five percent.

On Monday, I learned I was one of the last teachers to arrive and by the time I posted my scores on the main hallway’s board the crowd of students that early in the morning was ridiculous. Hoops, squeals and hollers arose from the crowd.

Stacey stood out from the crowd as I pushed my way towards my classroom through the multitude of students. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, Ms. Roberts. I didn’t want to prolong your agony. She held out a brown paper bag to me.

I took the bag stiffly and smiled as if her giddiness didn’t bother me at all. As much as I loved challenges, I hated losing even though it had been a good thing to lose because I was proud of my students for really stepping up their game to get a good grade in my class. I was considered one of the hardest teachers. There’s no agony in this at all.

So you won’t mind leaving your car keys in the office? Remember, you have to catch the bus. And I put a pair of socks in there too because stockings get uncomfortable.

I hadn’t caught the bus in almost a decade. By sixteen my father had given me a nice rebuilt Chevette that lasted until I graduated from college. Yet challenges were always interesting for me and my students had won the bet legitimately. No problem. Congratulations, Stacey. I was proud of my students, yet Stacey’s overly smug smile was starting to irk me.

I’ll see you after school, Ms. Roberts, Stacey said. My old man makes me catch the bus too, so I’ll be happy to help you get home.

After changing, I felt awkward and the fabric of the raspberry ugly plaid skirt was rather heavy compared to my own clothes. I’d chosen to keep my stockings on and my legs were getting hot, but at least the white flower collared shirt wasn’t so bad, although my black bra stuck out dominantly and now I knew why most of the girls wore undershirts.

Students lined up taking pictures with me and I laughed with them throughout the day. I signed several yearbooks and took everything in good nature.

By the end of the day I was exhausted and packed up wanting to get home and take off the hot uncomfortable skirt and stiff shirt. Just as I was about to leave out of my classroom, Father Avery came in looking rather exhausted and rattled.

Is everything alright? I asked concerned.

Cheyenne, I’m glad I caught you before you left. I’ve been running all day with Stacey, who’s in charge with prom, he said, placing a stack of files on my desk. You’re well aware of assistant principals’ duties here since you mentored with me last year and this report needs to be completed by tomorrow afternoon.

I nodded reluctantly. No problem, Father Avery. I’ll finish up the report for you and place it on your desk.

He looked extremely relieved and started to leave, but stopped himself. Oh yeah, Stacey said you’re supposed to give me some keys when I give you this note. She asked me the general direction you lived in and said these were bus directions to get home. He pulled out a closed envelope.

I snorted knowing Stacey was probably glowing with triumph. Going in my purse, I handed Father Avery my car keys and took the envelope from him. He left immediately and I began the report. By five-thirty, I had a rough draft ready and decided to type the finish report tomorrow morning and email it to Father Avery.

In Stacey’s note, she had the bus routes fairly close to where I lived, and she also wrote at the end, Don’t talk to strangers and never make eye contact with anyone. The weirdoes like that.

Being humid outside, I took off the stockings and put on the socks. I also decided since I was out of school, I put away my glasses, unbuckled the tie, and unbuttoned the first two buttons of my shirt to get comfortable, while waiting on the bus.

After fifteen minutes of waiting,