The Fifth One

"I don't really talk to anyone here. I don't have much in common with anybody." He blinked serenely back at me. "Why do you ask?"

I took a deep breath. "Because if it's widely known that you have any kind of past with any kind of teacher? I can't let you be alone with me in here. You understand?"

He ran a hand through his long, thick hair. "I don't know. I mean, I get why you'd say that? But I don't think it's a problem."

"Yeah, idiot, I don't think it's a problem either." I smiled to remove any offense. "That's not the point. The point is that other peoples' perceptions might turn into a problem. If that makes sense."

He laughed. "I've never really worried about other peoples' perceptions, Ms LaPerla. Unless it was from someone I care about? Someone I respect?" He was older than his classmates, sure, and in some ways very mature, but the adolescent-ish way he turned everything into a question grated on me. "Like, I'd probably worry about your perception of me, honestly."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Noah."

"No, seriously. I didn't think I'd like drama. But I feel like I'm learning some stuff." His eyes twinkled. "That's why I'm not crazy about my mom talking to you. About my other schools."

I flapped my hand at him. "She cares about you. That's all."

"I know. But I sometimes wonder whether she even knows me, you know?"

"Noah. It's common for people to feel weird about their parents while they're growing up. And vice-versa." I laughed. "I could assign some reading about it? There are a dozen movies and plays I can think of off the top of my head. All of them are about kids and parents getting the wrong idea about each other." I laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're fine. Don't worry."

"She thinks I make shitty decisions." He looked up at me with slightly less than puppy-dog eyes. "She thinks I'm totally controlled by my... well. You know."

I did, and I blushed furiously. "Mouth, Noah," I said, mostly in an effort to buy time; it was well known that Ms LaPerla didn't like swearing, but that she wasn't mean about it either. "Bad decisions."

"Yeah. Bad decisions. Decisions that don't come from my brain, if you know what I mean." His eyes still twinkled, a roguish grin spreading over his mouth.

"Oh, I know what you mean." I removed my hand, not even paying attention to the fact I'd left it on his shoulder. "This isn't my first rodeo. I remember what high school's like. Boys getting distracted by... well, not by their brain," I managed, having talked myself into an unfortunate corner. He smiled back. "She means well," I said again, as if clutching to his mother's motives was an anchor that would keep me safely dragged back.

Dragged back from what, though? What was the danger? He was a needy kid in jeopardy of failing from another high school. He was working nights to support a kid. What did I really have to worry about?

"She's worried it'll happen again." He sighed, glancing at the clock.

I knew I shouldn't ask, even though I already knew the answer. But he'd opened the door, and I didn't feel right just booting him out without trying to give him... something? Some resolution? Something as tacky as closure? I thought carefully, searching for the right tone. "What'll happen again?"

"She's afraid I'll fuck another teacher," he shrugged.

If I'd been blushing before, I turned scarlet now, from my head to my toes. "Mouth!"

He cocked his head, eyes searching mine, trying to decide where to go next. "Yeah," he sighed, not without a slight grin tickling at the side of his lips, "I think she's more worried about me fucking them in other places. Not the mouth."

"You cannot say these things," I replied at once, more firmly than he might have been prepared for.

"Sorry, sorry," he said hastily, hands raised in defense, "I make jokes a lot. I tend to use humor as a defense."

"Well, it's not very funny." I was hoping these were the right words, delivered the right way. I didn't want to hurt him, but I knew there were lines he shouldn't cross. "If what your mom says is true, you got a woman pregnant. That's a level of irresponsibility I have a hard time making jokes about."

"Irresponsibility." He stared at me, his smile wiped away by my choice of words. "I'm not sure I follow, Ms LaPerla. I'm busting my ass at my job all night, making money to support the kid. There are words for that, but 'irresponsibility' isn't one of them." He nodded at me. "See ya."

"Noah."

"I've got to be someplace," he snapped evenly, not looking back as he strode from my office.

Leaving me to wonder just how exactly I'd handled that quite so shittily. I didn't have kids and had no idea how much they cost, but it dawned on me that Noah had to know all that. Working like a dog had to be a pain in the ass, and school must be the last thing on his mind.

Poor guy. He had every right to be pissed at me. If he was pissed at me, he'd withdraw.

And that left me with no baritone for the Valentine's Folly. And no King Lear, probably. And, worse, it left me with a sense of failure. I mean, I'm no Anne Sullivan, but I'm a good teacher and I like to know I'm able to reach all my kids. I had a strong belief in arts education as a way to get difficult kids interested in school, and so far I'd been succeeding with Noah Cruz. I wanted that to continue.

He showed up for class the next day without his customary nod at me, although he paid attention in class and didn't act like a spoiled little bitch. So maybe, I thought, he wasn't as angry at me as he should be. I cleared my throat at the end of class. "Uh, Noah? Can I see you for a sec?"

He looked at me, his eyelids at that weird Noah level that seemed to blend laziness with genius. What fascinating faces that kid could make. He fidgeted now, his backpack over one shoulder, and shoved his hair back. "Yeah?"

I found my warmest smile once again, and waited a moment while the last of the other kids filtered out. "Um. I just wanted to let you know that I'm really sorry about what I said yesterday. About implying you weren't taking, you know, responsibility. For, uh, your kid." I was well aware how lame I sounded, but I was speaking from the heart. I only hoped he'd take it that way.

He frowned. "Nah, Ms LaPerla, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You didn't say I wasn't being responsible for my daughter. You said I wasn't being responsible about shuckin' up." He nodded. "And you're right."

I was shaking my head. "Shuckin' up?" This was not a term I was familiar with, and as soon as he realized that he gave me a smile that was more than a little condescending. And I knew it, but I was just happy to get any kind of smile.

"PACO. Wrapping the present. Putting tin foil on my burrito. Getting my sock on." I was still shaking my head when he leaned in, looking theatrically around to make sure we were alone. "Utilizing a condom, Ms LaPerla."

"Utilizing a... oh. Oh!" I went scarlet once again, and this time I had to stifle a laugh. "Tin foil on your burrito! That's hilarious."

He nodded, his face neutral now. "You shouldn't be laughing. A very wise woman recently told me that going raw is not something to make jokes about."

"Sorry," but I could see that he wasn't pissed anymore. If he ever had been. I shrugged helplessly. "It's just... the mental image. Tin foil. Used as a condom." I realized, far too late, that I was looking speculatively down at the front of his pants, and I didn't figure that out until I yanked my gaze back up to his face. "Just a funny thing to think about. Look, I really am sorry for the misunderstanding."

"It's fine. I'm sorry too." We were smiling at each other a little idiotically now, nodding. "So, like, is this a truce?" He stuck his hand hopefully out, as if he was expecting a handshake, and I stood there a moment at a loss. Because I'd always been a hugger. But I took his hand and shook, closing my eyes a moment because this was the first time I'd ever, ever shaken hands with a student before their graduation day.

He held on too long, which I didn't mind. Until I remembered I shouldn't be doing anything like this, and so I dropped his hand and twisted away from him with a flustered, "Truce!" to cover my embarrassment.

He stood, looking down at me with a smirk. "So, like, this means I don't have to be all awkward and shit when I ask if I can crash on the couch again?"

"Mouth, Noah. No need for you to swear," but I was already gesturing him toward the drama office. "Of course you can sleep in there. You don't even need to ask."

"Thanks." He didn't walk past me right away, and after another second or two I realized it was because he was adjusting himself, a well-practiced claw of his fingers on his crotch, setting himself to rights. I spun at once, my skin all prickly, and led the way into the office, hoping I was fast enough to get in there before he got the chance to stare at my ass.

Because his mom had commented about that. Bonus, she'd said, if they have a nice round butt. Well, that was certainly me, in spades, and I was pretty sure I should stop wearing jeans so often around him. But I'd been teaching for a decade; I was very accustomed to having students check out my ass. "I'm so glad we cleared this up," I said over my shoulder. "I was really worried I'd messed up and offended you."

"Nah. You're good. I know you didn't mean anything by it." He sighed and slung his bag to the floor. "And, again, you're right."

"Not about you taking responsibility for... well. For what you did."

"No, not that. About being careful. Making sure they're on the pill or something, before I fuck 'em."

"Mouth!"

He was grinning when I turned to give him a scowl. "I know. I'm just teasing."

"You shouldn't be talking about any of that, anyway," I told him, hoping I was getting my point across. "I know a lot of high school students do all sorts of things to each other, but I don't need to hear about it."

"I get that," he nodded, "but you know that's not what's going on with me. I don't do all sorts of things to high school students," he reminded me coolly.

"No," I replied with maximum eye-roll, "you don't, according to your mother. As long as she wasn't misinterpreting." I hesitated, pretty sure I should let this go, but I had to ask. "She said you'd, uh, gotten involved? With like four teachers. Is that true, Noah?"

He stared at me a moment. "Remember? I told you I sometimes make bad decisions? Like, I don't think with my brain?" I nodded. "Well. I mean, sometimes I don't learn from my mistakes. Or my second mistakes. Or my third." He had the grace to look embarrassed, at least, and I just stayed quiet. "Not sure about the fourth, either," he added quietly.

I flinched, startled. "What?"

He was watching me carefully, his voice low. Controlled. "I had to go to therapy. A court thing. The counselor told me it was important to always be honest." He shrugged and, at last, looked away. "I sometimes think about making bad decisions, is all. No big deal."

I stilled, not at all sure what I should say. I was trying furiously to pretend not to know what he was talking about, because if I confronted it, all the awkwardness would return. With interest. I took a deep breath. "I don't think I should let you sleep in here, Noah," I told him very quietly.

"You probably shouldn't, Ms LaPerla." He didn't move to pick up his backpack.

"Seriously. I don't know what you need, but I don't know if you'll find it here."

He cocked an eyebrow back at me. "I'm pretty sure I would." It was a simple statement, readable in more ways than one, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend any of this was okay.

"No, you won't." I shook my head. "I do want to help you."

"Then let me crash." He sat on the couch without waiting for me to answer. "Just for a few minutes. I'm so tired."

He looked it, too, and my heart went out to him. Nothing about Noah's world was helping him, really. He was struggling in every meaningful way. "Only if you agree to sing for me in the Valentine's Folly," I found myself saying.

"Sing in the what?"

"The school does a Valentine's assembly every year, and I'm putting together a choral group. I need a baritone." He shook his head. "You can't sing?"

"I never have."

"You have a lovely baritone. You should try." I looked down at him. "Please?" He just sat there. "Pretty please?"

"With sugar on top?" His expression didn't change to match his wheedle, but I couldn't help but smile.

"With a couch," I reminded him, "to take a nap on."

He patted the ratty cushions. "I'm already sitting on it, Ms LaPerla. You should give me the sugar instead."

I shook my head, pretty sure he was propositioning me. "Nope. Just a couch, mister. Go. Lay down, before I change my mind." I smiled. "We'll start teaching you to sing tomorrow. You'll do fine."

He burped. "Whatever, Ms LaPerla." He dragged his feet up onto the sofa and closed his eyes, leaving me to shake my head at him.

* * *

His alarm chirped about ten minutes before the next class, which usually woke him up. This time it went through its usual two or three cycles, but then it kept going and he kept sleeping. "Noah?" I swiveled away from my desk and leaned back, looking across at him, but I could only see a pair of size 12 feet dangling off the end of the couch, motionless.

He was still racked out.

I hopped up and strode across, mostly because his alarm chime was annoying; I figured I'd just go ahead and nudge his shoulder or something. He lay there completely comatose, a little string of drool shining at his mouth, and I smiled at that while I switched off his phone. I was leaning down to tell him to wake up when I glanced down his body and noticed two things.

His t-shirt had ridden up above his belly button. First, I saw that his loose basketball shorts drooped down in the back, the way some boys had been wearing their shorts since about 2010 or so. Out peeked the smooth cotton of a pair of boxer-briefs, now pulled down just enough to show the shadow at the very top of his butt-crack, just beneath where his spine tapered into smooth skin.

Second? Noah was most definitely erect.

I looked twice, not quite sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing... but it seemed I was, a smooth hump tenting the front of his shorts, straining his waistband. I looked instinctively at his face, unspoiled and calm, his breaths deep and even; I could see his eyes darting back and forth behind his lids. Ah. So he was dreaming, and he was hard.

I wondered what he was dreaming about. Me, perhaps. The thought gave me a naughty thrill, even though it was completely nonsensical. He was just dreaming randomly. This had to be a nap version of morning wood, nothing more. I tapped his shoulder. "Get up, Noah."

He stirred, heavy lids uncovering dark eyes, and blinked up at me. "Oh. Shit. Did I oversleep?"

"You would have, if I hadn't been here." I stepped back and pretended not to notice his shorts as he sat up, though to be fair, he didn't seem bothered by it. He sat there scraping the sleep from his eyes, lumping his shorts and doing nothing about it. I fidgeted with one of the chairs nearby, as if I was setting up for my next class. "Need to use the bathroom or anything? You've got time."

"Oh. No. I'm good, Ms LaPerla." He stretched his arms high, and I had to sneak a look. Because, well, I just had to. His mom's story had repelled me, but it had also intrigued me. I had no clue how a kid as goofy as this could so systematically lay waste to four separate teachers in just a couple of years. Idly, I wondered what he must be like in bed, but that's understandable: I hadn't been laid in weeks. The shorts stayed neatly tented, so ridiculous in early February, still dragging low in the back to reveal his crack.

I made myself look away.

"Did I ever tell you thanks for letting me nap here?" he said suddenly.

"All the time," I grumbled.

"Okay." He stood, only then juggling his dick around, casually, like it was nothing to be ashamed of. I looked away once more, but a moment too late. "Well, in case you want to hear it again? Thanks. I know how awkward this could seem if people get the wrong idea."

"People like your mom?"

He smiled, mouth lopsided. "Yeah. Like my mom. She's got the gist, but not the whole story."

I paused, knowing I shouldn't say it, but compelled to. "You could tell her?"

"Nah. She don't want to hear it." He stooped to pick up his backpack, shorts and boxers working hard to stay up over his butt. I hoped he hadn't seen me peeking. "Do you?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked, swept aback. "Do I what?"

"Want to hear the whole story?" His eyes twinkled.

"You don't have time to tell it," I pointed out, nodding up at the clock. The bell would ring in a few more seconds.

"True." He looked down at his shoes, aggressively nonchalant. "But you want to hear the whole story." It wasn't a question, not really.

I waited until he looked back up, eyes on mine. "I'm starting to think you just want to tell it."

He smiled. "Sorta." The bell went, and so did he. "See you later, Ms LaPerla," he tossed over his shoulder, leaving before I could reply. Which was good, because I was just about speechless.

* * *

Frank ran his mop over the spilled coffee just after the final bell rang. "Thanks, Mr Nubitski," I nodded. There were kids here, so formality was called for. "And sorry. The freshmen are always bringing in coffee."

"Yeah. It'd be nice if the teachers put a stop to it," he replied pointedly. Frank had disliked me since I'd shot him down years ago, after he'd asked me out the first week I'd been working here. The man was not unattractive, but he was a perv.

"Well. Thanks again," I sniffed. This was the first afternoon of rehearsals for the Valentine Follies, and a massive sticky mess on the theater floor was not the impression I wished to give to my singers. Most of these were returning kids from previous years, with a smattering of new faces... highlighted by Noah Cruz, repaying his promise to come out and sing for me.

And they weren't half-bad.

"We're doing three choral numbers," I explained to them, "in between performances by the Jazzers and the Chamber Ensemble." Noah had every right to look and feel awkward; he'd told me he'd never sung before, but he stood there with his usual easy confidence and he sang with minimal embarrassment, if not a lot of skill. A couple of the girls down front made eyes at him from time to time, which amused me. "Can I see a couple of you after practice for a bit? Noah and Cassidee, please? The rest of you can come back next Wednesday. Learn your parts!" The shuffle of departing students ruffled the echoing backstage space as I turned to my two remedial singers. "Now. Cassidee. You need to work on pitch."

"I know." She seemed nervous, though she'd sung the year before and her sister had been a star of the Spring Fling a few years before. "I'm getting over a cold, Ms L. I'll be fine."

"Make sure you are," I nodded. "You can go. Noah, I need you to project a bit more."

"Project." He didn't stare at Cassidee's departing bum, which I noted. I would have guessed he'd be an ass man, and Cassidee had an excellent one, but maybe he wasn't. Perhaps his mom had misinterpreted those court documents... I found myself smiling, a secret smirk to myself.

"Yeah. Like, sing toward the back row of the audience instead of the front one."

"Oh." He smiled. "Shit. You know I've never done this before, Ms LaPerla."

"I do know. And, mouth." It was a mild correction; long ago I'd learned that modern students didn't really realize they were cussing. He probably didn't even think of shit as anything but a verbal pause. It was part of the march of time: ten years I'd been teaching. In that time, both goddamn and ass had passed from the dark recesses they'd occupied on the secret playgrounds of my youth, and now rolled freely out of teachers' mouths in class. Piss had led the way years ago. By the time I retired, I reflected glumly, I'd be dropping F-bombs on lunch duty. "You sound good. Just... louder. Okay?"