Page 6 of Miguel

I felt very out of place with my leather cut and boots, a dark contrast to the happy environment Zeke was going to inhabit for a couple hours a day.

I didn’t encounter many adults until I made it to the front office. An older woman with frizzy, gray-stained curls sat behind the front desk. Her eyes shot up, regarding me with a wariness I was used to from behind her thin spectacles. She took in my cut first, her gaze gliding all the way down to my boots and back up again. Her expression almost turned as sour as her tone as she asked, “Can I help you?”

I tried to smile at her, but I couldn’t get past the nerves in my stomach. “My sister called ahead of me to enroll my son here…”

Her eyes lit up with recognition and surprise, and her gaze jumped from me down to Zeke, who held my hand tentatively like he was afraid to squeeze too hard. Her expression and demeanor morphed within an instant as she took him in.

“Hello there, nene. What’s your name?”

He didn’t reply.

“This is Zeke,” I introduced. “Ezequiel Lopez Perez. He… doesn’t talk much.”

The lady smiled at him. “Oh, that’s quite alright. I’ve seen all types of children in my time. Get him used to school and you’ll find him chatting you up nonstop.” She sat back and looked at me. It was no longer with wariness, as if Zeke’s presence suddenly made her warm up to me for some reason. “I’m going to need you to fill out a few forms and then we can go get Zeke settled into his classroom.”

The next few minutes were spent doing just that. In between filling out paperwork and answering some of her questions, I kept stealing glances at Zeke to make sure he was okay. One arm held tightly to that ugly stuffed bunny of his while the other gripped the strap of his book bag. Camila had taken us the day before to buy school supplies. Zeke hadn’t spoken then either, but Camila had pointed to several options during the excursion, letting him pick out his favorites.

It told me a lot about my son. He seemed to like softer things. Instead of dinosaurs and cars, he chose supplies with images of fluffy animals and strange creatures with big eyes. He also chose darker and neutral clothes instead of colorful ones. It made me think he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible. It made my chest ache. Like he was trying to make himself smaller. Forgettable. Something that could fade into the background.

When we finished, the secretary rounded the desk. “Well, Señor Lopez, let’s get Zeke to his class, shall we? I’ll introduce you to Maestra Flores–she’ll be his teacher–and explain pick-up and drop-off protocol to you.”

She led the way, and I held tightly to Zeke’s hand as we followed. The halls flitted with noises, the sound of excitable children screaming, playing, and crying. Music drifted above the noise as well. Zeke’s gaze twisted this way and that as he took in the walls and artwork and cartoon characters there.

The secretary stopped in front of an open door and rapped her knuckles against it. Inside, I could see kids running, an explosion of colors and light, and then…

To say I wasn’t prepared was a fucking understatement.

It hit me like a fucking lightning strike, her beauty. I’d seen beautiful women before; fucked them, dated them, left them. There were an array of females out there in all shapes and sizes, but when this woman stepped out of the classroom, I felt myself sinking. Like heavy weights had been strapped across my body, pulling me to depths unknown.

There was a magnetism that surrounded her, one that yanked me in at full force. It was like looking at stars and craving a fucking wish. Like reaching out to feel the warmth of a flame when your body was dipped in ice.

She was on the shorter side, with luscious, thick curves not easily concealed beneath her floral little dress; it was cut in a vee that pulled tight down her breasts, showing off the thick, freckled globes.

I wanted to motorboat those tits.

A sudden fantasy gripped me. Of me, sliding the length of my dick in between those breasts and fucking her long and hard until I painted her lips with my seed.

My eyes traced her every curve, flicking up to her face to find a bright gaze, freckled cheeks, a slightly upturned nose, and caramelo curls swept away in a messy ponytail. But the best part about the whole package she made? Her fucking smile. It turned towards me, and it lit up her whole face. Fucking radiant. Fucking beautiful.

And in my mind, a more possessive voice growled:

Fuckingmine.

Chapter Four

Lorena

Therewerealotof downsides to being a kinder teacher that I felt were scarcely talked about. It had nothing to do with the twenty or so kids in my class that ran around, sometimes throwing tantrums or hitting one another with toys. No, that I could handle well enough. I could handle the tears, the spilled glitter, and little to no cooperation.

What was most difficult were the accidents, the poop-smeared walls in the bathrooms, the hair-pulling, getting accidentally knocked in the eyes by five-year-olds with fists that could rival Rocky and Canelo’s both.

Today had started off as one of those days but progressively got better. When it was obvious the kids were in a mood, I’d decided it was best to just put on some music and have an impromptu dance party. Which was what we were in the middle of when the school secretary, Señora Laura, came knocking.

With frazzled hair and quick breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, I went out in the hallway, already anticipating what was coming. I’d been informed just the day before that I’d be getting a new student. That was one of the aspects of being a teacher I loved as well. The new students. I’d been so excited that I’d stayed late after school yesterday to prepare everything for him. His desk, cubby, and hook. Plus, there was the extra stuff like his name-tag and personalized activity folder.

I was meticulous with my planning. I did everything with care and tried to infuse every project, activity, and craft with as much love as possible. I color-coded because I found it was easier that way for children to understand, even if they disorganized my hard work in moments. It never mattered. I always had disinfectant wipes, a broom and dustpan, and a mop on hand.

Meticulous? Like I said, yes.

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