the object of his affections

"C'mon, Ms. P, pay attention to me." Gotta give the kid credit for the direct approach, despite the inevitable lack of dice.

"What are you supposed to be doing?" I reply, eyes narrowed, all don't-push-me, in a tone reserved especially for late afternoon.

"Nothing! I swear!" The exclamation points are intended to puncture my expression, or chip away at the wall behind which I'm scrambling, but instead I just look blankly for half a beat more.

"Go help your friend here with his Civics," I direct, handing over a sheaf of papers. And without fuss two boys retire to the back table, where at least a modicum of Missouri constitution will be accomplished, more than would have been completed if one of them didn't love me. There's nothing like holding all the cards: the one advantage to the crush that will not die.

But it has to, surely, some time soon: a two-year attention span in adolescence? Not in my experience. But he still spends every spare moment either in my room or angling to be there, from the moment his bus arrives in the morning, sitting, staring, asking vaguely inappropriate questions or seeking a button to push. Oh, he's harmless, and clever--nearly ESL-free, though the thought sends him into a panic. If only he were silent, or at least capable of the occasional unexpressed thought.

"Oh, Ms. P., you're so mean."
"Hardly."

"Oh, Ms. P., see how I'm doing my work?"
"See how you don't have an audience?" (and the reply is a nod and a grin.)

"Oh, Ms. P, you're so pretty."
"What?!?"
"NOTHING!"

Oh, brother. I almost wonder if Leave it to Beaver were repeated in Uruguay, but he's just too sincerely mortified to be Eddie Haskell.

If I taught out in the regular world, we might just have two more days together; the semester is nearly over. Some days, when I need an escape from my long-time coterie, that near-constant turnover is a pretty sweet thought; I could just do the same thing over and over, and my prep-time would shrink down to nothing, theoretically. In this case, I guess, it wouldn't do me much good. He'd still know where to find me.