Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher by Monica Nolan

Author:Monica Nolan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Published: 2010-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

“heroic figure, silhouetted by the sun,

who, to girls like god to time, makes us run.”

And Lotta’s poem, written in the modern, non-rhyming style, was even more telling. “The Solitary Girl” began:

“She stands alone

the solitary girl

against the faceless mob.”

Skimming the long poem, Bobby’s attention was caught when she came to these lines:

“venturing on two wheels

into woods dark and drear,

where none dare follow.”

The hairs rose on the back of her neck as the image of the eerie, glowing bicyclist rose unbidden in her mind’s eye. Could it have been Angle she’d seen that night?

She closed the magazine and stared unseeingly at the trophy on her mantelpiece. A few days after she’d seen the glowing cyclist, she’d questioned Mona discreetly about the most frequent bike borrowers. Where did they go? What were they doing?

“Most of them go to the Mesquakie Massacre Gift Shoppe, to buy fudge or saltwater taffy,” the housekeeper had explained with a smile. “Over the years they’ve worn quite a trail through the woods. It’s against the rules, of course, but girls will be girls!”

So there was an explanation. And yet—

It had been past midnight. The Mesquakie Massacre Gift Shoppe would have long since closed; and—

Who among the student body was brave enough to venture into the haunted woods after dark?

Why had she dressed in a flowing black robe?

Why was she glowing?

A knock at the door made Bobby jump. Who could it be at this hour? Swinging open the door, she saw Enid, looking harried in a worn blue bathrobe she’d pulled on over some striped flannel men’s pajamas. Rod’s, perhaps? Bobby felt her usual rush of resentment at the sight of the anti-sport Math Mistress, and thinking about Enid’s well-dressed boyfriend made her even more bad-tempered.

“Yes? What is it?” she asked shortly.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Enid was apologetic. “I think a fuse must have blown over in Manchester. Do you have a flashlight? I can’t find mine.”

“Just a sec.” Bobby left Enid standing in her doorway while she retrieved her flashlight from the emergency supplies—tissues, candles, melba toast, sanitary napkins, sedatives—that she kept in her bedside drawer. She returned and held it out to Enid. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Enid took the flashlight but didn’t leave. “The thing is,” she bit her lip and Bobby realized the Math Mistress was ill at ease, “I’ve never changed a fuse.”

“Where’s Ole? Have him do it.” The advice came out more dismissively than Bobby intended.

“I can’t find him. I’ve looked all over.”

Bobby couldn’t help smiling at the picture of Enid tramping around the dark, chilly campus in her striped pajamas and bathrobe.

“Never mind, I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out.” Enid turned to go. Bobby reached out to stop her, regretting her obvious amusement, and Enid flinched at the touch of Bobby’s hand on her shoulder. Goodness, the Math Mistress was even more prickly than usual tonight!

“Wait, I’ll show you, just let me slip on my sneakers,” said the field hockey coach, suiting action to word. “It’s not complicated, but

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