There were a few Grade Three and Four level books on the shelf, aswell as a few at Grade Six or Seven levels.She looked down at her seating plan. "Mark Waters," she said. "We needa story. Your choice."Mark looked up sharply, a bit surprised to be called on so early inhis first day in class. He paused for a second, and then started tospeak."Thank you Mark," Mrs. Cutler said. "That will be enough for now. Tellme, where did you first hear that story?" Almost every student booedher decision to pause the story, crying out to find out what happenednext."Just now," Mark said. "I have heard other stories like it, and TallJohn George, my Ojibwe teacher, tells me stories like it, but I madeit up when you said you wanted a story. I hope it was good enough." It was, Mark. Do you think you could finish it? Do you have acomputer? Can you type? I think the students would like to hear, orread, the rest of the story." There were cheers of agreement in theroom. "This class is about reading, not making. “I bloody love a thunderstorm!” I said, before an awkward silence set in. “How awesome is that rain?!”“It’s amazing,” you replied, still smiling, “can you imagine how soaked we’d be if we were out in it?!” A semi-nervous giggle escaped from those perfect lips and I couldn’t help but picture us outside the window I was looking through. I watched us embrace. I looked on as our lips met and our bodies locked together. I saw every raindrop cascade down our faces as we melted into one another and finally gave in to the unspoken lust that had hung in the air for years... More thunder shook me from my daydream.“How hot would it be to kiss someone in amongst all that...?” Your question hung in the air, not really asked to or of anyone, but somewhere between being rhetorical and a statement. I didn’t reply, partly because it went without saying but mostly because my mouth was cotton-dry from you seemingly reading my mind in that moment. Tension now filled the empty room, yet we were still the.
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