Peter could feel the perspiration collecting on the back of his neck as he tried his best to sit calmly in the center of his desk and focus his attention up at the algebra teacher Ms. Tritter as she continued going over the class syllabus and rules.  Once again, he could feel pairs of huge eyes sneaking peeks at him, but this time was different.  It was embarrassing enough as Lena had to carry him into class a full fifteen minutes late and put him in his place; now, because he had drawn attention to himself, everyone seemed even more fascinated with him.

                He didn’t blame them.  He knew it must be odd and probably a little unsettling for some of them to see him.  And yet somehow, this didn’t help the fact that each time Peter felt a curious gaze flashing over him like some sideshow freak from the circus, it felt like having needles jammed into his sides.

                The end of class couldn’t come soon enough for the boy.  As the bell rang and students began filing past his desk, slowing down out of instinct to stare down at their genetic anomaly of a classmate, Peter did his best to stare straight ahead.  He caught eyes with Ms. Tritter for a moment.  She grimaced at him and held up a finger, indicating she wanted him to wait before leaving class.

                “Good thing.  Was just about to walk right off the desk and freaking fly to English class,” whispered Peter under his breath, his sarcasm not so much directed at his teacher at just his continuing general bitterness of the day’s unfortunate events.

                As soon as the final student had shuffled out of the room, book bags rustling and giggles peppering the mumbled conversation, Peter watched his math teacher set her lesson planner down her table at the front of the room and begin slowly sauntering down the aisle toward him.

                Ms. Tritter smiled, her thin, peach-tinted lips pursing politely, as she raised a slender hand, her long, smooth fingers pinching around the rim of her black-rimmed retro-style glasses to adjust them, her luminescent brown eyes focused entirely on Peter.  Having fixed the position of her glasses on her nose, her hand found its way to her wild blonde curls, streaked occasionally with darker locks baked by sunlight exposure, and ruffled them, her fingers scrunching at the top of her hair.  Peter watched as Ms. Tritter, satisfied, slid both of her well-lotioned hands down her thin form-fitting black sweater and pushing out the wrinkles.  Finally, she came to a stop, her youthful face towering above him, her tall, knee-high black leather boots grumbling out low rubbery squeaks as her feet stop moving.

                Peter gulped.  It was something of an imposing sight to be the only one in the room, watching this woman’s eyes trained on him as her tremendous size filled in everything he could take in with one glance.  However, his apprehension began to fade slightly as Ms. Tritter slid lithely into the chair in front of Peter’s desk, leaning her arms backward on the chair so she could face the tiny student.

                “So… you’re Peter, right?  Peter… Clark?”

                “Y-Yeah.”

                “Yes!” chuckled the enthused Ms. Tritter, pumping her fist with delight.  “Sorry, I normally take about a month to learn any of the names of new students.  Maybe it’s my lucky day.”

                Peter’s heart began to feel soothed.  He felt much more like he was talking to another student, not a teacher.

                “Well, I’m Ms. Tritter.  It’s nice to meet you, Peter,” smiled the woman, suddenly extending her hand closer to the boy.  For a moment, Peter’s heart skipped a beat as the gigantic woman’s shapely hand uncurled itself, her palm lowering overhead almost ominously, the shadows of her fingers flashing across his widened eyes.  However, she instead rolled her fingers into a fist except for her pinky, which she extended outward toward Peter for a hand-fingertip shake.

                Peter blushed, feeling stupid for having thought for an instant Ms. Tritter would’ve been so rude as to just pick him up without asking.  He politely grasped her fleshy fingertip in both hands, shaking it vigorously.  This was certainly a welcome change of pace.  Peter never got to greet new people with a handshake for the rather obvious reasons, and he could always sense a certain discomfort from people at this, wondering what they were supposed to do.  Of course, Peter didn’t blame them, but it was nice to finally meet someone who wasn’t terrified of hurting his feelings by turning the somewhat problematic situation into a tasteful little in-joke.

                Letting go of Ms. Tritter’s fingertip, Peter took a step back as his teacher refolded her arms on the chair’s back.  She sighed, smiling at him, and then cleared her throat.

                “Now, Peter… the reason I wanted you to stay after was…”

                “I know, I know, it was because I was late, and… I’m so sorry!” blurted Peter apologetically, wanting to nip the question in the bud as soon as possible.  He knew very well where this conversation was about to go, and he didn’t want to have to get into that at all with this woman.

                “No, no, no, Peter, it’s fine, it’s all right…” soothed Ms. Tritter in a hushed tone, almost cooing with her words.  “You’re a freshman; you just have to learn the ropes.  Believe me, everyone’s late to a class sometime.  There were a few students late to this very class; in fact, they just arrived a little bit before you, that’s all.”

                “Oh… well… okay, then,” said Peter hesitantly.  “In that case, thanks, Ms. Tritter, and… I think my sister must be running late, she’s supposed to come pick me up any minute to take me to my next class, and…”

                “I know, Peter, but don’t worry, I’ll write a note for your next teacher if I have to, I want to talk to you about something else,” interrupted Ms. Tritter calmly, raising a hand and resting her chin on her upturned palm, clasping her long fingers gently around her pale cheek.

                “Oh?” gulped Peter nervously.

                “You know what I’m going to ask you.  It’s not even the fact that you were fifteen minutes late, it’s just that… well, there’s no really nice way to say it, but with your… situation, your teachers have been given pretty strict instructions to know where you are at all times during their classes.  And so, since you’re my responsibility from the time that bell rings after lunch until right now, every day, I would be remiss if I didn’t find out why you were so late?”

                “Right…” muttered Peter under his breath, staring intently at his shoes to avoid eye contact.  However, as he watched the shadow of Ms. Tritter’s face grow slowly around him as she leaned in to hear him, he knew this tactic wasn’t going to work well.  Peter never had been particularly talented at lying effectively.

                “Well?” came the gentle, hushed voice, a little louder this time, the woman’s toasty breath, smelling faintly of fresh pear, wafting down over Peter and making goose bumps stand up on his skin.  He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings and swallowed in his dried out throat, desperately trying to piece together an alibi.

                “Well, see, I was here, but after my sister left, I kind of got thirsty… I didn’t really have anything to drink at lunch, and…” continued Peter, grasping nervously at the hem of his shirt to cool himself down.  “And so Lena offered to take me to get a drink.”

                Ms. Tritter raised an eyebrow, obviously not totally satisfied.  Her hand shifted, grasping the rim of her glasses again and nudging them further down her nose so she could more effectively glance at Peter in full, the top of his head not even reaching the neckline of her sweater in height as he stood on the desk.  “And… you were gone for fifteen minutes?”

                “Yeah… well, I also had to use the restroom, and… that was sort of annoying to deal with, you know?” offered Peter realistically, feeling his cheeks involuntarily blushing again.  “Like, I was kind of embarrassed, actually, but… you know, duty calls, or…” he continued, then fought the urge to slap himself at the horrible pun he had just accidentally made.  He gulped again.  “…or whatever.  So that was that, and she brought me back.”

                “All right, then,” sighed Ms. Tritter.  She looked marginally more neutral on the whole thing now, but Peter could tell she could see right through him.  “Your next class starts in about a minute, and I don’t see your sister.”

                “Yeah, yeah… she’s… she’s supposed to come get me,” repeated Peter, stumbling over his words, still quite flustered.

                “Listen, Peter, don’t feel bad if this makes you uncomfortable, but… I want you to have a good start to your first day of high school, so…” whispered Ms. Tritter, slowly sliding her way out of the chair and standing back up to full height over the desk.  Gingerly, her massive hand found its way down to the desk, her long, silky-smooth fingers pressing together as they lay flat down on the desktop like a mattress of skin.  “…could I offer you a lift?”

                Peter swallowed hard, eyeing Ms. Tritter’s considerable appendage nervously.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ms. Tritter’s potential skill at carrying him, or even the fact that she had the largest hands he had probably ever seen on a woman, but rather the fact that she could easily continue questioning him on the walk over, taking advantage of his unsettled state to find an inconsistency in his story.

                However, Peter admitted to himself, the day had already had enough hiccups in it without adding even more awkward walks of shame late into the next class.  Resolving to just move onward, Peter looked up at Ms. Tritter, smiled, and nodded.

                She returned the favor, brushing a few wild locks of hair away from her ears as she gazed down at him with an almost impossibly wide grin.  Gently, she tapped her fingers against the desk as if beckoning him into her palm, her well-kept nails clacking softly against the hard desktop.  Without a second thought, Peter clambered over his teacher’s fingers and took a seat in her palm.  He couldn’t help but glance around the miniature, flowing sea of skin around him and its patchwork of prints and smooth creases.  Obviously, he was quite accustomed to these sights from the amount of time he spent sitting in the hands of his mother and sisters, but he was still struck by the magnificent size of Ms. Tritter’s hand.

                Peter was even more surprised as he was raised up off the desk without the slightest jarring motion, with as much precision and skill as his family had learned to have when carrying him.  He turned and grinned again at the gorgeous face of his perceptive math teacher, who simply winked at him, before starting for the door, with her new student perched on her doughy palm, her firm fingers cupping protectively around him.

                Despite her mistrust in his flimsy lie of a story, Peter knew he had lucked out getting Ms. Tritter as a teacher.