Algebra with Ms. Tritter sailed by, and maybe more than any other class, Peter found himself getting legitimately absorbed in the subject matter, able to almost completely let go of his insecurities about the massive world around him.  The fact that he hadn’t been kidnapped and stuffed into a clarinet again wasn’t such a bad thing, either.

                There was a calming note to the young and curly-haired teacher’s methods, both in her easygoing explanations of the introductory material that usually included a few cheesy jokes, and in her voice, soft-spoken but with enough command that everyone was willed to lean forward a little further.  Whenever she’d adjust those black thick-rimmed glasses on the edge of her nose, she’d pick a spot in the room and grin at whomever she could make out.  Peter was the subject of this treatment several times, and it gave him a warm feeling inside to be acknowledged so cheerfully with no annoyance attached like he had come to sense with some of the other educators in charge of him.

                The class-ending bell came much sooner than Peter had been expecting.  He’d hardly noticed the full page of notes he’d taken, as it seemed like just as much time had been spent listening to Ms. Tritter lay out the groundwork concepts for the semester.  Students filed past his desk in the center of the room, backpacks slung over a single shoulder, yammering to one another about the upcoming period.  Most of them seemed to ignore Peter, or at least limit their studies of him to stealthy glances, which made him happier than anything.  He assumed it was safe to guess now that Erica’s trip back from her physics class was something of a long haul, because as with the previous day, he was soon left alone with Ms. Tritter in the room.

                “Enjoying Day 2 so far?” the woman asked sunnily, laying a manila file on her desk before folding her hands behind her back before stepping into the center aisle of desks.

                “Oh yeah, I’m… I’m loving it.  Really,” Peter said.  He was far too enthused with being here to make any attempt at sounding coolly disinterested.

                “I’m so glad to hear it,” she responded, coming to a stop at the desk adjacent to the one Peter was using, and seating herself on the edge of it, where she could comfortably clasp her hands over a black stocking-clad knee.  Though it put her at a level far above her tiny student, who was still comically dwarfed in the center of the desk, there was nothing in her calm and collected posture to suggest she had to lower herself to be even with him.  “I think it’s going to be a great year.”

                Peter tried not to let himself get distracted, but there was no way around the fact that this towering woman was positively beautiful, and suddenly focusing all her attentions politely on him, as though he was the most important person in this moment.  He knew he could very easily get lost just staring into the curly jungle of that blond hair, so he immediately forced himself to nod and stay engaged.

                “Y-Yeah.  Yeah, it should be,” he managed.

                “Your sister must have a long way to come to get you here,” Ms. Tritter commented, glancing at the door and then the clock with a raised eyebrow.  “I’m sure this arrangement isn’t exactly the ideal for either of you.”

                Peter shrugged.  “I’m not so great with floors.   We have to compromise.”

                “I realize that.  I’m aware of the precautions being taken to make sure things go smoothly for you here.  I meant, if it’s all right with you, I’d be glad to walk you to fifth period every day,” she said kindly.  “If it would be a help, I mean.”

                “Oh,” Peter said, gulping.  “That… I mean, don’t you have something else you have to be doing right now?  Another class, or…”

                “Nope!  I actually take my lunch break right about now since I have to proctor in the middle of the day, so it’s no trouble.  Your English class is on my way to the parking lot anyway, so it would be very simple.  I’d be glad to do it, if you’re comfortable,” she insisted, pinching the corner of her eyeglasses between a thumb and forefinger and adjusting them again.

                “I… I’d r-really appreciate that.  A lot,” Peter mumbled.  He normally didn’t get this flustered around people who treated him well, but damn it if there wasn’t something enchanting about being spoken to so normally by a titaness so simultaneously confident in herself.  “I’ll bet Erica would appreciate it even more.”

                “I’m sure she would,” Ms. Tritter chuckled, sliding off the edge of the desk and taking the extra step forward until she was looming benevolently above the desk, her head tilted slightly to the side as she gazed down at the five-inch-tall teen.  The fingers of her right hand opened slowly and as nonthreateningly as possible, unfolding her open palm onto the desk.  “Ready to go?”

                “Definitely,” he answered.  Gripping his backpack to his chest, Peter hopped aboard his math teacher’s creamy palm again and experienced another rock-solid ascent in her care.  Only his family and Lisa had managed any better at handling thus far in his life.

                Like the day before, the pair had run into an out-of-breath Erica, who was in even worse spirits than the day before, obviously expecting this sprint to be a required daily occurrence to get everyone to class on time.  Of course, her mood brightened significantly to hear Ms. Tritter’s suggestion, and after a promise that Peter’s mother would be informed of the new arrangement for this particular period transition, the teen’s older sister darted off in the other direction with a little more spring in her step.

                “Peter, would you mind if I shared something with you before we get to your class?” Ms. Tritter said, breaking up the brief silence as they neared the languages wing.

                “Uh…. sure.”

                “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.  I know it might sound ignorant of me to try and compare our situations, but… I was homeschooled myself until ninth grade too, and before that I hadn’t lived in one place for more than a year and a half.  English wasn’t even my primary language then,” the woman explained.  Her soft fingers appeared to curl upward a little closer to their contented occupant.  “What I’m saying is, I know the jump can be a bit… jarring, especially if you’ve already got another obstacle placed in front of you.”

                Peter listened carefully, surprised to have his preconceptions about the obviously fiercely intelligent and well-adjusted professional flipped on their heads.  He doubted the woman had even reached age thirty yet, and yet she blended in so well with the fabric of this particular society after such a varied upbringing.  How did she do it?

                It probably helped that she wasn’t the size of a doll, Peter reflected to himself.   Still, it was impressive.

                “I see,” he uttered, quietly witnessing the curve of the creases in her fingers deepening as her cupped palm narrowed around him.

                “So I suppose I just want you to know, even if I can’t… quite understand your situation, from personal experience, I’m here if you need to talk at all.  About anything,” she declared, coming to a stop outside Mr. Garrison’s English classroom.  “No pressure.  I’m just putting it out there.”

                “Thanks,” he said, watching her other hand grip and twist the handle to enter the class.  “I’ll remember.”

                “That’s all I’m asking, Peter.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said with a smile as she entered the already half-full class, having made it with a minute to spare.  Like the day before, a few heads turned at Peter’s entrance, but most people returned to their previous conversations before they’d even fully lost focus.

                Upon entering the room, the freshman’s eyes darted not to his assigned desk but the one behind him, which was vacant at the moment.  It felt like a certain cautious reverence was required with that open space where Sharon would soon seat herself.  Religious rites ought to be performed over it to ensure the sheer blond, silent vixen didn’t go too powerful.

Peter knew it was probably a mistake to have allowed the hypnotic young woman to put such fear in him, but one look from those silver irises and a single hot exhalation of her omnipresent cinnamon gum was plenty to intoxicate him.  Somehow, he had a feeling the effect was similar on people who stood at normal height as well.

He barely had time to unpack his bag onto the surface after being released from Ms. Tritter’s palm when he heard fingers tapping authoritatively on the edge of the desk behind him.  Swiveling around, careful not to knock anything down and appear anxious from the get-go, Peter found himself staring up at the analytical and only vaguely human countenance of Sharon, the luminescent gray pools surrounding her pupils already affixed to his body.

Despite listening intently for her entrance, he’d missed her steps and the sound of her slide into the chair.  She might as well have been a ghost.

“Don’t look so happy to see me, shortstuff,” she said dryly.  “How are things down there today?”

Peter blinked, knocked way off guard within two sentences of conversation with this girl before he’d even had the chance to open his mouth.  This was already shaping up to be a great class.

“Fine.  I’m doing okay,” he said.  “How are you?”

Sharon let out a single chuckle of mild derision, half-smirking.  “No need to be nervous already.  You don’t have to use robot questions to talk to me.”

“Right.  Sorry,” Peter corrected.

Why was he apologizing?

“You’re funny when you’re like this.  And I’ve really only seen you like this, so I’m starting to assume it’s just always a good time around you, shortstuff,” she continued, unimpeded by his stumbling syllables.  She leaned forward across her desk, her deceptively angelic face hanging over Peter’s desk and somehow his entire existence in this instant, the silvery blond tresses providing a canopy that might’ve well blocked out the rest of the world if they swept just a little further.

“Well, I… I guess I like g-good times,” Peter muttered, clenching his trembling wrists in fists before they could be noticed, though he had a feeling Sharon had already noted and become gratified with this development as her face moved steadily closer.

“I’m sure you do,” she said, obviously only semi-convinced.  Her hand rose, fingers outstretched toward Peter for a few pregnant seconds that cooled him from head to toe, but suddenly the digits changed direction and instead combed through her luscious locks.  “I’ll tell you what.  Stick with me and my friends around this place.  We’ll help set you straight.”

“Oh.  Uh… well, um, I’m glad,” Peter rambled blindly.  The sight of the girl’s white palm elegantly approaching him like a treasured toy was something that took several minutes to fully recover from.

“Trust me.  I’ve gone to school with most of these… people since kindergarten,” she continued, pronouncing “people” with all the respect of “giant, moist cockroaches.”

“I’m sure that c-comes in handy,” Peter offered.

“You have no idea.  Since you’re in real school for the first time, I want to make sure you’re started off right,” Sharon explained.  Her hand slid out of her hair but still hovered ominously above the desk, her fingers kneading as though she was rubbing a pair of coins together.  Her tiny audience’s eyes remained glued nervously to this simple act.  “We don’t want people taking advantage of you.  Putting you in places you don’t want to be.”

Too late for that, Peter thought with a huff.

“Yeah, I… guess that makes sense.”

“Take that girl in history class for example,” Sharon said nonchalantly, and suddenly Peter’s legs froze up even tighter.  “I don’t really remember her name…”

“Lisa.”

“Right.  Lisa,” Sharon said, releasing a bored puff of air, clearly having forgotten the name by choice rather than accident.  “Every year she sits by herself in a corner of class and barely talks to anybody.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, she can do that if she wants, but… is that really how you want to start off your time at school, when you already don’t know anybody except me and my friends?”

“Well, I actually did meet other people too, I-”

“All I’m saying is…” Sharon cut in pointedly.  The temperature of her words was plummeting by the breath.  “Maybe just give it a little thought.  People know me here already.  They listen to me.  I can make sure you have a good time this year.”

“I do appreciate it, really,” Peter said, more and more unsettled with each passing comment from the gigantic beautiful creature above him.  “But I’ve met lots of nice people here.  I’m sure it’ll all turn out fine.”

“Will it?” Sharon posed.  It came out less as a question and more a floating prophesy.

“All right class, crack open those books.  I hope you all read the introduction, because there will be at least one question from it on the first quiz Friday,” Mr. Garrison droned as he trundled himself into the classroom.  “Face forward, please.”

Peter snapped himself out of the trance Sharon had locked him into, quickly busying himself with the contents of his backpack, his stomach now set on a spin cycle of steadily increasing velocity.