As far as his classroom visits, she refused to let him know they—he—affected her in the slightest. A request to end the visitations would reveal too much. And when it came to their parking lot walks, the days were getting shorter, and the lotdidneed more overhead lights.
Plus, when her briefcase got heavy with books and grading, he wordlessly held out his hand for it. Hefted it for her. Set it inside her car and waited until she left the lot before he did the same.
Again, she could have denied him his gallantry. She lifted weights at the nearby gym before school three days a week, after all, and she’d been walking alone to the parking lot for umpteen years.
But whenever she handed over her burdens, he didn’t become bowed by them. Instead, his shoulders seemed a bit straighter. Whenever he walked beside her, his stride loosened and lengthened.
So she’d let him be chivalrous. But she still wasn’t chatting.
Once burned, twice no-way-in-hell.
That resolution became harder to maintain once she saw him teach, however.
During her planning period, sitting at her own desk, she watched him greet his AP World History students at the door with a smile, just as she did. Direct them toward an itinerary listing the day’s activities, just as she did. Get them going on a start-of-class activity, just as she did.
He’d prepared for the lesson, clearly. His notes rested in front of him, all the other necessary materials close at hand. His laptop lay open, prepared to project images onto the interactive whiteboard. Again: exactly as she’d have done.
The bell rang, he opened his mouth to discuss ancient Egypt, and that was where the similarity ended.
Where she would gesture with her hands to emphasize a point, he went still.
Where she would get loud, gaining students’ attention with liveliness or a bit of sarcasm, he got quieter. More intense. He leaned forward, and his class mirrored the movement.
He was sincere. Knowledgeable. Passionate. Compassionate.
The students were mesmerized. And for good reason.
Martin Krause was a fucking phenomenal teacher.
At the sight of such brilliance, such unmitigated competence, she had to shift a bit in her desk chair. Martin had never,neverseemed sexier to her.
It really sucked.
And as she soon discovered, so did her reaction to the day’s main lesson.
Once he’d finished the class’s introductory activities, Martin projected an image of a large granite sphinx onto the board, complete with a human head, a lion’s body, and a long, false, angular beard.
He let the students study the image before speaking. “This ancient Egyptian sphinx was made to represent someone named Hatshepsut. Simply from looking at this image, what can you tell me about that person?”
They raised their hands instead of shouting out answers, a sure sign of a well-managed classroom. Those hands belonged to all types of kids, too. Good.
The young woman he called on tilted her head as she eyed the sphinx. “He must have been powerful. I mean, someone built this for him. And doesn’t the lion indicate strength?”
“It does, and you’re right. This sphinx represents someone very powerful.” Martin smiled at her. “But you made an assumption just then, without noticing. Can you figure out what that was?”
Several other hands shot into the air, but he gave the girl a chance to think.
It took her a few moments, and then a smile slowly broke across her elfin face. “That sphinx isn’t a man. It’s a woman. With a beard.”
“Well, technically, a half-woman. Don’t forget the lion bits.” When Martin grinned, the class laughed. “But you’re right. Hatshepsut was one of several female pharaohs. She ruled from 1478 to 1458 BC, and her reign began a lengthy peaceful, prosperous era in Egyptian history. After a few early, successful battles, she concentrated on forming international trading relationships and overseeing building projects that advanced Egyptian architecture so much, no other country in the world could match it for a thousand years.”
His students jotted a few notes, only to glance up when Martin spoke again.
“Now let’s compare two other images of her. One from early in her reign, and one from later.” The image on the board changed. “This is a statue of Hatshepsut at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” Another picture. “This statue was made later. What are the differences?”
More hands. Lots of them.
“In the early statue, she doesn’t have a beard.” The young man hesitated. “And she kind of has…uh…”
