Propositioned by the Playboy: Miss Maple and the Playboy / The Playboy Doctor's Marriage Proposal / The New Girl in Town

Miss Maple is dumb in a different way than Casper. Not just that she thought I might burn the school down when I couldn’t even hurt a frog, but I saw the look on her face yesterday when she left my uncle. Not much room to misinterpret that. All pink and flustered.

And him talking about bubble baths. If you want to know what embarrassment feels like, try your uncle telling your teacher to have a bubble bath. I didn’t miss the fact he’s progressed to her first name, either.

Not that I thought about it, but if I had, I could have guessed her name would be something like Beth or Molly or Emily.

I was hoping the frog thing would warn her off us, but it kind of backfired.

She and Uncle Ben, the lady-killer, ended up at Migg’s Pond together. Shoot. It’s full of mud and mosquitoes, but they were talking away as if they were having a glass of wine over dinner at a five-star hotel.

I didn’t know my uncle Ben came back here because of me and my Mom, though it could be a lie. I bet he knows exactly how to worm into the heart of someone as dumb as Miss Maple.

If they get together, I bet I’m out in a blink. Nobody wants a dorky eleven-year-old around when they’re getting ready to make kissy-face. Ask me. I’ve been through it before. With Larry and Barry.

The frog was lame. Well, not totally lame because I still have him. He’s not exactly a great pet, like a dog or a horse, but when I got to the pond, I couldn’t let him go. The weather’s getting colder and I’m not sure what frogs do when it gets cold. I don’t want to think about him dying, that’s for sure. Where would he go when he dies? I’m not sure about heaven. Even if there is one, I don’t know if they let frogs in. I don’t know if they’ll let my Mom in, either. She never went to church, and she sure swore a lot and stuff.

Miss Maple has the stupidest car you ever saw. It’s like a hundred years old, a red VW convertible. She loves that car. You can tell by the way she keeps care of it, all shiny all the time, the way she drives it with her nose in the air.

I guess if I really need her to hate me, I could always do something to the car. It would be just too much to hope that I could make her think my uncle did it. Maybe I better wait and think about this. My uncle will probably take my frog away if I do something that bad to Beth. I don’t know how somebody who has probably killed people with his bare hands deals with a frog, but whatever he does, I have a feeling it would be better than if Casper Hearn got his big fat mitts on it.

I hope I don’t have to do anything to Miss Maple’s car. That will be my last resort. And not because of Kermit. I’m not dumb enough to get attached to a frog.

I hope I don’t have to make her hate me too bad.

This was looking good, Ben thought, looking at the call display on his cell phone. Miss Beth Maple was calling him again. Two calls in two days.

Though maybe yesterday didn’t count, since his nephew had been missing. She was kind of obligated to call about something like that.

But even she couldn’t have two emergencies in two days.

He hoped she was calling to tell him about the bubble bath. Though the thought of her telling him such a thing made him want to laugh out loud, because it would be so impossibly not her. Delightful, though, if you were the one she decided to let down her hair for.

Because there was definitely something about her, just beneath the surface. It was as if, as uptight as she seemed to be, she just hadn’t had the right guy help her unlock her secrets. He thought of the line of her lips, wondered what it would be like to taste them, and then found he was the one to feel kind of flustered, like he was blushing, which was impossible. No one who spent eight years in the marines had anything like a blush left in them.

Unless what she had, innocence, was contagious.

And why did that make him feel oddly wistful, as if a man could ever be returned to what he had been before?

The truth was that Ben Anderson had had his fill of hard times and heartaches: his parents had died when he was young; he had lost his sister long before a doctor had told him she was going to die; he’d buried men he had shared a brotherhood with.

He could not ever be what he had been before. He could not get back the man who was unguarded, open to life. Long ago, he could remember being a young boy, Kyle’s age, and every day ended with the words “I love you” to his mom and dad.

He could not be that again.

A memory, unbidden, came to him. His mother getting in the car, blowing him a kiss, and mouthing the words “I love you” because at seventeen he didn’t want them broadcasted down the street.

Ben had not said those words since then, not ever. Was it insane to see them as a harbinger to disaster, to loss? He did not consider himself a superstitious man, but in this instance he was.

“Hello?” he said, aware that something cautious had entered his tone. He was not what she needed.

He was probably not what any woman needed. Damaged. Commitment-phobic.

“There were problems again today at school,” she said wearily.

Considering he had just decided he was not what any woman needed, Ben was inordinately pleased that she had phoned to tell him about her problems! Nice. She probably had a little ache right between her shoulder blades, that he could—

“Kyle put glue on Casper’s seat during recess. Not like the kind of glue we use at school for making fall leaves. I’ve never seen glue like that before.”

Construction-site glue, Ben guessed, amazingly glum she wasn’t phoning to share her problems with him. No, this was all about his problem.

“Casper stuck to the chair. And then he panicked and ripped the seat out of his pants when he tried to get out of the chair.” There was a strangled sound from her end of the phone.

“Are you laughing?” he asked.

“No.” It was a squeak.

“I think you are.”

Silence, followed by a snort. And then another, muffled.

“Ah,” he said. He could picture her, on the other end of the phone, holding back her laughter, trying desperately to play the role of the strict schoolmarm. He wished he was there to see the light in her eyes. He bet her nose crinkled when she laughed.

After a long time, struggling, she said, “There has to be a consequence. And he can never, ever guess I laughed.”

“Oh,” he teased, “a secret between us. This is even better than I could have hoped.”

“If you could be mature, I thought we should talk about the consequence together,” she said, her voice all grade-five schoolmistress again.

“I’ve always thought maturity was a good way to take all the fun out of life, but I will try, just for you.”

“I hope you didn’t suggest the glue to him!”

The truth was he might have, but his and Kyle’s relationship had not progressed to sharing ideas for dealing with the class bully. He decided it was not in his best interest to share that with Miss Maple.

“We have to be on the same page.” Sternly.

“Grown-ups against kids. Got it.”

Silence. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way. As if it’s a war.”

“A football game, then?”

“It’s not really about winning and losing,” she said carefully. “It’s about finding what motivates Kyle. The class has a swim day coming up. I was going to suggest Kyle not be allowed to go. I hope that doesn’t seem too harsh.”

“No less than what he deserves. I’ll let him know.”

“Thank you.” And then, hesitating, “You won’t tell him—”

“That you laughed? No. I’ll keep that to myself. Treasure it. It’s something no grade-five boy needs to know about his teacher.”