Then I wondered how long Myron planned to wait before he absolutely had to wash his car.They both seemed very happy. They were an odd couple, but no o...der than many. I was happy that they were happy.I walked through the parking lot, smiling to myself when I saw a familiar plain tan car drive slowly down the road. I dug into my bag to check if my phone was still on, and it was. Then I walked to the closest street and waited for good old Bob Foster to pull up."Hi, Sheriff," I said when he rolled. In a way you felt sorry for her. Even to the point of trying to pay attention yourself. The class, a mixture of senior boys and girls, would much rather joke around and play on their phones.You notice your teacher wiping her brow, then quietly pleading to the class to try and focus for the remaining half of the hour. Her blue eyes meet yours, seeming hopeful to have at least one student listening to her.Stacy Bickler was one of the younger teachers at Westside High. Her face, and body for that. More

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