It was moments after the final tutorial, and nearly all the students had already left the class, including the ones who had come up to me to say their final goodbyes, goodlucks, and you-better not-fail-me’s.
Well, all except for one.
“It’s been fun”, I said to her.
She glared at me angrily for a few seconds as I began shuffling the papers on my desk.
“I just wanted to tell you it won’t work on me,” she finally said, nodding emphatically. “It never has.”
“What won’t wo –”, I began.
“– That look you give people,” she interrupted me, “that look you give girls. The look.”
“I have a loo –”, I began.
“Oh sure,” she said, sighing wearily and sitting back on the table, “you have many looks.”
“Like?”
“Like your that-was-a-stupid-question-but-I’ll-answer-it-anyways look. Which is kinda like a sneer. Then there’s your I-know-the-answer-but-I-bet-you-don’t look, which is just this stupid smirk. But sometimes, you use this special look. Only for girls. I just wanted to tell you that it doesn’t work on me.”
“Am I using it right now?”
She peered at me for a second, then shook her head. “No, you kinda tilt your head to one side like this,” she said as she casually demonstrated, “then stare straight into their eyes for a moment. It’s like…well, it’s sort of like your I’m-so-sexy look.”
“…What? Never.”
“Of course you do. Then the girl goes all giggly and practically swoons at your feet. Your jokes aren’t that funny.”
I blinked. “That hasn’t ever actually occured to me.”
“Puh-leeeze, Phil. Do you actually think the girls here come to hear you talk about math?”
I blinked again. Her contemptuous emphasis on the word ‘math’ was slightly disconcerting.
“But I just wanted to let you know, it hasn’t worked on me, Phil. I’m immune to it. I don’t get all blushy, giggly, weak kneed, or whatever. It just doesn’t work, okay?”
And before I could even act on my own defence, she spun on her heels, tossed a soft ‘hurumph’ into the air, and marched away defiantely.
And that about wraps up the most peculiar encounter I’ve had with a student so far.