Sean Cunningham is a slender man of medium height, with evenly groomed jet-black hair, a thin black mustache and pointy nose. He wiggles his derriere side to side, as he walks. This adds yet another dimension to his personality. He is my biology teacher and my hero. At fifteen, I am infatuated. If he is not in for the day, I make sure I know why he is out and when he will return. I eagerly anticipate the hallway encounters as he winks and smiles at me-drowning me in happiness.

He plays outfielder on the baseball team. Lucky for me, I live near the field at the far end of the compound. My heart throbs as I run to the baseball field hopeful that Sean is playing. Suddenly, in the distance I spot his silhouette running to catch a pop fly-I never see him drop the ball. Elated-I feel those familiar goose bumps taking over my body. I sit on the first row of bleachers or, if I am gutsy, stand near the baseball net, behind the catcher. Mesmerized, I melt at his every move and often have to remind myself of the time.

My curfew is nine o'clock. The game starts at seven and sometimes does not finish until ten o'clock. A few minutes before nine o'clock, I sprint home and make sure Mom and Dad know that I have gone to bed. When all is quiet, I sneak out through my bedroom door onto the patio. The only way out of the patio is through a squeaky gate next to my parent's bedroom. Instead, I climb the cement holes in the wall, jump down, and dash to watch the rest of the game.

Today, we have a substitute teacher for biology.
"Mr. Cunningham has to return suddenly to America to visit his sick mother. The school does not know when he will be returning."
She announces.
Oh, and before I forget, Carina, he left something for you.
The entire class lets out an:
"Ooolala".
She hands me a small piece of paper wrapped around a thin object. I know I am blushing as I return to my desk. I quickly read his note wrapped around a Hershey chocolate bar:
"For Karina Rourke, 3rd period."
Lightheaded and saddened that I may never see him again, I feel that familiar ache in the back of my throat as I try to fight the tears. The classroom noise becomes a blur-all that mattered was that, in my heart, I knew he understood.

Learn more about this author, Carina Burns.
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