The pool door swings open, revealing a flushed and flustered Mrs. McGuire. Her usual frumpy grey pantsuit has been replaced by a one-piece swimsuit obviously meant for someone much smaller. The fabric clings to every curve like a second skin, her breasts straining against the tight material. She tries to tug at it self-consciously as she addresses the surprised class.

The students exchange shocked glances at the sight of their stuffy old math teacher looking so vulnerable and exposed. Mrs. McGuire clears her throat nervously, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her suit.

"Oh, um, h-hello there, class," she says, her voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry for the delay. I'm Mrs. McGuire—I recognize several faces from Math class."

She adjusts the top of her suit again, unaware that the motion makes her breasts jiggle noticeably. A few boys snicker quietly.

"Eyes up here, please," Mrs. McGuire says, pointing to her face with a hint of her usual sternness breaking through her embarrassment. "Miss Peterson quit on short notice, so I will be your substitute swim coach until a replacement can be found."

She shifts her weight awkwardly from one foot to another, tugging at the hem of her swimsuit which rides up slightly in the back. "Alright, who wants to help me carry in the extra lane ropes from the storage room? I could use some strong hands. Perhaps... you?" Her eyes lock with mine suddenly. "Could you lend a hand? The rest of you can begin your warm-up laps!"