Kevin had dreaded this day all year. Teaching health and coaching the boy's basketball team at Ringel High was all he had ever wanted to do. But as a lifelong lover of women smokers, yes, a fetisher some would call him, he couldn't stand the chapter he was supposed to teach today -- all about the evils of smoking. He had read it and reread it and wondered if he dared to add his own opinions to the subject.

The gist of the thing was that smoking was stupid, it would kill you by next Thursday and you'd never have a social life again. Fine for all the non-smoking teens, but what kind of message would that send to the young smokers who just couldn't quit? Life was over -- you might as well suck on a cyanide pill and end your misery?

So much of his life was a lie -- or just yielding to the wills of everyone around him. When the admin had cast out feelers as to whether or not to make the teacher's lounge non-smoking, he had gone along with the prude crowd -- and now, the smokers had to hike outside, no matter what the weather.

He tossed and turned all night. By the bleary light of morning, he still hadn't made up his mind. He arrived early and sat in his empty classroom, in a fog of misery.

All too soon, the teens came pouring in to class, in a noisy jumble, a wave of youthful energy -- pushing each other, trading insults, snapping their gum and stashing their contraband cell phones.

He began the lesson with the safe stuff -- his usual greeting, a review of yesterday's homework. Then it was time. He had to face the music.

"Today we're going to learn about smoking. Smoking is a killer. Nobody wants to be friends with a smoker and it could be the end of your social life. When you smoke, you inhale tar and nicotine and ..."

He looked out over his class. Most of them were paying no attention to his words. A few looked sullen and he figured those must be the smokers in the bunch.

At that moment, the devil got hold of Kevin, apparently, for the rest of that day would be talked about for years to come at Ringel High.

For Mr. Kevin Clark closed his fingers around that awful health textbook and pitched it across the classroom and out the door into the hallway, where it slammed against a locker with a bang and then tumbled to the floor.

Now the kids were paying attention.

"This book is crap," said Kevin, feeling his face flush and his heart pound. "If you don't smoke, don't start. If you do smoke, you can still have friends, still have dates, still have a great career. Ever hear of Lindsey Lohan? Brittney Spears? Madonna? John Travolta?

"I'm tired of the lies that you get fed. It's time you heard the truth, the whole story.

"Smoking has long been considered quite glamorous -- and there are literally thousands of people in the world who find it a huge turn-on, who actually seek out women who smoke as their dating partners -- and more.

"Smoking will affect your health if you don't eventually quit. But many smokers live long, productive lives, get married, have healthy children and grandchildren."

The class was stunned.

"Smokers don't have to have smelly breath and yellow teeth. Most supermodels smoke and you don't see them with that problem."

"And as for smoking making you unpopular, let's do a little test. C'mon, be brave. I want all the girls in this class who smoke to please raise your hands. No, I won't report you."

One hand went up after a long pause. Then two, then five, then twelve total. They included the head cheerleader, and most of the best-looking girls in the room.

"Do you ladies have any problems getting dates?"

"Hell, no!" said Tyra, the cheerleader, to the laughter of her classmates.

"Tyra, please come forward. Bring your purse with you," Kevin said.

The room went deathly silent. Tyra strode to the front of the room.

"I want you to smoke a cigarette for the class," Kevin said.

"What?" she asked. This was too much.

"C'mon now, if you can do it in the girl's room, you can do it here. I'm not going to report you. Do you think I want to get in trouble, too?"

Tyra extracted a long, all-white Misty from her purse and put it to her lips, rather clumsily.

"Let's try this again. Any of you ever see 'Breakfast at Tiffany's?' One of the most popular films of all time? Haven't? You should. Tyra is going to learn how to smoke like a lady, today.

"Lift the cigarette to your lips slowly. Think about how you are going to enjoy it, not gulp it. Hold it there a moment before you light it."

She did, and Kevin noted that the eyes of every boy in the room followed the graceful motions of her arm this time.

"Now, who wants to give this beauty a light?" Kevin asked. A forest of male hands shot up. He picked one, Jordan Granson, a handsome boy and popular, too.

Jordan strode forward with a swagger, produced a lighter from his pocket and expertly touched the flame to Tyra's cigarette. Only Kevin was close enough to see, however, that his hand was shaking slightly, betraying suppressed desire.

Tyra inhaled slightly, nervously, barely enough to get the cigarette burning, and let a pathetic puff of smoke escape.

"Let's try this again. Relax. Drag deep. And shape your lips when you exhale this time."

The class watched enraptured as the beautiful brunnette raised the cigarette to her lips and sealed them around the filter and set the cherry glowing with a heavy drag. Now she pursed her lips and expelled a long, tight, narrow stream of creamy smoke, to the side of Jordan's head.

"One more time," Kevin said. "Now Jordan, do you mind if she blows a little smoke your way?"

"Hell, no!" said Jordan, and the class burst out laughing again.

Tyra inhaled again, her cheeks caving in this time as she got into the spirit. She looked at Jordan, then opened her mouth and began to blow smoke. It poured across his face and Kevin could now see his knees, not just his hands, were shaking as his face disappeared into the fragrant cloud.

Tyra finished her exhale.

"Who can blow smoke rings?" Kevin asked, and a redhead raised her hand. She took the cigarette fromTyra and produced two wobbly rings from it, then three on a second puff.

"Now you tell me. Is that not the sexiest thing you've ever seen? Who in here would decline a date with this beauty, cigarette and all?" Kevin asked.

One hand went up. That would be the Judas of the class, the one who would surely report the evil tidings of this day.

"Well, screw you," said Kevin. "You're outnumbered."

"Now, put the cigarette out. On the floor," Kevin told the girl. "Have some fun."

The redhead dropped the cigarette, lifted her heel and firmly stepped upon it, twisting her foot to grind the cigarette out. The boys in the class were dying, squirming in their chairs.

The bell rang. The class exploded out the door.

Kevin began to clean out his desk.

He was fired not an hour later. But no one in that class ever forgot him. Or that lesson.