Can I make it any more obvious?
She was quiet and always paying attention to class. She was his best student. First in class, honor student, methodic actually. He fell for her, but she was only twelve. There was something about her, the beginning of puberty, her chest was not really flat, but she didn't really have breasts, or an accentuated waist, or curves at all. She had a girl's body, because that's what she was, only a girl. A girl with a virginal innocence and angelic behavior. And he was a man in his late thirties, desiring a middle schooler.
For his joy, she was too shy to raise her hand in class, so she would always come with questions for him after class. Then he spent a little more time with her. If only she knew how much it meant to him. It meant to her as well. He was a handsome man, and he was nice to her. After school was over, she would hide to spy him when he would go to the other side of the sidewalk to smoke a cigarette. There was something so aesthetic about him smoking that gave her a strange feeling in her belly that she could not explain. After that he would drive home in his Chevy, and she would get her bike and ride home.
…
At home, it was always the same. She arrives and soon her father drives in, with her little sister, who was still in elementary school. Her father would go to the kitchen to prepare dinner; her mother came later from work and would have dinner with them. After dinner, Elsa would do her homework; after that she played videogames with Anna. She always beated Anna, and Anna got mad.
For Mr. Westergard, night was not any better. He wasn't married, so he lived by himself in a small apartment downtown. He would spend his evening correcting the assignments, and grading them for next class. He didn't know how to cook, and even if he knew, he was too lazy to do it. After he corrected all student's assignments, he would go to the Subway at the corner to have dinner.
…
"You're too young"
"No, I'm not. I'm almost thirteen, and I already had my first period."
"You don't understand, Elsa. I am way older than you, and you're underage. It is a lot more complicated than that"
"You love me, don't you, Hans? You want to make love to me"
That was how he knew he was dreaming. Elsa would never call him by his given name. It was always "Mr. Westergard"
The alarm went off.