I squared up with her and said, "Hey, I get it. Really, I do. And I'm not saying we let her off easy. Hell, let's put the onus on her. We'll give her a choice. She can work with me after school every day until the end of the school year and get caught up on all the stuff she missed, cheated on, and all that. I'll also talk with her other teachers and get assignments from them. Let her actually do the work and earn real passing grades. Or, if she says no, well..."
Louisa mulled it over. I liked that she was the kind of woman who wasn't thinking about the perks of avoiding the paperwork mess of expelling a student or the pitfalls of an entitled brat and her parents suing the school when Taylor decided to twist her version of our altercation. No, it was plain in her eyes that she was considering what was the right thing to do for Taylor and for the principles she held dear. She was a good woman, and Ms. Salata was lucky to have her.
"All right. Talk to her, see what she says, and let me know."
"Right. She's in my sixth period, so I'll be in touch right after that."
"As soon as you can, all right? I can't delay this any longer than that. If I take four days to turn in a report on an assault, even a minor one--"
"Understood. As soon as possible. You got it, Louisa."
After sixth period, the discussion with Taylor went about as I expected. She got her lip balm back and, smirking and self-satisfied with her conquest, she magnanimously agreed to let me show her mercy. I'm not sure she believed we'd really expel her, and she probably thought she could make our detentions (as she insisted on calling them) so miserable that I'd call it quits after the first day or two. Ordinarily, she might have been right.
But I had been busy, and I was done with ordinary.
She didn't notice the taste. That was good. It was a bit of a gamble administering it in that way, but subtle was better. And nothing in the whole world could have been more predictable than the way she smeared the Serenex-coated lip balm on right in front of me, as if her glossy lips were a manifesto of her refusal to be subdued by some petty school teacher. It was only a faint dose I'd coated the outer layer of the lip balm with, so it would take longer to set in. (I'd tested that myself several times the day before and was still fighting off the headache my mild overdose had given me.) But it would work. By the time she showed up after school, it would be working. No more fight in her.
And then, we'd... rewrite her essay. Or something.
No, not "or something." I'd sit her down in front of one of the school's cheap laptops and make her write it. That was it. Nothing else. I ought to be ashamed -- was ashamed -- that other thoughts even entered my mind. No matter how terribly she'd mistreated me, I wasn't about to take advantage of a teenage girl. I probably couldn't get away with it anyway, probably. No, I was only doing a good deed. The Serenex was merely an extreme measure to address the extreme situation she had created.
I had done my research during Saturday class, with my eyes flitting repeatedly to the half-asleep unfortunates as if worried they would see what I was reading. For once, I let them sleep. I was envious, honestly, still exhausted myself after the most restless, dream-filled night of my life.
Serenex was banned in most of Europe for doing exactly what it advertised being able to do. It introduced a neuroactive agent percutaneously that suppressed the chemical process behind the brain's "fight or flight" response. In essence, it kept someone from resisting. The manufacturer's website boasted a successful test in which they had offered volunteers $500 to resist being detained, and in the end, had not wound up having to pay them a cent. The larger web was full of articles decrying its use by autocratic governments and wealthy persons of less than honorable intent. A proposal was already before the UN to declare its deployment a war crime, but it had so far not passed as the Chinese government was among Serenex's most prominent clients.
In my own trials, once I had given the dose time to set in, I headed out to the backyard where I had seen my next-door neighbor Cassie doing yard work. She had been in my class two years back when I had still been teaching English 10, and we got along well. Recently, however, I had been avoiding her as she was selling those absurd $30 coupon books as a fundraiser for the volleyball team, and I had already made a donation.
On Sunday, I agreed to buy another one without a second thought. It was surreal remembering our encounter now, how she had suggested, even jokingly, that I buy a second one. Another $30 is gone. When she laughed and said maybe a third would come in handy, I had already fished the money out of my wallet and held it over the fence before she declined to take it awkwardly. Even in hindsight later that night as I flipped through one of my two coupon books, there had been a lingering sense that a third one might have been useful. As someone who had never used a coupon in his life, it was proof enough for me. After that, I secluded myself in my office and picked up a book, worried that advertisements on the TV and internet might deprive me of the rest of my life savings.
Getting my hands on Serenex, and on such short notice had been the real obstacle. Luckily for me, my old pot dealer from before the state went legal had referred me to a connection, and for only a little bit more than those test subjects had paid, I had made the purchase. The single canister I had purchased, however, had cost me an order of magnitude beyond that. As I walked away from the exceedingly sketchy fellow who had sold it to me, I felt mostly pretty glad the kindly black market chemical suppressant salesman hadn't simply murdered me and taken everything I had. After that, the $60 donation to Cassie and the volleyball team was just gravy.
All in all, making such a sacrifice for the betterment of one exceptionally wayward student... I felt very noble.
At least, when I wasn't dwelling on ignoble thoughts. They were merely fantasies, nothing I intended to act on. I would have her write her essay for me and maybe apologize, but that was it. Absolutely. School let out at 2:55. By 3:30, I was pretty sure Taylor had decided to blow off my leniency. I was such an idiot, a fool who had spent all the money he had saved to help a student who refused to be helped. After completing as much work as I could with this scheme, I typed up an email to Louisa informing her that Taylor had blown me off, to disregard my earlier message, and to let the hammer drop. Taylor had been given every opportunity to make amends and instead... "So, are we doing this or what?" A voice from the doorway interrupted my thoughts. I looked up, and there she was. She wasn't wearing her earlier outfit; instead, she was wearing a thin white tank top and athletic shorts that were cut high on either side. They almost met the school's past-the-fingertip rule if not for an
"That should have been telling; she even hinted that she might endure a lecture if the door was already closing behind her. But I was in analytic mode. I had to test it and make sure it wasn't just attitude. After the way she'd wigged out Friday over a tube of chapstick, who could say what whims motivated this young woman? No, I had to be sure. "First off, Taylor, I think an apology is in order," I started. She only looked at me blankly, as if not comprehending what she might have done. "For your outbursts Friday, and for wasting my time today." "Oh. Sure, if you say so. I'm sorry for Friday, and for today. OK?" The lack of sincerity could not have been clearer, but she still rolled her eyes to slam the point home. "No. It's not OK." And it wasn't, but I also needed more data. Was she humoring me, or was it actually working? "I... Hmm." I tapped my lip. How to test it? Instantly, a dozen answers stampeded from that too-loud part of my subconscious, but I silenced it immediately. The
"The whole chapstick thing, I guess," she said. She was nearing the bottom of the board again. Rather than squat, this time it appeared she was going to simply bend further. Maybe her thighs were sore from her workout. Maybe she was doing it on purpose to mess with me. Hell if I knew. But she was bent nearly ninety degrees now, and her tank top was hanging down enough that I could just barely make out the bottom of her sports bra clinging to the underside of her chest. It was a faded pink, almost the same color as that egg-shaped chapstick that had started all of this."Say it like you mean it," I pressed. "A complete, sincere-sounding apology." I deserved this. She deserved this. An apology was only fair. If Louisa had drawn a different conclusion about what she'd walked in on, it might have ended my career. A heartfelt apology was the least I owed."Jesus, fine. I'm very, very sorry I tried to get my chapstick back, Mr. Canon. And for teasing you.""You were?" I blinked. Had it reall
"This is stupid, Mr. Canon. I already did this. Why do I have to do all these pointless little steps? It's a waste of time!""We've been over this, Taylor. Part of this is having a respectable final product, yes, but part of it is also mastering the process.""But the process is stupid. No way is it some sort of real-world life skill to put my notes on separate pages or write a work cited entry on every one of them.""It's a work cited entry, not a true bibliography," I reminded her, "and whether or not it's useful to everyone in the real world, it's useful for some people. Heck, just showing you can follow directions is progress. Whatever you wind up doing, you're probably going to have somebody above you who expects you to be able to do what they ask you to.""I already have a job, and my manager definitely doesn't make me cite works. Like, ever.""Oh yeah? Where are you working?""I'm a waitress.""Very cool. Where at?"She made a face. "What, are you stalking me or something?"I si
I wasn't far behind her. Spending an hour a day with Taylor in my sixth period had been exhausting me all year; an extra hour all alone with her was going to be the death knell of my joie de vivre. Briefcase in hand, I made my way into the hall. Grant High was silent this time of day, a welcome respite. At the far end of the English hallway, I could see our custodian Randi pushing her vacuum back and forth, doggedly undoing the damage these kids did to the poor building day in and day out. She looked up and I gave her the customary nod of gratitude; it was unreturned as usual. I couldn't even blame the woman. After all, my being here doing my job only made hers harder, while the reverse was true for her. My classroom, H121, was right near the junction with the school's main hallway. Then it was that long stroll down the wide, empty corridor to the parking lot before I could finally drive home, unbutton my shirt, and relax for a few minutes before I had to start prepping for tomorrow.
I knew my fantasies were getting out of hand, but I tried to convince myself they weren't unethical because no one was getting hurt. Taylor Stern was undeniably attractive, and I found myself drawn to her. I experienced a similar attraction to Candace Salata when she started last year. We had the same prep period, and waiting in line for the photocopier had given us a chance to connect over our shared professional interests and sense of humor. That was a real attraction. But with Taylor, it was more physical. She had an undeniable body, and she liked to show it off. While I wasn't exactly her target audience, I still found myself watching her. It felt like I was owed at least a little something for all that she put me through. Despite her physical appeal, I disliked almost everything else about her. She was lazy, conniving, deceitful, entitled, and could be a real bully to anyone who crossed her. But for some reason, all of that was part of the attraction. The combination of her body
Taylor. And those unrestrained boobs of hers. Oh shit."Guess that's what they call irony, right?" she said as she crossed the room. Sure enough, there on her desk was the little pink chapstick egg that had started this whole thing off. The Serenex was sitting out on my desk. Oh fuck. Don't notice it! "What's that?" Taylor immediately opened the cap and began applying more lip balm. Watching a round pink bulb smear across her lips had been a prominent feature in many of those fantasies I had been culling."What's... what?" I asked stupidly.She pointed directly at the Serenex as she made her way back toward the door. But still putting the cap back on the chapstick, she was moving far too slowly for my comfort. "That. Is that pepper spray or something?""Uh... yes...?" I cleared my throat. "Yep. Pepper spray. You can never be too careful, right?”But Taylor was cocking her head to the side, studying it as she drew closer. "Are you even allowed to have that? That's like a weapon, right?
Not knowing what else to do, I set the spray down on my desk and took a step away. That was it. I was done. All that was left was to see if they'd blackmail me, or simply go for the throat and end my life as I knew it right here, right now. Abbie approached her sister, though it was clear she was apprehensive about Taylor's uncharacteristic nonchalance about all of this. Still, she was curious, pulling her sister's arm up where she could see it. It was still wet, almost dripping with how much I'd overdone it. Abbie sniffed, and when she didn't experience any pain or discomfort, sniffed closer. "What even is this shi--" With reflexes I didn't know I had, I pounced. One hand clamped on the back of Abbie's head and the other under Taylor's arm. The two were pressed together until there was contact, then held there. Abbie squealed and then flailed in shocked alarm. Worried she'd start screaming, I let go a few moments later. Abbie immediately spat and sputtered, wiping her mouth on her s