The genial smile I force into place feels uncomfortable on my face. Outwardly, this wiry man with his russet mop of shoulder-length hair, thick brows, and slightly hunched stature appears harmless enough, but there is something in his piercing blue eyes that glitter with warning. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is that has me on edge, but when he continues to talk, the unease settles.
“I don’t bite, and don’t believe anything you’ve heard. Okay, so I like pop quizzes, shoot me.” He holds his hands up in the air before continuing. “I only set one written paper coursework for the entire term, and watching films is part of my lesson plan.”
I take his hand and brace myself as he helps me to my feet. “Thank you,” I say sheepishly, hating that my go-to reaction to adults in positions of power is gut-wrenching panic; it’s not like I’ve had the best of luck with them, but there’s nothing other than that initial fleeting feeling to suggest this teacher would be anything other than friendly. “Ebony Winters,” I state, only realising now that he’s still holding my hand. I break the connection and take a tentative step back as I tug out my ear pod and reach down to retrieve my suitcase.
“The pleasure is mine. I’ve heard great things.”
My mind rockets to the one woman who could have given my new teachers a reference.Dammit.
“Don’t believe anything you’ve heard,” I chuckle, throwing his words back at him, intrigued to know what Caroline might have had to say to this man.
With brows pinched, he looks up and reels off, “Hardworking, rambunctious, and resilient.” He lists off the words, squinting as he wracks his brain for the contents of my personal file that likely came across his desk during orientation.
Thankfully, Caroline assured me that my sealed records about the shit that happened last time I was in Hells Haven wouldn’t be included in the transcripts she had put together. She may be certifiable on a good day, but she isn’t a liar.
“I was a scholarship kid too, so if you’re looking to earn a few extra pounds, I suggest signing up for my TA position. It guarantees you forty percent of your final grade, and I’m an easy-going boss, if I do say so myself.”
“What do you teach Mr…?” I ask meekly.
“Crane,” he offers, “but Edgar is fine. Folklore and amateur dramatics lend a casual feel to the syllabus here at Hells Haven.” He smiles, and I find myself relaxing in his presence. “We have a three-week interview period by the way, for the position,” he presses as I readjust my bag on my shoulder. “But you didn’t hear that from me,” he adds, winking conspiratorially.
I open my mouth to speak, but a nails-on-a-chalkboard giggle steals my attention. Whipping around, I see a statuesque girl poised to perfection with crystal blue eyes and curls of sandy coloured hair draped over her shoulders. Her prim and proper candy pink cardigan and matching pleated knee-length skirt ages her, but her flawless skin and student ID badge pinned to her breast pocket let me know she is studying here too. I look like Barbie’s evil emo sister standing here next to her, two complete opposites.
“Mr Crane, I’d like it noted I’ve put myself on your listof possible TA’s too.” She pouts as she strokes her palm down his lapel. Her sickly sweet comment is enough to give me a toothache. Winding a curl of hair around her manicured finger, I note the unmistakeable flair of arousal building between them.
“I believe we’ve spoken about the importance of personal space, Kaitlin,” he says kindly.
She bristles when he doesn’t jump to fall at her feet, exhaling sharply. Okay, so not arousal then, but rather calculation dressed as desire—she doesn’t want to bed our teacher, she wants to use her beauty as a weapon to get what she wants.
Manipulation at its finest.
If she wasn’t scowling at me with so much vitriol, as though I’m something disgusting she’s just stepped in, I’d applaud her. I’m not against women using what God gave them to get what they want, but there is a very good chance this girl will never be my friend, so fuck her and her attempts at stealing the job I’ve wanted for all of sixty seconds.
I give myself a cursory glance, wondering what it is that has this girl feeling all kinds of threatened as she bristles at my mere presence.
‘Well, it certainly isn’t our outfit. Not unless hapless and homeless are in this season.’
Theres a new level of brutality being mocked by your own mind.
“You wouldn’t want me to be sad, would you?” Kaitlin doesn’t even attempt to hide the honey-sweet lilt to her tone. Hats off to her ballsy-ness. I contemplate whether the word ballsy-ness is actually a word and get distractedfor a moment longer than I should as my brain tries to use it in a sentence. Her next cutting remark is aimed directly at me.
“Poor and desperate—not the best traits for a teaching aid.”
‘This bitch wants cutting.’And now all of my personalities are ready to teach little Miss Barbie some manners.
The urge to make her sad and watch her cry is a strong one, but I bite back the voice that likes to wreak havoc with what she considers thepopular crowd,the incident from senior year with the jelly and the lawn gnome a grave reminder that not all my ideas are good ones.
Fluttering her store-bought eyelashes, she leans over and sighs theatrically up at our teacher. Even with heels, she isn’t quite as tall as Mr Crane, but out of the three of us, I have certainly pulled the short straw—if she edged two inches to the left, I would disappear completely.
“I believe Miss Winters and I were having a conversation,” Mr Crane adds tersely, and she hits me with a cutting glare that tickles my skin as though she’s just slapped me full pelt in the face.
‘Well done. Three minutes on campus and you’ve already made an enemy.’My inner monologue chuckles at my expense.
If money and sexual suggestiveness are what are going to get me ahead here, I am shit out of luck. My skills are limited to making ramen noodles stretch to two meals, mixing a tequila sunrise cocktail, and knowing everything there is to know about this twisted town that would be more at home in a Stephen King novel. When your parents are tied to one of the worst mass cullings since the eighteenth-century witch trials, you realise knowingeverything there is to know about the town is probably just considered a family history deep dive. We don’t do holiday cards, we don’t celebrate Easter, but give us a mass religious reckoning—fuck yeah, that seems like our speed.
It helps to know what other secrets a town like this is trying to hide; it’s demoralising when you realise most of the secrets originate with some fucked up distant cousin who didn’t understand that murder wasn’t cool.
Gearing up for a fight, Kaitlin finds her second wind before I have a chance to delve into the craziness of my ancestors. “My father donated the new stage in the auditorium this summer break; I bet he’d love to see me excelling here. Ideserveto be considered,” the faux Regina George snaps tersely, her voice grating against my ears like the monotonous sharp chiming of a piano key being fingered relentlessly. She’s right about one thing: she deserves to be considered.
