“This phenomenon is more than merely enjoying someone’s suffering. It’s the satisfaction of witnessing their pain as they realize just how powerless they are.”
I turn back to the class, soaking in their slightly glazed expressions as they try to process what I’ve just said. Theimplications, not just for themselves…but for every person they’ve ever come into contact with.
Some of them don’t even jump when I clap my hands together to signal the end of the lesson.
I love it when my students leave class with thousand-yard stares on their faces.
There’s some goddamn schadenfreude right there.
“You guys ready for midterms?” I get the usual grumbled responses, except for Parker, who’s staring at me like she’s thinking up imaginative ways for me to be served some kind of karmic justice. Which she will then inevitably claim she didn’t enjoy. That it just ‘had to be done.’
“Good news. No test, no quiz.AndI’m giving you a head start. I want a thousand-word essay about schadenfreude. Put a few past events from your life under the microscope. Guaranteed, if you look hard enough at the skeletons in your closet, you’ll find a bone or two to pick with someone.”
Students trail out of my class looking several shades more depressed than when they walked in.
Still got it.
I head over to the TA’s desk, forcing myself not to rush as I pack my things away. Something Kai would do for me if he hadn’t eloped with his fucking train wreck of a girlfriend.
“Are all your lectures like this?” Deputy Thatcher asks as he comes to stand at my side, as if we’reequals. His crow’s feet deepen as he turns his brown eyes to the board, frowning a little harder at each word as he recites them. “Schadenfreude. Pain. Pleasure. Cruelty. Little heavy for a Thursday morning.”
I quirk a tiny smile. “If I don’t prepare them for what’s out there, could I really call myself a teacher?”
“Oh, I’m all for real-world education.” Thatcher chuckles. “Just not sure this is appropriate.”
“Young minds have terrific potential. It’s a travesty to coddle them.”
He glances back at the board, allowing me to study him as he toys with the edges of his name badge like he’s making sure it’s still straight.
Brown neatly trimmed hair. Slightly messy, no doubt from taking off his hat. Carefully pressed uniform. Shoes shined. Handsome, but so fucking reserved I’d bet good money he’s celibate by choice. Probably waiting for marriage, like a pastor’s son. Judging from the lack of a wedding ring, I’ll bet good money he’s scouring the church pews for ‘the one’ every Sunday.
My eyes go to the bulge in his shirt pocket where he keeps his little black book and that damn pencil.
I wonder if it’s going to make an appearance?
When my eyes snap back to his, he’s watching me. The instant our gazes lock, he gives me a faintly bemused smile.
“Isn’t this a college-level class?”
I just stare at him. Because what in the actual fuck?
He chuckles again, a sound I now loathe. “No offense. It’s just that I remember covering schadenfreude in my high school psych class. Did you know the Japanese have a saying, ‘The misfortunes of others taste like honey’?”
His disarming laugh is anything but.
What, suddenly we’re friends?
“What am I saying? A professor with a master’s in philosophy, psychology, and anthropology knows a hell of a lot more than I do.” He waves a dismissive hand toward the board and then shrugs. “I’m just surprised it’s part of your curriculum. Then again, Cinderhart High is a prep school in everything but name.”
I shove my laptop harder into its slot in my satchel than is strictly required, turning to face Thatcher with a stony face. Which is surely a better than a scowl.
“Was there something you needed from me, Off—” I swallow down a growl of irritation. “Deputy?”
He’s back to staring at the board with a bemused frown.
“Mm? Oh, yes. I was actually hoping to find Miss Lee in your class today.”
You and me both, pal.
