Page 39 of Lesson Learned

The rest of the lesson passes too quickly, speeding towards lunchtime and the no-contact period I have after. Just before class ends, someone calls to Marnie, and she leans back, leaving me with a clear view straight to Paisley.

She stares in my direction and my heart jumps to think she might look at me as often as I’m looking at her, Marnie blocking from both sides. Then my eyes widen. She’s wearing the dress and cardigan she took from my ex’s wardrobe.

Our eyes lock and the same energy I felt that first night recurs, this time at double, triple, the volume.

Her mouth curves in a tiny smile and I see a flash of white as she bites her plump lower lip, teasing it for a split second before she tucks her teeth away.

Then Marnie leans back, and she’s obscured again. I don’t get another glance at her until she peeps over her shoulder on the way out of class.

She’s wearing my ex-wife’s dress. What does it mean?

Is it a subliminal message? An invitation she expects me to respond to? Or is it just a signal that her wardrobe’s severely lacking?

I leave soon after, heading for the staff room. I grab a coffee and take a seat near the window, closing my eyes for a moment, letting my mind wander.

My fingers itch to lift Paisley’s hem and discover the treats waiting under those giant pastel flowers. To lean her over a desk and show her what rewards are in store for the teacher’s pet.

“Ivan?”

If Paisley were flunking class, I could make an offer of help. Extra tutelage, regular appointments to chart her improvement.

For a moment, I let that dream scenario play out. The things I could do in fifty minutes of alone time in my office. The sounds I could wring from her throat.

“Ivan?”

There’s a light touch on my shoulder and I jump, letting out an embarrassed laugh as my head of department—Ashleigh Neeves, ten years my senior and so enthusiastic she makes me anxious—looms above me, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Sorry, what was that?” I wipe a hand over my face, my head immediately drifting again.

“We’ve got a potential problem among our senior students,” she repeats, taking the seat opposite me, then pulling it so close our knees almost touch. “I’ve already spoken with Gregory”—the other English teacher for the seniors—“and we agree pupils are turning in work they haven’t written themselves.”

I nod, waiting for a claim that matches to her worried expression but apparently that’s it.

Not exactly a revelation. Rich kids learn in the crib they can buy anything, including passing grades.

“Right,” I say, frowning, wondering how much importance Kingswood itself places on this issue. Could this be a hazing ritual for the new teacher? If Gregory had been the one to approach me, I’d think that, but Ashleigh appears so earnest, she might be genuine. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she says, her hand reaching out to touch my knee. “When I spoke to Gregory, he thought expelling the troublemaker will go some way to correcting the damage. What do you think the solution should be?”

“Expulsion?” A seed of panic takes root in my chest. “Surely, that’s too aggressive. After all, what evidence are we talking about?”

“The same software program we use for plagiarism can be set to check for common patterns, word use, things like that. Gregory wants to run every paper submitted so far this year through the checker, then act against any students found responsible.”

I rub above my eyebrow where the muscle wants to twitch, trying to head it off at the pass. Her hand is still on my knee, and I let mine rest nearby, wondering if I should draw attention to the continued contact, embarrass her over it, exploit it, or let it go.

“Do you have any suspects?” I meet her gaze again with a smile, leaning closer and watching her do the same in return. “I can’t believe any student in my class would do such a thing.”

“It would be wrong to point fingers without evidence,” she breathes.

“And I take it, we’d be reviewing anything the computer spits out? Given the severity of the proposed punishment, I’m not happy to trust AI.”

“Of course.”

“If any pupils are in my classes, I’d also like to be the one to decide the punishment. Does that seem fair?”

She’s now leaning so far forward her breasts are on display through the top two undone buttons of her blouse. “I’d agree to that. With input from me and Gregory.”

“Okay.” I ease back a little. “I also think we should treat the senior classes like the adults they are and talk to them openly about suspected cheating. Give them a chance to come clean or to stop their behaviour.”

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