Page 7 of Bad Teacher

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“Done?” Violet asked, taking a look at the worksheets she’d handed Marcelle a half an hour prior. She needed an idea of how bad the situation was, and to discover her strengths and weaknesses.

Marcelle sucked in a breath of air, then let it out, visibly bored. “There.”

Violet took the paper from her hand and glanced at it. Marcelle did well in math and other subjects. Her main areas needing improvement were writing, reading and literature. In fact, she’d asked her a few open questions in French that Marcelle hadn’t bother to reply. “Did you understand these questions?” She pointed at the ones with blank response.

Marcelle nodded.

“Did you need more time? I could have given you—”

“No. I don’t want to do this.”

Neither do I. Violet ran her fingers through her hair. They were in their third session within a week, and Marcelle hadn’t made much progress. At times, it was like she self-sabotaged herself, choosing not to answer questions or anything remotely personal. Did she even know what she was doing? Violet’s heart squeezed. The girl was tall for her age, and her long dark-blonde hair made her look older and more secure, but in reality, Marcelle was only ten years old. “You know, hmmm, what else do you want to do?”

“Play Minecraft.”

Minecraft. Her daughter was a fan of the game, so she quickly understood the reference. “Then let’s do it. Let’s have a break and play Minecraft.”

The girl’s green eyes widened, and a twinge of surprise flickered on them. “Are you for real?”

“Yes.” She’d seen her put her iPad away when she arrived, so she reached for it. “My daughter likes playing even though she’s younger than you.”

For the first time since she’d seen her, Marcelle smiled.

Violet’s shoulders dropped a notch and her chest expanded. Also for the first time, she felt like she was doing something right. Realization dawned on her. Maybe if she found a way to become close to Marcelle, she’d trust her enough to learn from her. Or do her lessons.

She had to. After all, soon the principal would return from his one-week vacation, and she’d have to tell him face-to-face that she hadn’t expelled the bad apple. Not only that, she was now personally tutoring the girl for money—maybe that last bit she’d keep to herself.

“Do you have any fun avatars?” she asked, recollecting a conversation Amanda had with Libby, her soon-to-be stepsister, about how to earn and buy skins and avatars. Never did Violet think that knowledge would come handy.

“This is my latest one,” Marcelle said, her voice softening. Violet leaned closer, and during the next ten minutes, watched her walk her avatar through a world made of blocks. A world Marcelle had built from the ground up, and where she could control her destiny.

Wouldn’t we all love to live in that world? Violet encouraged her, using her knowledge to show Marcelle she wanted to do anything with her, even if that meant playing. “Nice. I like it.”

“Let me show you my weapons,” she said, swiping her finger on the screen and opening another window where different kinds of armory and guns came to view.

For the next several moments, Marcelle played, showing Violet her progress.

“Good job, Marcelle,” she said when Marcelle took down another player from the enemy trenches.

“Not sure I can say the same about you,” said an accented French voice not too far from her.

A bucket of glacial water spilled into her bloodstream. The surprise shook her, not because she’d been doing anything wrong, but as she turned to face Theo, the look of disappointment in his eyes twisted a knife into her gut. She’d seen that look one too many times from her mother, whenever she tried to bring up her fucked-up childhood. Or her biological father, may he burn in hell.

“I need to have a word with you, Violet,” he said, his voice demanding. “In my office.”

“Sure.” She swallowed, and glanced at Marcelle. “Keep on playing.”

Maybe he was pissed at her because he didn’t want her to use electronics while she was with his daughter—she understood that. Why did he give her a long once over, his eyes darkening, and making every fiber of her sizzle with awareness?

None of this made sense.

She followed him into his office and closed the door behind her. The air thickened, like an invisible balloon inflated the otherwise airy space, making it hard to breathe. She struggled between shame for being caught playing and a flare of anger. Anger at herself for having a hard time dragging her gaze away from his.

“Well?” she asked, smoothing her hand over her shirt. “Is this when you fire me?” She stepped forward.

He looked at her quietly, casually leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “My daughter is failing at school. Is that why you’re playing videogames with her? You want to show me I was wrong into asking you—”

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