Page 36 of Damaged Professor

“Oh no, a late class! Whatever are you going to do about that! I’m curious, do people keep track of that? Is someone going to have seen that I came in here, and then notice that your class is starting late?” Sara asks, mockingly. She juts out her lower lip, as though she thinks this is another trump card for her. As if she’s got an angle, and she’s digging for something. “I wonder if they’re going to put two and two together and start questioning your merit as a teacher. It would be such a shame, if people knew how you really got all those five star ratings.”

“Sara,” I tell her, slowly. I have to stop and take a breath, reminding myself that this needs to remain as professional as possible. Sara hasn’t outright used Abby’s name yet, meaning I have no reason to try and protest a relationship with her. She’s also not outright propositioned me, which means that I can’t take it to the school board as a complaint.

Professors have a fine line to walk. During my first year, I knew a young female teacher whose student offered to get her off after class, if she upped his grades. She filed an official complaint against him, and he was removed from the school. But the process was long and difficult and came with way too many hoops. Not to mention that it quickly became public knowledge, and she had to face accusing questions and assumptions from teachers and students for months afterwards.

I breathe out hard, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of my nose. “I need you to step outside of the classroom—”

It’s too late. The doors flung open and other students start to file in. Sara says, “What’s that about starting late? Are you going to clear out the whole room, Dylan?”

“Call me that again, and I’ll have you removed from the classroom,” I say, bluntly.

I might need to keep this professional, but that doesn’t mean that I need to put up with the way that she’s acting. In fact, I have to keep a firm grip of control on the situation, to ensure that it doesn’t spiral now that we have an audience.

Sara seems surprised that I would say something like that, her eyes going wide. She takes a step away from the desk, mouth opening.

I tell her, “Take your seat.”

“I’ll see you after class,” says Sara, like it’s supposed to make me roll over and agree.

“No,” I tell her. I clear my throat and then loudly announce, “Unfortunately, students, I’m going to be making this a half class. I’ve got a family matter to attend to and I need to be out of the classroom by noon, no later.”

Someone in the back asks, “Got a hot date?”

“A family matter,” I repeat. After that, I’m quick to redirect the conversation back onto the lesson that I have planned for the day. I don’t want my other students to suffer just because one childish girl is throwing a fit. These students pay a lot for a good lesson—the best—and that's what they deserve.

It looks like my original hopes of having this blow over on its own won’t be happening. I’m going to have to actually figure out a way to deal with this—and fast, before it ends up blowing up.

Chapter twenty-one

Abby

It’sneartheendof the week before Dylan and I get a chance to talk. We’ve agreed to meet at a neutral place for now. Sara lives across his street, I live next to other students and the college is a big no, no.

“I’m not going to ask how you got the keys for this place.” I tell him. It’s a bit further away from where I live, but this old, little bar is perfect. It opens after 5pm so we have plenty of time to talk.

There are about 6 tables in the main hall. I sit in the one furthest from the windows. Dylan flashes me an apologetic look as he locks the door. I nod, feeling the guilt start to burn in my belly. I want to go over and give him a passionate kiss but I hold back.

Dylan sits next to me and reaches over. He puts a hand on the curve of my knee. “It’s fine, Abby. You don’t need to be worried about it yet. She’s tried to come and spook both of us. She probably wants to boost her grades. Or to take down yours. I mean, you are the star of the class.”

“Or maybe she wants you.”

He thinks about it for a minute then shakes his head. “What happened in that spy movie you were telling me about, hmm? I’m sure that there were unforeseen obstacles in that, too.”

“It doesn’t really feel like a fun spy movie anymore,” I admit.

“What does it feel like now?” Dylan asks.

I pause, rolling the words around in my mouth.

He reaches up and brushes two fingers over my cheek. “Hey, come on. You can tell me what you’re thinking. I want to know. I want to be able to help.”

“It feels like I’ve ruined everything for you,” I say, finally. “I feel like I’m the one who insisted that we should keep seeing each other, and now this bitch is going around, and—and she could ruin your whole career!”

“First off, even if you hadn’t made a sexy pass at me in your attempt to make this relationship—or whatever you want to call it—work, I wouldn’t have been able to just let you go. So your insistence is not the ruin of anything. Except maybe my lonely heart.” Dylan gazes deeply into me with his piercing brown eyes and devilish smile. “And Sara hasn’t gone to anyone about us,” he adds. “Because she doesn’t have any proof. And if she takes pictures of us, that’s not going to look good for her, either. She’s in a bad spot.”

His words cut the edge off the worry and his smile eases the tightness in my chest a little, but it’s not gone. “I feel like that’s not true,” I tell him, with a sigh. “I feel like we’re the only ones in a bad spot.”

“I’m not saying that Sara isn’t going to be a pain in our asses.” says Dylan. It sounds like he rehearsed this speech, and he knows exactly what to tell me. “But I know we can figure it out. And like I said, to me, you are worth figuring it out! Abby, so far she’s done nothing but test the waters. If it goes further than that, we might have a problem to deal with. But right now, we don’t have to deal with anything more than a couple of nasty looks.”

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