by Claire Adams
I resisted the urge to tell her to wait a second, I just needed to find my violin. Instead, I nodded again, and clasped my hands together.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do it.”
She paused. “Now?”
“No, I don’t mean have sex right now. I’ve got a meeting I need to get to. But yeah. Let’s do this sex-for-extra-credit thing. Why the hell not? Wear something to the next class to let me know that you’re actually serious about doing this.”
The words flowed out of my mouth easily, as though this were something I was used to doing. Had done before. When in reality, the last time I’d gotten laid was a few months ago, when I’d agreed to meet up with Colette. Note to self: don’t meet up with ex-girlfriends you have no interest in getting back together with, especially if there is alcohol involved.
“What . . . what do you mean?” Tessa asked nervously.
“Oh, you’ll figure it out.” I waved my hand as though I was dismissing her, which, I supposed, I was. I did have that fucking meeting to get to, after all, and Shannon would give me a world of shit if I was late.
“Um, okay,” Tessa said. “Sure, I can do that.”
She left, and I got up to go to the meeting. I was entering dangerous territory here, I knew that, but I felt . . . alive. And I wasn’t just talking about my dick. Maybe it sounded pathetic, but this was the most exciting thing that had happened to me since I’d left the magazine, and the fact was, nothing had even happened yet. But there was the anticipation of doing something new, something I hadn’t done before—getting involved with a student. There would probably be all sorts of hell to pay if we were ever found out, but I didn’t care about that. I was feeling better than I had in a while. While I couldn’t say that my life suddenly felt as though it were imbued with new purpose, necessarily, there was at least something happening that I could look forward to. It made me feel like skipping through the campus. Which I didn’t, of course.
The meeting was being held in the humanities building, in Baker Hall, and I knew that I had a smile on my face as I walked into the room and took my place at the long table, right next to Carla.
“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Carla said.
“Things are fine,” I replied. “Can’t say I’m too excited about this meeting, though.”
“Does that mean you know what it’s about?”
“No, but I doubt it’s going to be anything that tantalizing.”
“Actually, it is.”
I turned as Shannon walked into the room. She was a statuesque blonde who was rumored to be a lesbian, though whether that was based on any actual evidence or if it was just because her whole persona sort of screamed “man-hater,” I wasn’t sure.
“Why don’t we all have a seat,” Shannon said, as she took a seat at the head of the table.
“Thanks for rescheduling the meeting,” I said.
“It seemed that several people had a conflict of interest with Friday evening,” she said. “Though Leo, I don’t recall getting your RSVP.”
“I did remind him,” Carla said.
“Anyway. I wanted to get the department together because we’re going to get the Benton Daily Journal up and running again.” She looked at me. “That was the college’s newspaper, in case you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t realize the college had a newspaper.”
“Well, we did, for years, and then after one of the professors who oversaw most of it retired, it sort of fell to the wayside. We’d like to change that, though, especially because the journalism program has seen a surge in enrollment. Providing an avenue for students to write, edit, and publish articles will be an invaluable resource. I am prepared to oversee the project, but I do expect some sort of commitment from everyone else, too.”
“What sort of commitment are you talking about?” Carla asked. She had a worried look on her face, which surprised me because this seemed like the sort of thing she’d be all over.
“It won’t be a huge time investment,” Shannon said. “Not unless you want it to be. Ideally, the students will take over many of the responsibilities. But I’d like the faculty to be there to provide guidance when needed. I’ll need someone to volunteer to act as editor-in-chief, at least for the time being. I expect that your students will be excited to hear about this, and will be eager to take part in it. Anyone is invited to submit work, though I suspect it’s going to be the English and journalism departments that will show the most interest. But, say, Carla—I know Seth previously took a journalism course. I’d hope that if he felt he had something worthy to contribute to the paper, he would do so, and perhaps even talk to his teammates about contributing something as well. Do you think that’s something you’d be willing to do, Carla? Act as our editor-in-chief until we’ve got a couple issues under our belt?”
Carla hesitated, which surprised me. Usually she was such a brown-noser.
“I’ve got an awful lot on my plate at the moment,” she said slowly. “I could do something but I don’t know if I can commit to—”
Shannon looked at me. “Why don’t you help, Leo?” she said. “You and Carla will have the final decision on what articles are published in this first issue.”
“Uh sure,” I said. “But can I just say I don’t necessarily see getting the first issue out by the end of this semester as completely feasible? I mean, once the thing’s going, it should run like clockwork, but getting it started again is going to take longer. I’m just not sure I see it happening by the end of this semester. Next semester, maybe.”
Shannon raised an eyebrow. “Are you not up to the challenge?”
“I’m not saying that at all. But I think it could require a little more time and planning than we’ve got right now if you want to have this done by the end of the semester.”
“I have all the faith in you and Carla,” Shannon said. “And don’t hesitate to ask your TA’s for assistance if you need it. That’s what they’re there for. Though I certainly want you and Carla to be the ones in charge of this for right now. Does that sound okay to you, Carla?”
Carla nodded. “Of course. And I assume some sort of credit will be given? For the students who submit work? I’m just not sure we’ll have enough submissions for the first issue if there’s not some sort of incentive given.”
“That’s up to the individual teachers, and the amount of work the student puts forth. Simply contributing an article for consideration should not necessarily merit credit, in my opinion. But again, I’m willing to leave that up to the teacher’s discretion. We’re going to see how it goes for the next few semesters, and then I’ll talk with the dean about adding specific courses, say, formatting and layout for newsprint, or editing for publication.” Shannon’s gaze landed on me again. “And Leo, considering your past experience, I hope you’ll be willing to impart some of your knowledge on the students; not just when it comes to deciding which articles are going to be published.”
I gave her a big shit eating grin. Oh, if she only knew what Tessa and I had just talked about. “I’d be more than happy to,” I said.
Chapter Seven
Tessa
Lindsey and I had a two-hour break in between classes, so we went out and got lunch at a Mediterranean place we both liked, so we could talk about whether or not I was actually going to sleep with a professor for a better grade.
“So,” she said, “do you think you’re really going to go through this whole thing with Leo?”
I took a sip of my water, which had a lemon slice floating on the top. The tartness made me wince. “I don’t know,” I said. “I keep going back and forth about it. It’s not really who I am. I’m not that sort of person.”
“He must actually like you,” Lindsey said, “because when I went and asked him about extra credit, he actually just told me to write something. Which I’m not doing. I don’t really need the extra credit. I’m satisfied with a B. I’d even be satisfied with a C+, to be totally honest. But he doesn’t know that. And he definit
ely did not suggest anything even remotely close to sex. So he must really like you.”
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“Of course he does. Why would he say no to me, but yes to you? Because he likes you.” She clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting!”
“It’s not exciting; I feel like a slut.”
“Have you done anything with him yet?”
“No.”
“Well, then, you’re not a slut. And even when you do do something with him, you’re still not a slut.”
“I’m not? Then what’s a slut? I mean, I’m basically whoring myself out for a better grade.”
Lindsey shrugged. “I think it’s hot. It’s not like he’s some nasty old man and this is the only way he could get laid. Leo is completely fuckable, and you’re going to get to do it. I would keep this a secret, though, if I were you, because if word gets out that he’ll sleep with his students, then—”
“He’ll get fired?”
“I was going to say that there will be girls—and some guys—lined up at his door, just begging him for an extra credit assignment.”
“I’m not going to say anything. Maybe it’s not even going to happen. He told me to wear something to the next class that would let him know I was still interested in doing it. What do you think that even means?”
Lindsey stared at me. “Seriously, Tess? You don’t know what that means?”
“I mean, I could take a guess or two. He wants me to dress slutty, right? Because what I’m doing is something that a slut would do.”
“Ugh, stop it. You’ve got to get the idea that you’re being a slut out of your head, okay? Otherwise, it’s just going to mess with you the whole time you’re doing this. And this is something that should be fun. You should be getting some enjoyment out of this. Don’t look at it like you’re letting some guy use you. You take control of the situation, okay? You do this for you. Let him think that he’s the one getting all the pleasure out of it, but you make it about you. You’re basically manipulating him to get what you want, which is a good grade.”
“But what if I do all this and he doesn’t give me a good grade? What if he’s just saying that he will so he gets what he wants, and then in the end, he still gives me a shitty grade?”
“Hmm.” Lindsey frowned; I could tell that she hadn’t considered this as a possibility until now. “Well, I don’t think he seems like he would do something like that.”
“You don’t even know him. And he basically propositioned me, so I think it seems like something he would definitely do.”
“Then you need insurance.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t know what insurance is?”
“Of course I know what insurance is! I just don’t know what that means for this specific instance! It’s not like I can call up my parents’ insurance company and ask them to include sleeping with my teacher on the policy!”
Lindsey after. “Ha ha, if only it worked that way! No, you’re right—you can’t do that, but you can do it another way. Write down everything that happens. Like an expose. Remember, we talked about those in class?”
“Yeah, but even if I do that, who’s to say that I didn’t just make it up?”
“Record yourself.”
“There’s no way I’m going to be able to set up my phone without him knowing.”
“Well . . . maybe not a video. But have the voice recorder on. I’m sure he’ll make some sort of vocal indication as to what you guys are doing. And who knows? Maybe another time you suggest that you guys make a video. I don’t think there’s any guy that would turn down getting to make a sex tape—it’s like every guy’s secret fantasy. Whether they’ll admit it or not. And then you’ll have all the evidence that you need.”
“Evidence that would show I was totally going along with it, too!”
“Of course, but he’s more in the wrong here. He’s the one who would get in trouble; not you. And this is only if he tries to back out on his end of the deal. This is just your insurance. You probably won’t even need to show anyone.”
I took another gulp of my water, this time enjoying the tartness, because at least it was a mild distraction to this conversation. But as I set my glass back down, I realized that this was my parents’ fault. Anything that happened now was at least indirectly related to them, because of how much pressure they were putting on me. I knew they’d be beyond pissed if they ever found out that I had done something like sleep with a professor, but I’d do everything I could to make sure that never happened.
Chapter Eight
Leo
I showed up to class early, walking into an empty classroom for maybe the first time ever. Even on the first day of class, there had already been a dozen students seated by the time I’d arrived. But now here I was, the place empty, and it seemed peaceful and calm, and maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to show up early more often.
No sooner did such a thought cross my mind than Kristin arrived.
“Oh,” she said as she walked into the classroom. “You’re here early.”
“Am I?” I tried to sound nonchalant, though the truth was, I was looking forward to this class more than I could ever remember looking forward to a class before. Usually, I was dashing into the classroom a few seconds before the official start, Kristin waiting like a patient dog for her harried owner, doing her dutiful duty of answering student questions and going over homework.
She ducked her head as she pulled her messenger bag strap off and over her shoulders.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But it’s nice to have a few minutes with you before they start pouring in.”
She dragged one of the chairs over next to me, and when she sat down, our legs were touching. I waited a second and then pulled mine back.
Last night, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about whether or not this was something that I should actually do. I knew this was something illicit, something that would be frowned upon, and yes, something that would potentially get me fired if word got out. Was this really something that I wanted to pursue? It was. Not because I couldn’t take a more traditional route to get laid (hell, all I had to do was text Colette and she’d be over at my place on her back in 10 seconds flat) but because this was giving my life the sort of excitement that had been sorely lacking since I’d been canned from the magazine.
If Tessa showed up today wearing something that would let me know she was still interested, I’d consider it the green light, full steam ahead. If she didn’t, then I’d just pretend like the whole thing had never happened. Hell, I’d even give her the fucking grade she wanted anyway; what did I care?
Kristin was talking to me, and I nodded every so often, gave a noncommittal grunt or hmmm every few seconds. I had no idea what she was saying. Kristin wanted to work in newspapers, or write a column, or have a blog article she wrote go viral, and I knew she viewed me as someone who had achieved what she hoped to.
“. . . very exciting, don’t you agree?” Kristin looked at me.
“Definitely,” I said, nodding vigorously. I knew if I waited a moment, she’d give some sort of clue as to whatever the hell it was she’d just been going on about.
“Though if I were the one in charge, I would change the name. Benton Daily Journal. That’s so . . . I don’t know. Unexciting. But that’s beside the point, for right now, anyway. I think it’s great that the school will finally have a newspaper again. I told Shannon I’d be willing to help you out in any way possible.”
“I’m sure she was thrilled to hear that.”
“She was.”
I was glad when students started filing in, not just because that meant Tessa would be arriving, but because Kristin and I could stop talking about the fucking school newspaper, which was already turning into a huge pain in my ass. I watched as the students came in. Tessa was usually one of the first, but I counted 12 students at their seats before I glanced over at the doorway and saw he
r there. I blinked, not certain for a moment that I could trust what my eyes were seeing.
Tessa appeared to be wearing leopard print leggings with a short black skirt over them. Every student in the classroom turned to watch her walk in, and she did so, with her head down, hurrying to her seat as quickly as possible. I realized as I watched her come in, though, it wasn’t a leotard, but one of those cycling skin suits, and about an inch of the shorts part of it was visible below the hemline of her skirt.
Kristin caught me looking but took it the wrong way. “What the hell is she wearing?” she muttered to me, barely concealing the roll of her eyes. “Is it dress like your favorite animal day and no one told me?”
“Must be,” I said, finally forcing myself to tear my eyes away from Tessa. Well. I wanted a sign that she was still interested in doing this—clearly, she was.
We spent the majority of class going over the reading they’d done, and I let Kristin lead the discussion, which we hadn’t discussed earlier, but I knew she liked to and this freed me up to pretend that I wasn’t looking over in Tessa’s direction. I noticed, though, that every other guy in the classroom was, too, some more than others. Tessa appeared to be trying to focus on whatever it was that Kristin was saying, but whenever she raised her hand to add something to the discussion, Kristin passed over her and called on someone else.
The third time this happened, Tessa put her hand down and looked right at me. I raised my eyebrows and gave her a tiny smile, but I didn’t do anything to stop Kristin. Kristin was in the zone now, anyway, and interrupting her would be akin to a scuba diver surfacing too quickly. If I were to interrupt this discussion she had going about the ethical responsibility a journalist had to her sources, she’d probably have some sort of breakdown, right there in the middle of class. But I let my gaze linger on Tessa while she watched me, just to let her know that I both approved and appreciated her choice of clothing.
At the end of class, Kristin assigned the next chapter in the textbook for homework, as well as a critical analysis of a feature article about the importance of the free lunch program in middle schools. I didn’t need to read the article to know that the importance of any school free lunch program is the fact that it is often the only meal that impoverished children can count on, and taking it away meant there were some that might go a whole day without an actual meal, whether it was because there was no money to afford food at home or the house was run by a single parent who was too busy out making minimum wage to be able to make sure the children ate anything more than peanut butter and toast.