Deadly Lessons. David Russell W.

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      “Why did she come forward now?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Did you have a disagreement? A fight?”

      “This is totally out of the blue. I just don’t understand it. I always got along really well with her, and suddenly she hits me with this. It’s incredible.” He got up and began to pace around the room. “It’s like some kind of vendetta. The thing is, I don’t know what I did to get her so mad at me.”

      “Well, Carl, in situations like this, it’s not uncommon for a student to suddenly turn against a teacher. Something suddenly makes them feel like they’ve got to take action.”

      “But why? She’d never given any indication anything was wrong.”

      “She’s young. She’s taken in by a good-looking teacher. She feels strong, important. Who knows what other things are going on in her life? This could just have been the final straw, and she feels like she wants to get back at someone.”

      “Biology is the final straw in a kid’s life? My class isn’t that bad.”

      I sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to know. “Carl,” I asked, “how long have you been, umm . . . with the student?”

      “Forever. She’s in my Biology Twelve class, but I’ve had her since she was in my Grade Nine science class.”

      “And you’ve been, umm, ‘together’ all that time?”

      “What do you mean?”

      He wasn’t going to make this easy. “You’ve been sleeping with her since she was in the ninth grade?”

      “Jesus, Win!” he exploded, leaping to his feet and turning to face me head on for the first time. “What kind of an animal do you think I am?”

      I was shocked. “Calm down, Carl. I’m just trying to figure out . . .”

      “Shit! I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I came to you because I thought you were my friend!”

      “I am your friend. I’m trying to help you.”

      “You think I’d sleep with a kid—fourteen-year-old kid in Grade Nine! I can’t believe this!”

      “Carl, for God’s sake, would you lower your voice! Just sit down and listen for a minute!” For a brief moment we stared each other down. “Sit down. Now.”

      He dropped back into the chair, his hostility still bubbling at the surface. “I’m sorry, Win. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to you with this. I didn’t know where else to go. But if you think I would do that . . .”

      “Would you just listen to me?” I told him. “I’m just trying to get the facts. Stop getting all indignant. Whether the kid’s in Grade Nine or Twelve it doesn’t really matter. Sleeping with a student is the problem. Not her age.”

      “What? What the hell are you talking about?” He looked genuinely confused.

      “I’m saying that whether or not this relationship has been going on for three years or it just started, the charge is equally serious.”

      “Jesus, Win, you don’t get it. I haven’t been sleeping with her since Grade Nine or since yesterday, for that matter.”

      “What?” It was my turn to be confused by his story.

      He just shook his head. “Don’t you see? That’s why I’m so angry and confused. It’s not true. She’s making it up. That’s why I came to see you. She’s making the whole thing up.”

      “Oh,” I replied somewhat sheepishly. “That sort of changes things.”

       Three

      Suddenly it felt very hot in the classroom. It was November and it was sunny, which in Vancouver is a rarity. Some people—and by people I mean kids—had actually complained during the morning’s classes that it was too bright in the room.

      “What are you, vampires or something?” I had asked. In my Communications class, there were a couple of students who looked like they just might be. “I’ll consider closing the blinds in June, if and only if there has been more than five consecutive days of sunshine.” Did I mention how sensitive I can be?

      Generally, when it’s sunny in November in Vancouver, it’s also cold; that sharp, crisp cold that tingles the senses on your face and makes you want to go skiing. Indoors, however, with the sun shining through a classroom wall full of windows, insulated by heavy layers of dust and dirt on the insides and outsides of the panes, November sun has a way of turning aging classrooms into saunas.

      Carl was eyeing me with a look that wavered between incredulity and genuine hurt. I felt like a shite, a term my dad frequently used when he caught me doing something worthy of punishment, which was often. “I thought you knew me better than that,” he said quietly, finally calming down enough for polite conversational tones.

      “I’m sorry,” I told him. “When you said the student was going to report a sexual relationship, I guess I just assumed the problem was the reporting of the relationship, not that there had ever been one.”

      “Well, you thought wrong.”

      “I know. I’m sorry. Why don’t we start over, and you tell me everything. Right from the beginning.” There was the fourth awkward silence of this lunch period, and I could practically hear Carl trying to decide whether to continue. “I may be all you’ve got,” I told him.

      “Okay,” he finally said. “You’re right. I don’t know what to do.” With a sigh, he stood up and slowly paced the front of the classroom, settling eventually on a spot in the centre of the room with his backside up against the chalkboard ledge to address his class of one. It was a position I had yet to master without covering my pants and the back of my shirt with chalk dust; limited janitorial budgets apparently meant chalk board ledges were never cleaned without enlisting the labour of a student on a detention.

      “Can I tell you the student’s name now?”

      “Yes.”

      “Her name is Tricia Bellamy. Trish, she likes to be called. Like I said, this is the fourth year I’ve had in her my science classes. Sometimes it can be a bad thing having the same teacher throughout a kid’s high school career. I’ve had kids transferred to other classes just because they’ve had me too many times. But I always got along really well with Trish. She’s been a good student, good sense of humour. I’ve never had any problems with her, so I thought it would be fine for her to take Biology with me. Do you know her?”

      “No. She’s not in either of my law classes.”

      “No, I guess she wouldn’t be. I don’t think the humanities are her thing. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been really into sciences. I’m sure she’s told me she wants to go straight into sciences next year at university. Pre-med, I think. And I know she could do it. She’s very, very bright.”

      “Has СКАЧАТЬ