002

"Taylor, you plagiarized. You were caught. You lied about it and were caught in that too. If you persist in this behavior, I'm going to have to send you to the office. I believe next time you'll be up for a Saturday class. Now you can take your seat and let me get on with the class, or... see you tomorrow for the Saturday class."

It wasn't the most productive punishment, reminiscent of the Breakfast Club tradition of locking up a bunch of angry and unruly kids in a room for Super Detention, but it was five hours of easy money for me. I mostly got to sit back and grade, plan, and do the work I would be doing anyway. Every so often, I looked up to nudge them awake or keep them off their devices. I doubted it had any corrective effect as the students already had enough tedium during the week, but Principal Horen believed in it, and I wasn't so opposed that I was unwilling to cash in.

There was a tense moment with a truly malevolent glare, and she drew it out long enough that I began to think she might force my hand. Finally, as I snapped my laptop shut and reached for the pad of referral slips on my desk, she growled in bestial aggravation and stalked to her seat. Her matching dress-code-defying skirt twitched with each stride so violently that anyone looking could see the color of her underwear.

Red. It was red. So very red.

With that image as far towards the back of my mind as I could push it, I began the class.

Taylor Stern was, without a doubt, the biggest challenge I faced in my three years of teaching. While there were other disciplinary problems that were easier to empathize with, such as students with absentee parents or substance abuse in their households, Taylor was different. She possessed a special combination of laziness, disaffection, and self-righteousness that made her difficult to connect with. Despite this, her other teachers had informed me that she had the potential to be a straight-A student if she applied herself.

However, my subconscious wondered if there were any hotter students, although it was not something we were supposed to take notice of. With Taylor, it did not take much for her to become a distraction, as she often flaunted herself like a trophy in a display case. While I, like many of my colleagues, had issues with the school's dress code policy, which punished female students for male failings, most of us chose to ignore it. This, however, only seemed to make the policy more of a game to Taylor, who frequently tested how much of a distraction she could become.

Today's display was nothing out of the ordinary, although it was above average. Taylor had even friended me on F******k, despite her obvious contempt for me. While I didn't understand why she did so, I chose not to block her, as I didn't want to risk being accused of favoritism. Even if it meant being bombarded with her bikini pics.

In my classroom, there was no seating code, so students were free to choose where they wanted to sit, be it on the windowsill, floor, or even at my desk. However, there was one student, Taylor, who I had to physically remove from the stool at the front of the class a couple of months ago. Her short skirt was exposing her underwear to the entire class. Despite my actions, Taylor would repeatedly complain, asking why I made her move. She challenged me to admit that I had noticed her exposed underwear in front of everyone, which was impossible for me to do. If I did, it would be the end of the matter, and I would be labeled a lecherous pervert. It was evident that other students had also noticed, but no one wanted to admit it. Taylor's behavior made it challenging for me to establish any authority in the classroom. To this day, I still do not understand why she behaved that way, what motivates her, or if she had any underlying psychological issues.

At that point, the war would be over, my waving flag as white as the panties she had worn that day. None of these insecure kids were going to take my side and admit they had been looking too, had had no choice but to look considering how flagrant she had been about it. That meant her feigned outrage would paint me as a lecherous pervert rather than conveying the truth, that she was a shameless flirt. Or maybe an exhibitionist. Truth be told, I had no idea what she got out of it all or what psychological issues fed into her behavior. I doubted I ever would.

In any event, I did my best with her, engaged her in the lesson when I could, and minimized her disruption to the class when I couldn't. She was a chore to deal with and a tragic waste of potential, but if she kept doing the minimum to scrape by, I wasn't going to ruin her future by getting her suspended over and over until she got expelled simply because she enjoyed causing a scene and flaunting a set of objectively breathtaking teenage breasts. So even if she got on my nerves to no end, I put up with it. She got her daily warning, and we both moved on. Soon she would graduate, or not, and I could go back to dreading the presence of her younger sister in my senior English class next year.

 My department head swore that Abbie was twice the handful Taylor was. From what I'd seen in the halls, I could attest that this was absolutely true, at least in a literal sense.

Today, however, Taylor decided that the warning wasn't enough. With twenty minutes to go in the sixth period, a little pink plastic egg flew through the air and bounced off Jesse's left temple. As if I couldn't have immediately guessed who would be inconsiderate enough to throw a container of lip balm across the room -- inaccurately, no less -- Kate hustled over and scooped it up from where it had rolled to. "Thanks, Tay!"

"No prob, bae," answered Taylor. When she saw my expression, she looked up, annoyed. "What's your problem?"

I ignored her. "Jesse, are you OK?"

"Yeah. It stings." He caught Taylor's reproving glare. "It's fine, though," he amended.

"Kate, hand it over." I walked over and held out my hand. Kate looked to Taylor, but her loyalty to her benefactor was quickly outmatched by her fear of her instructor. "I'm sorry!" she mouthed as she handed me the ovoid chapstick.

"Taylor, to the office. Now." Anyone else might have gotten a lecture on why throwing things around in a room full of distracted people was dangerous, why copping an attitude about it was the wrong way to respond, but Taylor had heard it all before.

Her referral was waiting for her by the time she packed up her things and made her way to the classroom door. She stopped, however, to hold out her hand expectantly. "Give it back."

"No. We'll discuss it later. Now go."