“Rachel, I’ve noticed you’re struggling in the class,” he said.
“I guess so,” I said quietly, hanging my head.
“Is there anything in particular that you’re having trouble with?” Mr. Pritchett asked.
Yeah, everything.
“I don’t know.”
“I’d like to try to help you, Rachel,” he said, “but I feel like you’re not trying yourself. I hate to tell you this, but if you don’t bring up your grades significantly, I… I’m going to have to fail you.”
I had never failed a class before in my life. As much as I tried to stop them, a minute later, I had tears streaming down my face. Mr. Pritchett, looking very uncomfortable, patted my shoulder in a lame “there, there” gesture. It wasn’t enough. I collapsed against his desk, sobbing into my hands. His arms slid around my shoulders and then…
Later on, Mr. Pritchett tried to say that I initiated the kiss. But that’s total bullshit. After all, I was just a shy, innocent young girl. In any case, Mr. Pritchett couldn’t argue that I added some excitement to his gray little life. After all, how many other short, balding, middle-aged teachers got to make it on their desk with nubile sixteen-year-old girls?
Before Mr. Pritchett, I had never even kissed a boy before. I had a few very mild crushes on boys, but nothing to write home about. There were times when I thought I might be a lesbian, although I realized I didn’t have much interest in girls either. But my relationship with Mr. Pritchett was never about love—I never had an ounce of feelings for him, aside from perhaps pity and disgust. Physically, he was repugnant. He had a beer belly, he was sweatyeverywhere, and he was covered in a thick layer of graying hair. When he was inside me, there were a few moments when I was so disgusted, I thought I might vomit.
But I did what I had to do. I couldn’t fail trig. My next exam came back with an A circled on the top, even though most of the answers were still wrong.
I wish I could say that was the last time I slept with a teacher for a grade, but it wasn’t. Once I did it and got away with it, it was hard to stop. You’d think most professors would be protective of their reputations and their marriages, but it’s scary how easy it is to seduce them.
Some of them know my game right from the start—that’s the easiest. But some of them think that I really like them, that I honestly havefeelingsfor them. One or two pathetic losers even cried when I threatened to turn them in. But eventually, every single one of them gave me what I wanted.
And so will Dr. Matthew Conlon, even though he doesn’t know it yet.
34
I failedmy first anatomy exam. Unless some miracle occurred, there’s no way that I passed.
Heather is also certain that she failed. She is moping around our apartment, half in tears.
“I studiedsohard,” she keeps saying. “I must just be an idiot.”
Heather definitely isn’t the brightest penny in the fountain. Frankly, she’d probably benefit from offering a few professors some action on the side. But no, she’d never do it. She’s not that type of girl.
“Maybe you should go take a shower?” I suggest because I can’t stand it another minute. And I know Heather loves showering. She takes at least two or three of them every day.
“Yeah…” she mumbles. And then, thankfully, she disappears into the bathroom.
Of course, the second the shower turns on in the bathroom, someone knocks on the door. I try to ignore it, figuring it can’t be anyone for me, but the knocker is too persistent. Finally, I trudge over to the door and throw it open. It’s Abe—big surprise.
“Oh, hey, Rachel,” he says. “Is Heather home?”
Abe has the biggest crush in the world on Heather. Everyone knows it except her. He follows her around school like an extremely large puppy dog, saving her every time she needs it (which is all the freaking time). Abe seems like a nice enough guy, but the way he acts around Heather seriously gets on my nerves.
“She’s in the shower,” I tell him.
“Oh,” Abe says.
He doesn’t move. Am I supposed to invite him inside? I really don’t want to. Why can’t they go to Abe’s room to study instead of hanging out here all the time? (I suspect the answer to that question is that Abe and Mason’s apartment is a pigsty.)
“Listen,” I say to Abe. “You know that Heather has a boyfriend, right?”
His cheeks color. “Yeah, I know that.”
And then I add, for good measure, “And even if she didn’t, you wouldn’t have a chance.”
Abe stares at me like I just punched him in the face. He lowers his eyes and mumbles, “Yeah, I know. Of course. I mean, I’d never think that…” He clears his throat. “Um, I’m going to go. You can… maybe just tell Heather I stopped by.”
