Teacher's Pet

Jackson shuffled the papers in front of him into one large, neat stack. Then he began perusing the first one, his hand reaching for a red pen.

"How can you stand looking at these quotes every day?" I asked.

Jackson didn't even look up. "The students like them," he said.

I paced to the narrow, lancet window and back. My students were taught to research the full motivational quip and read the quote in context. I wondered what would happen if my students did that with Jackson's literary gems.

"You know, you could put all that nervous energy to good use," Jackson said.

Clarity's image jumped to mind, her long arms bare in the formal dress. "What? What do you mean?"

He looked up and gave a dry laugh. "Obviously not what you were thinking about. I just thought you could run down the hall and get us some coffee. Make yours a decaf."

"Very funny," I said. Then I whirled around and hammered both hands onto the end of the tables. "How can this not bother you?"

"I don't know. I think it's disgusting, but people of privilege have always secured the education of their offspring no matter if they are deserving or not," Jackson said.

I growled. "It's obvious corruption. It drags down the student population. What if you have Junior in your class and the only thing he can contribute is juvenile heckling?"

"Then I follow protocol," Jackson leaned back in his chair. "Once this kid is at Landsman, his father won't be able to save him from academic probation."

I stalked around the long tables but stopped before I left the classroom. "Dean Dunkirk isn't totally innocent, but he doesn't deserve to be used just to get some unmotivated student into a good school," I said.

Jackson hooked his hands behind his head and leaned back farther. "Can you imagine what it must be like to be Junior? Being an unmotivated student is the least of his worries. Living the rest of your adult life knowing that daddy had to buy your place in college is going to leave some damage. Ugh, and imagine if his peer group found out."

"Are you done feeling sorry for this over-privileged, spoiled, and most likely uncaring kid?" I snapped.

"You want me to worry about Dean Dunkirk," Jackson said. He loosened his hands and sat up. "I do feel bad for the guy. He's between the figurative rock and hard place."

"I am literally going to punch you," I said.

"That's not the right usage," Jackson said. He faked a flinch before I even moved. "So, when are you going to tell me what's really bothering you about all of this?" he asked.

I unclenched my fists and let my hands drop to my sides. "What do you mean? You know exactly why casual corruption like this bothers me." I yanked out a chair and threw myself in it.

"You don't have to get involved," Jackson advised.

I glowered at him. "Macken's got my termination letter all ready to go, so what's the point of playing it safe?" I asked.

"You could keep your job. She can't just fire you without her decision getting reviewed. I, for one, would be willing to stand up and admit you're a good professor."

The air rushed out of me. "Thanks." I slumped in my chair and drummed my fingers on the dark polished table. "I just think this is a story that's worth pursuing. And what kind of newspaper editor and example would I be if I didn't pursue it? I am trying to inspire future journalists, right?"

"Future journalists or just one?" Jackson asked.

His question was like the shadow of a shark in the waters of our conversation. I froze and willed my heart rate to slow back down. "What do you mean?" I asked.

Jackson laughed and gathered up his papers. "Nothing, I don't mean anything. I mean, what could I, one of your best and only friends, know about your behavior?" Jackson stood up and swung his leather messenger bag onto his shoulder. "What could I, as a newly married and madly in love man, possibly know about the way you are acting?"

I stood up and shoved my chair back into place. "I'm just trying to help," I snapped.

"Couldn't you just be a confidential source? Isn't it enough that you're helping Clarity connect the dots? Let her get all the glory and keep your job. I'd call that a win-win," Jackson said.

I followed him to the door and slapped the lights off. "That doesn't feel good enough. I want to do more; I feel like I should."

Jackson paused in the hallway, trapping me in the classroom door. "The dean's a nice man, and he cooks a tasty turkey. I guess those count as good reasons."

I rubbed the back of my neck and groaned. "Fine. I feel like I'm already involved, and I want to help because of that. And I'm not doing it for the dean. His turkey wasn't that good."