Teaching Her A Lesson Pt 30

Part Thirty: Distribution of Diplomas

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the graduating class of 2020!"

There was no applause. Into the silence, someone made a fart noise blowing into their palms. I was pretty sure it was Justin.

On stage, Principal Horen glowered in the direction of the disturbance, then resumed. "So then, everyone will applaud, you'll stand up, we'll allow a moment to smile at where your family is sitting so they can get a picture, then begin ushering out. It will follow the same order as the procession to stage; just turn the opposite direction. We'll lead you back out across the lot to the fieldhouse, where we'll distribute actual diplomas. There will be four tables..."

Mrs. Horen rattled off details to her disaffected crowd. The graduation rehearsal, a formality to reduce the chance of anyone making a fool of themselves during the ceremony, was always like this. It was attended by seniors who were burned out and way past ready to be done and gone. Any fondness they harbored for their four years at GHS was wrapped up in the people around them, not this ritual of academia. If we had some quality speakers this year who knew how to stoke the fires of those connections, they'd warm to it, but for now, they were simultaneously tense yet bored. This, they tolerated solely because they were inured to regulated tedium.

I'd volunteered to be a graduation usher a couple times in the past, but today, I was merely another spectator. Like a lot of teachers, I was in the auditorium for the rehearsal ceremony simply to have one last opportunity to see all of them in one place one last time. In a little while they would line up, proceed out to the football field, and commence the austere festivities.

I stood towards the back of the auditorium in a dimly lit nook. In a year that had been so fraught with my own drama, particularly of late, it was good to have time to see my students -- former students -- here in school again. Some I hadn't taught in years, sophomores who'd taken speech and dodged my classroom in junior and senior English. Others, I'd seen only Thursday while I'd been forcing a blearly smile from a heart dulled by Serenex. Fresh faces or students whose names were already beginning to slip from memory, our time together was at an end. All we had now was history.

As we waited for the go-ahead to mobilize, students shuffled over to say farewell, exchange handshakes or hugs, invite me to their open houses to celebrate their graduation, or, in Justin's case, to make a hushed word of gratitude for not flunking him.

"

You

didn't flunk you, Justin. I had nothing to do with it." He'd finished with a D+, as I recalled, but still, fail or flourish, it was my go-to line. In any case, it was better than Taylor had managed.

He glanced around. "Oh, and hey, about that thing..."

"I really don't want to talk about--"

"Nah, nobody's listening, C-dawg." True, we had a little space around us; the presence of others had nothing to do with my disinterest in discussing the topic, however. "I wanted to say thanks for being cool about it." I gritted my teeth. Still, there was enough background noise that it was safe enough so long as nobody came closer.

"I wish I could say the same," I said dryly.

He chuckled, grinning that irritating Justin grin of his. Lord, how I couldn't wait to never see that again. "Come on, buddy, relax. I was just busting your balls a little. Only not with my mouth this time."

My hands clenched.

"Look, I'm just joshing you, man!" he protested, slapping me on the arm. Like the reminder of what had happened between us, the slap was harsher than I was comfortable with. "Don't hold it against Taylor, though. She was only trying to do me a solid. Not easy to figure out if you're gay or bi or whatever without nobody finding out about it."

Much as I was inclined to be flippant with the little prick, especially now that I wasn't his teacher any more, his words engendered just enough sympathy that I held my tongue until I could compose something less snarky to say. "And the verdict?"

"You hitting on me, C-dawg? You're not my type, brah!" This time, his voice carried plenty loud, as did the ensuing guffaws. He lacked the fans he'd cultivated in my class; the only students near enough to overhear him glared at him for his crude suggestion. My empathy dissipated.

"Good luck out there, Justin," I said, and walked away.

I almost immediately bumped into Tabitha. "Hi, Mr. Canon," she said brightly. In a room full of people who'd been forced into antiquated ceremonial garb, she might be the one person who was pulling off the look. "How do I look?"

"Like a graduate."

"So, you approve?"

"Always."

Her smile warmed. "Are you coming to my graduation party? Daddy's going to be gone for most of the summer in Europe. He says it's to visit his mom and dad, but it's really for business. so we're doing it next weekend while he's still home." She took a half step closer, enough to lower her voice to intimate levels while maintaining a respectable distance. "I thought maybe you'd like to see my bedroom."

"I would like that."

Her smile brightened. "In the meantime, do you think, maybe, we could sneak out for a few minutes and I could go down on you? I could try to finish you really fast."

"Don't you worry about me, Tabitha. This is your day."

"I know. I want to be able to taste you on my tongue while I walk across the stage." The brief lick of her lips was subtle, but sufficiently suggestive to leave me forced to hold my hands in front of my crotch.

I shook my head. "A for effort, but I think you'll have to settle for a tic-tac."

"But you'll call soon, right? My grandparents -- my mom's parents, that is -- leave tomorrow, so then there's nothing standing between us. I'm yours for as much as you can handle me." She smiled hopefully.

"Oh, Tabitha. You know I will." I spread my arms, figuring her body would work as well for covering my erection.

She squirmed in surprise as she felt my hands close in on her ass. "Mr. Canon!" she squeaked quietly in my ear.

I enjoyed a few more seconds of fondling, then released her. With my back to the auditoriums' occupants, it was naught but a hug as far as they were concerned. Her face was suddenly flushed, and I knew well that the intense look on her face was not the righteous indignation that once would have been there at being publicly felt up by a teacher. It was arousal. Savage, urgent arousal.

"Congratulations, Ms. Hutchings. See you on stage." I walked by, and left her in my wake.

A few rendezvous with fond students later, I finally bumped into the fondest of them all. She disentangled herself from a cluster of friends to dash over to me and unabashedly wrap her arms around me in a truly fierce embrace, practically a tackle. "Mr. Canon. Hi."

"Hiya, Cassie." I hugged back, skipping the grope this time. She'd already arranged a sleepover tonight; I'd have plenty of opportunity to enjoy her ass then.

"Can you believe we're here? I mean, gosh, this is probably the last time we'll ever be together at GHS. Not that we were ever

together

together here. Which sucks, you know? Well, no, there was the locker room. That's technically GHS, even if it's way out past the parking lot. Wasn't that awesome? Do you think we'll ever do something like that again? I'm not good at hashtag roleplay -- yet -- but it was still fun. For me, anyway. You looked like you had fun, but I don't wanna be assumptuous. Presumptuous? That sounds better. You know, I bet I'd know way more vocabulary if I'd had you for English."

"I had fun," I assured her. Had her friends heard her? It had probably come out too fast for them to make sense of it.

"So I was thinking maybe tonight, if you wanted, I could wear this leather--"

"It's time, everyone!" called Mrs. Horen from the stage. She began bellowing out instructions for alphabetical lines to reform.

I squeezed her shoulder. "Wear it."

She giggled happily. "Goodbye hashtag schoolgirl, hello hashtag bondage slave!" She rushed off towards the front of the line. I got out of the way, and soon enough, the alphabetical procession formed and made its way toward the exit, and from there, out into the parking lot and over to the football field. It was a gray day, but the forecast promised minimal chance of rain until this evening, so outdoors it was. It was warm out, and a bit humid, and altogether the sort of day that made for bad pictures. Ah, well.

The other teachers and I not involved in the ceremony shuffled along in their wake. Space was always at a premium for graduation, so in absence of a ticket, I used my status as a teacher to get past Mrs. Pedretti, then simply stood off to one side to observe. By summer's end, I'd be back to normal human tolerance for standing in place for hours at a time, but for now, my knees were still in teacher mode. Three hours was nothing.

The ceremony commenced. It was about the same as years past. An opening address by Principal Horen, brief remarks from the superintendent. The valedictorian and class president gave speeches. Then it was time for the distribution of "diplomas," which were really only empty holders. They'd get their diplomas afterward; the withholding was our last means of coercing their good behavior for this final stretch. Parents were asked not to applaud for individuals so the reading of names could proceed quickly. Or less slowly, anyway. Most parents listened. Nobody tripped. I only caught a single name mispronunciation, and it was promptly corrected by another teacher on stage.

There was, for me, a conspicuous absence between Valerie Stenson and John Stettman-Boggs.

Somewhere in the middle of it the sun peeked out, though it didn't last long. When it left, it was grayer even than before. Just like that, it was all done and over. As Principal Horen took the mic to make her final remarks and instructions, I quietly excused myself from the field.

She was waiting for me by my car. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

"Hey there, C-dawg."

"Hey there yourself."

"How was it? I miss anything?"

"A diploma." I looked her over. "And apparently a copy of the dress code."

Taylor smirked her radiant smirk. Amazing how different it was when she was smirking for you instead of smirking at you. She hefted her breasts in their turquoise bikini top demonstratively. "All those fuckers coming out here ready to throw their success in my face. Figured I'd make sure they knew I still got something over on 'em."

"Well, you're doing a good job of it. If boobs were in the core curriculum, you'd have at least aced one subject."

"Aw, you say the sweetest things."

I stood by, waiting, but when she said nothing further, I prompted her. She was blocking the door, after all, which was not an accident. "Was that it? You waited here for me just to show off your tits?"

"First of all, don't act like you don't love it. Your ass is stuck with all them other flat-ass bitches now, so take 'em in while you can."

"Abbie is flat?"

"OK, flat or droopy."

"Oh god, Taylor, she's not droopy."

"Just admit you're gonna be lost without 'em."

"I still have Isa."

She frowned. "Fuck. OK, you got me there. Maybe. Anyway, I was just waiting for some friends. Saw you coming and figured I'd try not to be a bitch for once."

"Trying something new, eh?"

"Blow me."

I folded my arms. "Taylor, you were standing by my car. If you want to pretend it's coincidental timing, fine, but if you have something you wanted to say to me, say it."

She frowned. "Way to be a dick about it. I

was

going to give you something, but if you're gonna be a prick, then fine, fuck you, too."

"A present? For what? I'm not going back on what I said, Taylor. Maybe you thought drugging me and forcing yourself on me--"

"Right, because you were totally cool to drug me and forced me to take your stupid test."

"The two are not even close to the same thing!"

"Right. You just hated it, I bet. That must be why you came inside me. Twice."

"I stand by what I said. Yes, we had fun, but no, I'm not changing my mind."

Her hands balled into fists, and a primal growl issued from deep in her throat. A few hundred feet away at the other end of the parking lot, the procession of graduates began exiting the field wearing their caps and gowns, empty diploma cases in hand.

"I swear to god, you are the most selfish asshole I've ever met!" Taylor roared. "If you even knew half the shit I did for your ungrateful fuckin' ass, you'd--"

"You mean like drugging Randi?" I interjected calmly.

Taylor froze, head snapping back warily. "Um, what do you... I mean, I never..."

"You did. And if you're going to lie to me, then we have nothing to talk about. I know all of it now, so don't embarrass yourself by being coy."

She planted her hands on her hips. "OK, fine! So what? So I dosed a janitor. Big fucking deal. Not like anybody got hurt by it."

"That depends on one's perspective on the merits of free will."

"Overrated. You of all people should know that." She shook her head irritably. "So how'd you find out?"

"You left your essay on the floor. She returned it to me, because she thought you and I might be continuing to get together even after your dismissal and that I might want to return it to you. Which begged the question why she wouldn't object to such a liaison, but she assured me that I was an excellent teacher, and that you were lucky to have me. I asked if she'd read it. She commended your hard work, but felt like you'd over-relied on quotation."

"Harsh criticism from a bitch that mops up piss off the men's room floor for a living."

"She's a hard worker and provides good service. Two things you've yet to learn anything about."

"Ooooh, sick burn there."

"At any rate, the way she reacted made it too obvious what you'd done to her. In short, you were sloppy."

The procession was passing us by now, though it didn't come close enough to allow us to be overheard. One of her friends called out a greeting, but she barely acknowledged it. "Sloppy my ass. That's just some good sleuthing on your part."

"Oh, that's only where the sleuthing began. You see, something Abbie said yesterday as she was coming around... it got me thinking. She acted like there was some big secret she'd figured you'd tell me, something that would have forestalled the breakup. So once Randi revealed her little slice of the secret, I thought, there has to be more to it than that. Brainwashing Randi worked out well, but it's a cover your ass move, not a romantic gesture. So as I thought about it some more, I remembered that Randi wasn't the only person who told me that very thing that day. Excellent teacher, lucky to have me. Care to guess where else I heard it?"

Taylor shrugged. "Your mom?"

"Principal Horen, as a matter of fact. As I reflected on it, I was pretty sure she'd used that exact same wording, too. Struck me as a little bit suspect."

"Are you accusing me of dosing the principal, too?"

"Yes, among other accusations. So I had to ask myself why. Randi, all right. In and out of the room every afternoon, in a position to see and hear things you -- we -- didn't want seen or heard. But Principal Horen? I think in five years of teaching at this school, she's been in my classroom twice that I recall, and only for planned observations. She knows as much about what I do in my classroom as I expect your parents do about your participation. So what for?"

"What for?" Taylor sneered. "Um, you don't remember her catching me showing you my pussy? Firing you? Kicking my ass out of school?"

"Sure, there was that, only that very afternoon when she walked in on the lot of you, your sister returned the Serenex to me. It's been in my custody ever since. So I knew it had to have occurred before all that. I wouldn't have put it past you to dose her for your own ends -- straight A's, immunity to disciplinary action, that kind of thing -- but that you'd come at her to instill a high opinion of

me

... that didn't register."

"Yeah, well, like I said, you're welcome."

I disregarded her deflection. "So I put a pin in that and then asked myself: if you went after her, then who else? So I picked up the phone and called up Mrs. Cook-Burfield, my department head. Direct supervisor, and the classroom next door. Maybe you'd thought

she

was a threat, too. I point blank asked her what kind of teacher I was, and I bet you'll never guess what she said."

"A ball-busting asshole?"

Families were milling out of the gate now, some of them dispersing toward vehicles in the lot, others making their way to find their students in the fieldhouse.

"Excellent teacher, lucky to have me. By then, I was starting to get paranoid. Who all had you gone after? By the time Ms. Salata and Officer Barbie... sorry, Barbour--"

"Ha! Gotcha."

"By the time they made me pour most of my can down the sink, there was hardly any left, so I know you couldn't have done much with it. I was guessing maybe a half dozen doses, tops. I used at least two or three simply bringing you in for the final. I'm not a math teacher, but I can add and subtract."

"Don't sell yourself short, C-dawg. You're multiplying my boredom with all this."

"So I figured I'd check with the usual suspects. I swing by Isa and Candy's house, to ask Candy what

she

thinks of me as a teacher."

"God, I didn't re-dose Ms. Salata!" she protested angrily. "What would be the fucking point? That bitch is as owned as owned can be."

"I know you didn't dose her. Her answer was not that same rote recitation. The immediate look of guilt in her eyes, however, said a great deal more. Same for Isa. They knew something. Plain as the tits bulging out of that bikini top of yours."

"Hey, tuck that away for your refresher on similes next year."

"But what? I already knew that they'd hooked you two up with the canister after Abbie used on me. They'd admitted it, and made a very reasonable claim for innocence on the grounds that you mind-controlled them into it. I'd already forgiven and forgotten supplying you with more of the stuff, so why those evasive looks over old news?"

"HEY TAYLOR!" yelled Justin from a couple aisles over. In unison we held up a single digit each to ward him off, albeit not the same digits. For once in his life, he took the hint and swaggered off into the building to retrieve his diploma.

"So? What'd they say?" she asked evenly.

"Oh, nothing at first. You have them good and cowed. I pulled out all the stops, though. Started with the basics, a little corporal punishment, the old 'Hey, Candy, I

planned

for you to tell me Taylor's secret,' all that bullshit. Took some naked photos of them, faces and all, sent them to every number on their contact lists. Still wouldn't break."

Taylor gaped. "You did fucking not."

"Of course I didn't. But so long as they only thought I was being a tyrannical overlord, they couldn't control themselves, fell to frigging themselves into a coma. Moreover, they handed their phones over, where I looked through their call logs. Specifically, their call logs with you."

"Jesus, fucking invade people's privacy much?!"

"Spare me. For the love of god, spare me." A couple approached the vehicle parked next to mine; we stood aside so they could get in; I calmly delayed my recrimination until they were in their vehicle and on their way.

"What I found interesting, even more so than the sight of those women sixty-nining their tongues off, was a pattern a few weeks back, shortly after the dinner party. A pattern of calls between you and Isa, and then this other number and Isa, and vice versa. Minutes apart. Almost as if there was some causal relationship between them."

"This is some paranoid-ass shit, Mr. Canon."