St Roses Academy

"I think they give us this stuff just to torture us," Rebecca grumbled, rubbing her eyes as she scanned the open page of her math textbook, watching as the numbers seemed to blur together to form an incoherent blob. "How the hell do they expect us to memorize all this over the course of a single weekend?"

"It's not that difficult," Catherine smiled, making quick work of the first few equations, brushing a whisp of golden hair back over her ear as she tried to get a head start on the admittedly bulky workload. "Mrs. Peters always says that you have to think of math as a language, once you crack the code it you'll no have no problem getting through it."

"Well I know for a fact that Mrs. Peters is having an affair with Principal Carlisle, so forgive me if I don't put much weight behind her advice," Rebecca rolled her eyes, tossing her pen onto the table when one question asked her to determine the total volume of a small shipping hauler based on its average cargo load. "Honestly, an entire weekend gone, just so I can do homework for a subject I have no interest in whatsoever. It's not like I'll need it in college."

"You'd be surprised by how valuable it can be," Catherine finished off the top set of rows, ignoring the derisive snort her raven-haired friend gave in response.

"You're already starting to sound like a teacher," Rebecca said, aware of the blonde's ambition to take up a career in teaching after college, something that had become a great source of amusement for her. "Then again, I'd rather have you explain this stuff rather than the bimbo we're currently stuck with, maybe I might learn a thing or two for once."

"She isn't that bad, you just go out of your way to put yourself in her firing line," Catherine pointed out, alluding to Rebecca's inability to stay off her phone for more than a few minutes at a time, a habit that only became worse whenever she was in one of Mrs. Peters' classes, frequently butting heads with the twenty-something year old teacher. "Then again, I'm having a difficult time thinking of a teacher here that you haven't managed to make an enemy out of. Except for Coach Matthews that is."

"Hey, it gets me out of Phys. Ed. once a week at least," Rebecca shut the book and reclined back in her seat, ignoring her lunch in favor of watching their friend Cara storming through the dining hall in their direction. "And it looks like someone's on the warpath."

"Hmm?" Catherine finally tore her eyes from her work and followed Rebecca's gaze, spotting the girl in question approaching with a look of fury on her face. Moving her belongings aside, she created space for her raging friend, watching as she dropped into the vacant seat with a huff. "Cara? Are you alright?"

"I just had a run in with Mr. Taylor," Cara spat out, dropping her backpack onto the table. "The handsy bastard caught me just after I was taking a shortcut from my art class. I tried to shake him off, but he kept making up some story about improving my grades in his English class."

"Let me guess, he talked about the deeper meaning of Shakespeare's works and used it as an excuse to get up close?" Rebecca questioned, having experienced that exact scenario for herself.

"Close, it was Hemingway this time. For a moment, I actually believed his intentions were honest, especially when he gave me this," Cara threw a worn old book at Rebecca.

"'Deconstructing the Author,'" Rebecca read the title, giggling when she turned it over and found a black and white picture of Mr. Taylor, appearing almost a decade younger but just as greasy-looking, not helped in the least by his untidy comb-over. "Handing out his own book like its a text book, what an egomaniac."

"He gave it to me and used it as an excuse to try and slip his hand under my skirt," Cara grit her teeth together, reliving the ordeal in her head. "I managed to make up some excuse to get away before he did it."

"It's a miracle that he hasn't been kicked out after all this time," Catherine said. "He's been here since my mom used to be a student, and I can't imagine that he's changed much in two decades."

Lawrence Taylor was the head of english for St. Rose's Academy, and by far one of the worst things about the otherwise prestigious school. For as long as Catherine had attended the private school, she had heard stories about the lechery of Mr. Taylor, listening to stories about his habits from those who had the misfortune of running into him. From what she could gather, nothing he did ever crossed the hard line that would have resulted in his immediate termination, always making sure to commit indecent acts that could be buried by the school if it ever became known.

Though Catherine still found it difficult to understand why he was allowed to continue in his role despite the regular string of rumors that followed him, she assumed it came down to the fact that he was able to get results for the school, achieving annual grades that kept St. Rose's at the very top of the national leaderboards. No matter how questionable his habits were, Catherine had to admit that he was an expert in his field, effective in conveying information in a manner that didn't leave his students bored out of their skulls.

Catherine herself had never quite encountered the behaviour Mr. Taylor displayed around others, something she and her friends theorized was the result of her family. Born into the influential Dorléac family, Catherine had enjoyed a life of extreme privilege, stemming from the fortune her great grandfather on her mother's side had built up with his shipping empire before moving to America from his quaint town in France later in life. St. Rose's was one of America's most prestigious private schools, hosting some of America's most notable heirs and heiresses, individuals born into obscene wealth. Catherine Dorléac stood above them all by quite a significant margin. As brazen as Mr. Taylor was, Catherine assumed that he wasn't foolish enough to make any attempts against a daughter of the school's largest donors.

"They wouldn't dare to kick him out, his classes are one of the reasons why this place is still in such high demand. He's a bastard, but he knows his stuff," Rebecca stated. "He'd have to do something incredibly stupid to get canned, and even then I'm not sure if that would be enough."

"Now that you bring it up, aren't there rumors about what he keeps in those drawers in his office?" Cara asked, referring to the drawers that had become the source of much speculation among the students of St. Rose's over the years. "If there's anything that could get him thrown out of this place for good, then it must be in them."

"I wouldn't put any stock in stories like that," Rebecca shook her head, giving up on her work completely, distracting herself with the debate over the infamous drawers. "Taylor may be a perv, but he isn't dumb enough to be the architect of his own downfall."

"Lucy Bale said she saw him hiding camera equipment in them," Cara countered, pulling out her own geography textbook, rushing to get her yet to be completed homework assignment finished off before her next class.

"It's funny how Lucy has this uncanny ability to be everywhere at once and happens to witness things that no-one else does," Rebecca rolled her eyes, pulling out her phone to check the time. "Either that, or she's making things up to get attention again. I think I'll have to go with the latter."

"I'm telling you, if you want Taylor gone for good then your answer is somewhere inside that cabinet," Cara replied vehemently, rushing to finish off her work sheet, swearing under her breath when she made one mistake after another. "I think he even keeps a spare set of keys on his desk."

"Why would he keep his keys on his desk if he had something to hide?" Rebecca asked pointedly, always the first to poke holes in her friend's wild stories. "That kind of defeats the purpose of having any locks to begin with."

"Would you have the courage to go in there and grab his keys?" Cara fired back, noticing the hesitation on Rebecca's face. "Exactly! Mr. Taylor knows that no-one in this school would ever dare to mess around with his property, he'd have them kicked out before the day was over."

"I'm not saying that he doesn't have his secrets, a man like that must have countless skeletons hidden in his closet. But keys and locks aren't evidence," Rebecca packed away her belongings and focused on her lunch, or the lack thereof given the strict diet she had taken up in recent weeks. "It's what my father gets paid four figures an hour to call 'circumstantial evidence', silly stories made up by people who want the him gone. Face it, the man's no fool."

"I could go and look," Catherine spoke up, regretting it immensely when her friends snapped their heads around and stared at her with surprise. "I mean, uhmm, I have a free period after lunch, and I know that Mr. Taylor has a class. I could sneak into his office and have a look around."

"You?" Cara let out a laugh, stifling it when she realized that Catherine's proposal was a serious one. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"To put it nicely, Catherine, you're not exactly the most daring person in the world," Rebecca replied as delicately as she could. "I can't even remember the last time you agreed to come to a party with us, and it's been months since you last went steady with someone. Breaking into a teacher's office is a bit of a leap for you."

"I know," Catherine agreed, fully aware of the reputation she had built up over the years, rarely venturing beyond her comfort zone in spite of the efforts of her friends. "Maybe this is my chance to finally do something dangerous for once before we graduate, to make a lasting memory that doesn't revolve around essays and being stuck at home all night studying. I'm eighteen years old, and I've never done a rebellious thing in my life, something like this would make up for it tenfold."

"Look who's finally found her wild side," Rebecca cheered, giving Catherine a friendly nudge. "It may have taken years to do it, but we've managed to corrupt you. So come on, tell us how you're going to get it?"

"Get in?" Catherine repeated, scrunching her brow in confusion.

"Yeah. His office is going to be locked when he's not there, the chances of you just walking in and out without much trouble are minimal," Rebecca told her, taking a small bite from her salad.

"Which is why you'll need this," Cara opened her bag and pulled out her white leather purse. She searched the various pockets, making Catherine blush heavily when an XL condom foil dropped out. Eventually, she drew out one of the numerous cards contained within and held it out for her bemused friend to take. "Call it the skeleton key, because that little beauty will get you anywhere in this place."

"A Victoria's Secret store card?" Catherine smirked, eyeing the card that showed visible signs of extensive use, something that came as little surprise to her given how frequently Cara overhauled her wardrobe and gave away her out-of-season items to both her and Rebecca. "I'm not sure if new lingerie is going to be of much use to me, not unless you want me to use a pair of pantyhose as a mask to hide my face."

"Don't be a smartass," Cara held the card up, tapping her nail against the thin edge. "St. Rose's loves to maintain its rustic aesthetic to show off a century's worth of heritage, which is a romantic way of saying that the board refuses to fork out the money needed to keep this place up to date. Most of the doors around here still use their original locks, meaning all you have to do is slide the card through the gap and wedge the latch. Then voilá, the pure-hearted Catherine Dorléac commits her very first criminal act. But if you are looking for some lingerie, then I have a few pieces that I can give you, I'm making way for the latest range."

"No thanks, my mom almost had a panic attack when she found the pink babydoll and fluffy boudoir heels you gave me last month. I love her, but we hardly share anything in common," Catherine shuddered when the memory came back to the surface, embarrassed by the image of her conservative mother stumbling upon the illicit items that had been hidden deep in her closet. Shaking her head, she raised her pleated, black and gray tartan skirt by an inch to give her friend a glimpse of a floral stocking-top. "Besides, I still have a few things left over."

"Good. Now that you have the means of getting in, do you still reckon you can go through with it?" Rebecca questioned, searching for any hint of doubt on Catherine's face. "You could get in a lot of trouble if you get caught, I'm talking about more than a slap on the wrist and a call to your parents."

"Then I guess I'll have to avoid getting caught," Catherine winked, happy to let her devious side run rampant for once. "I've spent enough years watching you two do it, I think that I picked up one or two things."

"Atta girl," Rebecca smiled.

~•~•~•~•~•~

Lunch passed by without much fanfare, with the trio spending much of the time they had discussing Catherine's plot, helping her to iron out any potential flaws. More than a few times, Catherine felt the urge to scupper the whole thing and just use her free period to study for her upcoming history exam. But she held her nerve, absorbing every piece of advice Rebecca and Cara could give her, mapping out the whole scheme from start to finish.

Just for once, Catherine was going to live dangerously.

When the final bell rang out and marked the end of what had been a quite unusual lunch period, the trio packed up their belongings and headed off. Rebecca and Cara reached the staircase and went over any last minute questions that Catherine had, offering words of encouragement to ensure that their friend was about as prepared as she could be.

As per Cara's advice, Catherine ducked into one of the alcoves that hosted a massive statue of an angel with her wings extended, hiding behind it to give the crowds time to clear. Gradually, the sound of chattering and laughing died away, becoming more and more silent until the halls became almost eerily silent. Once she was certain that the corridors were empty, Catherine crept out of the alcove and shouldered her satchel, making a beeline for the staircase.

Catherine darted up to the second floor and poked her head over the final step as a precaution, ensuring that there were no stragglers left to catch her in the act. With the path ahead clear, Catherine hopped over the step and rushed along the corridor, crouching whenever she passed the windows of the doors belonging to the occupied classrooms. She kept her footsteps as light as possible, wincing whenever her black flats tapped against the polished floor with a bit too much force.

As risky as the whole thing was, it was more exciting than Catherine could have ever imagined. Being an academic overachiever had its perks, particularly when it concerned college references being drafted by her teachers. She was at the top of every class, envied by the girls who spent more time in the backs of cars belonging to the guys from town than they did studying.

But it also resulted in a level of scrutiny the introverted blonde didn't appreciate in the least. Her parents and teachers always paid far more attention to her performance in each subject, always expecting her to reach just that bit higher, to hit every milestone that was set out for her. Needless to say, it was incredibly tiresome for her, a burden that constantly prevented her from living the sort of life that was normal for her friends. More than anything, she wanted to feel alive, to feel what it was like to just be normal. Mr. Taylor had always been a pest, and Catherine couldn't think of a better way of leaving St. Rose's than by taking him down once and for all.

The golden-haired girl moved stealthily and turned the corner at the end of the corridor, finding the fading-red door of Mr. Taylor's office firmly locked. Catherine tip-toed her way towards the office door and reached into her pocket to retrieve the member's card. Sliding it between the door and its metallic frame, she slid it downwards until it was met with some resistance, requiring a few attempts before the card successfully separated the latch from its housing. Catherine gripped the decorative brass knob and twisted it ever so slightly, wincing at the sharp queaking sound that it produced. Taking one last look back, she pushed the door open and eased herself through the gap, failing to properly lock it behind her once she made it inside.

Not much had changed about the office over the years, seeming more like a time capsule from the 80s than an office fit for the needs of modern school life. The pungent scent of mold filled the stuffy air, the result of leaking pipes soaking the plasterboard ceiling tiles with a constant stream of water over many years. A lack of any windows never failed to fill Catherine with a deep sense of claustrophobia, with only a dim fluorescent tube light offering any form of light. Old posters covered the walls, strategically placed to cover up the various holes that had developed following regular visits from St. Rose's rodent population.

Catherine warily passed a set of bulging cabinets that lined one of the walls, worried that they might explode open at any time judging by the way that the metal sheeting bowed outwards. Not wanting to run the risk of anyone paying a quick visit to the office while she happened to be inside it, Catherine set to work and began to look for anything incriminating, hoping that the plot wasn't going to be a wasted effort.

Opting against dealing with the cabinets, Catherine moved over to the desk that took up most of the space in the room, so much so that she found it too difficult to manoeuvre over to the other side. She rose onto her toes and bent over the desk, fighting the urge to shiver when a cool breeze rushed between her thighs. Gently, she eased the small drawers open one at a time, spreading the contents of each one out to see if they contained anything of interest.

Unsurprisingly, all she could mainly find were textbooks and old exam papers, along with loose pieces of stationary. Digging deeper, she found what was clearly a men's magazine buried at the bottom of one of the drawers, one featuring a scantily-clad model sprawled out across a large oak desk, dressed in a parody of an old school mistress's cap and black robe. Beside it, Catherine noticed an opened pack of condoms, with a torn foil making it obvious to her that Mr. Taylor had already used a few, though she was sure that she didn't want to discover what they had been used for. They were evidence of his perverse nature for sure, but far from anything damning enough to see him dragged out and banished from St. Rose's forever.

Catherine came close to giving up, stopped only when she slipped over and collapsed onto the desk, reaching far enough across it to find the infamous drawer tucked away within the desk's legspace. Stretching an arm downwards, she grabbed the worn handle and gave it a pull, hoping that the sheer age of it would result in the lock giving way. Catherine grunted and pulled with all her might, far too distracted to notice the figure that slipped into the office through the still-open door.

"What do you think you're doing in my office?" Catherine threw herself back upright, tugging her skirt back down as she turned to face an enraged Mr. Taylor.

"W-Where did you come from?" Catherine stuttered, raising herself up slightly. "Mr. Taylor, I thought that you had a class?"

"I do, but I left my notebook in here! I can't start the lesson without it!" Mr. Taylor spat out, kicking the door shut. "But I don't need to justify being here, it's my office. The more appropriate question is, 'What are you doing here?'"