Wont You Guess My Name

-- Author's note

If you enjoy this story, please leave a comment. I really enjoy reading what people think of my writing and it motivated me to keep posting.

Many thanks to kenjisato for proofreading and story feedback.

Everyone in the story is at least 18 years old.

--

"Miss Gross, can you please stay after class?" I asked, just after the bell rang.

As the other high school seniors filed out, I could see the growing look of panic on her face. She hadn't done anything wrong, of course. On the contrary, Molly Gross was my most gifted student, probably the most gifted student in her year, but her first assumption was always that she'd done something wrong.

"Yes, Mr. Teufel?" she squeaked out nervously, after the other students had left.

"I spoke with your student advisor and he said you hadn't signed up to take the SAT yet."

"I, um. I haven't made up my mind yet."

She didn't have to say it. She should be going to a top university, but she didn't think she was good enough. She wore glasses, was at least eighty pounds overweight, dressed like a grandma, was painfully shy-- and so, she was either ignored or picked on by every other student in the school. In class, it looked like she was willing herself to be invisible, which at five-foot-nine and shaped like an apple, verged on the comical. Tragicomedy, maybe.

"Is this, maybe, a problem with self-confidence?"

"I just haven't decided what to do after high school yet."

"Tell me," I asked, "are you familiar with the literary trope of the deal with the devil?"

"You mean like in Faust?"

On the first day of my world literature class only a few weeks ago, I'd included Faust on a list of recommended reading. I was sure she was the only one who'd actually read it.

"Yes, like in Faust. I wonder, if you were offered a deal to be confident and successful and get into any university you wanted, would you take it?"

She didn't answer, but I could see she was on the verge of tears.

"I'm not making fun of you." I added flatly, "I just want to get a feel for what you want out of life. Don't you want to be studying at a top school?"

"I don't know. I mean I'm not really a top school kind of person..." she said, trailing off.

"You are, objectively speaking, but let's say you could make that deal. Would you?"

"What would I have to do, like sell my soul?"

"Oh, you'd keep your soul and you wouldn't have to do anything you didn't want to do."

"Then of course I'd take it," she said, meekly.

I gingerly put my hand on her shoulder. What she really needed was a hug, but the code of conduct between teachers and students was pretty strict, and even a friendly hand on the shoulder could get you reprimanded.

"Cheer up," I said, "I have a feeling that everything's going to start looking better for you. I'll tell you what, I've spoken with the principal about offering an extra study period after school, optional of course. Why don't you come by. We can work together on SAT prep or anything else you'd like. How does that sound? Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, Mr. Teufel, thank you, that would be great."

I handed her a tissue, and after thanking me, she waddled out, eyes a little red.

The next day, she came to my first study period along with three other students, who all wordlessly took their seats and studied for an hour more intensely than they'd ever done in their lives, possibly more than they even thought they were capable of. Well, that's the start of that, I thought to myself. Molly was definitely going to be a long-term project, but I was very, very patient.

Week by week, the study group began to grow. Sometimes, students recommended it to other students, but increasingly, it was other teachers. They'd heard I had a way of calming troubled students and they wanted to dump their problems on me.

=====

One day in November that problem was named Marcy Wunde.

Marcy was a lithe five-foot-seven-inches tall, with long, flowing blonde hair, a petite nose, and full red lips. She was a little flat chested, but she also had amazing legs. In a different world, Marcy would have been one of the popular girls with boys crawling all over her. In this world, she was a mess with few friends and a habit of randomly lashing out violently at people for the smallest of provocations. She'd already been suspended this year for fighting, which was how she and her friend Trisha ended up in my room that Friday.

"Miss Wunde, Miss Bliss, as I understand it, you keep getting into fights?"

"Hey, Simone and her stupid friends started it, we were just defending ourselves," Trisha blurted out.

"Be that as it may, as I understand it, if you get into one more fight, you're both going to be expelled."

"So?" asked Marcy defiantly.

"So getting expelled during senior year sounds pretty dumb to me."

"Yeah, well I think you're dumb," shot back Marcy. "If you were smart, you wouldn't be teaching at a fucking high school. Can we go now?" I could tell she wanted to grab her bag and storm out, but instead, she somehow inexplicably found herself glued to her seat.

"Are you familiar with the literary trope of a deal with the devil?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"In literature, the protagonist sometimes--" I began before Marcy cut me off.

"I know what a deal with the devil is, so what?"

"What if you could get what you really wanted?"

"What, like I sell my soul for Simone to drop dead, because I'd fucking do it!"

She had arms like twigs and looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over, but she had fight in her, you had to give her that. She also had some trauma in her past, the kind that usually takes many years, a series of shitty boyfriends, a drug addiction and of so many years of counseling to get over.

My offer was more compact.

"How about this? What if you could graduate without issue and not care about Simone or any of the other stuck-up girls in the school?"

"And do what in return?" she asked.

"And you will fall in love."

"What is this, some stupid fairytale?" she asked.

"You can think of it as a thought experiment," I answered.

"I don't get it, what's the catch? There's always a price for a deal with the devil, right?" Marcy was a smart one, I'd give her that.

"The price is what I already said. You'd graduate without incident, you wouldn't care about or have any trouble with Simone, and you'd fall in love. If someone offered you that, would you take it?"

She looked at me skeptically, but finally said, "Yeah, I guess I would. You're weird."

"You have no idea. I'll tell you what, come to my study group each day after school. You might find it will give you some much needed time to reflect. If you do that, come every day, I'll make sure you don't get expelled and you don't have any trouble with Simone. Do we have a deal?"

"Sure, whatever," said Marcy. She opened her mouth again to say something sarcastic, but as she did, she became aware that a deep pain was welling up inside her, a pain which had been festering below the surface for years, was then beginning to trickle into her conscious mind, and she didn't know how to deal with it. She rushed out wordlessly, soon followed by a confused Trisha.

Later that day, the two of them sat in my class. While all the other students quietly read, Marcy's mind whirled. As she scribbled dark, disturbing drawings in her notebook, thoughts, memories and feelings she'd buried deep down were coming to the surface. After twenty minutes, she was fighting back the tears.

"Miss Wunde, Miss Bliss, may I speak to you outside, please?"

In the hallway, Marcy started to lose it and tears were flowing down her face.

"Miss Bliss, it's obvious Miss Wunde is unwell," I said to Trisha. "Can you please get both of your bags from the room and then help Miss Wunde to get home? Don't worry, I'll mark that you both attended today. Miss Wunde, I hope you feel better soon. Please take care of yourself."

As they walked off, Marcy started sobbing. Trisha was on the verge of tears herself. The weekend was going to be a painful one for both of them, but a necessary pain, like lancing an infected cyst. There would be a lot of crying, then catharsis and healing. Another long-term project.

=====

My next project came, surprisingly, from my own class, someone I'd overlooked as uninteresting until I'd noticed the glee with which she'd tormented Molly. Physically, Samantha was Molly's polar opposite. She was around five-foot-five-inches tall and slim, with a petite waist, perky little breasts and a cute little ass. Her blonde hair was cut short, which perfectly framed her cute little face and rosy, dimpled cheeks.

She would be the dictionary definition of adorable, if she wasn't such a terror. She knew she was attractive, and so she teased every boy in school, and tormented and demeaned every girl less attractive than herself, especially Molly. She also had a serious phone addiction, the attention span of a newborn puppy and an almost total disinterest in school.

She was in a particularly bitchy mood today, most likely because, as I'd learned, the school counselor had informed her that morning that she probably wasn't going to graduate with everyone else.

"Miss Kleinlich, can you please stay after class?"

As Molly walked out, I noticed the faintest flicker of jealousy in her face.

"Yes Mr. Teufel, what is it?" Samantha asked, standing in the back of the class.

The look of disdain on her face was palpable as she spoke. In general, she could not be more transparent. I could also tell she was still deeply in denial about her situation, but I could deal with that.

"You know you haven't turned in any assignments this year?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, you know I've been super busy, I signed up for a bunch of clubs this year. I'd love to stay and talk, but I've actually got to go to one right now," she said, walking towards the door.

"You will come and sit down, please."

I spoke with a slow, even tone, but it was as though the words traveled across the room and hit her with a physical weight. As soon as I'd finished speaking, to her great surprise, she turned heel halfway through the door, quickly walked back in the room and took a seat directly in front of me. I stood in front of my desk, my slim, six-foot frame towering over her, my piercing dark brown eyes bored into her as she looked very small and confused, not understanding why she had just walked back and taken a seat. With my neatly styled, graying hair and salt and pepper beard, I projected an aura of experience and authority.

"Thank you," I continued, "As it stands, you are going to fail my class, fail senior year and not graduate with your friends."

"So what?"

"So, imagine the embarrassment of not graduating. Everyone will know. You'll be one of the losers," I said, putting extra emphasis on loser. As I spoke, my words bypassed her ears and went straight to her brain, and as they did, the smug look of defiance was slowly replaced by grim reality.

"Miss Kleinlich, are you familiar with the literary trope of a deal with the devil?" I asked.

"What's a trope?"

This made me smile. Ah good, I thought, stroking my well-groomed beard, I like a challenge.

Later that day, predictably, Samantha was 10 minutes late to study period. As she walked in, I could see the panic in Molly's face, but Samantha didn't even acknowledge her and just sat closest to the door.

"Miss Kleinlich, tomorrow I expect you to be on time, or I will mark you as absent," I said, barely looking up. "The deal was you come her every day on time. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Teufel." She said in a mocking tone, and smugly took nail polish out of her bag. She was expecting me to tell her to put away the nail polish so she could get one over on me, by reminding me I'd promised her if she came to my study period every day she would graduate, but I hadn't specified what she had to do there. When no such admonishment came, she just went ahead and started painting her nails.

A girl sitting next to her turned up her nose at the smell of acetone and moved to the far side of the room. Samantha giggled about that, but as she painted, she had an odd thought.

She'd only been half-listening in her American history class earlier, but she'd thought she'd heard something about Canada beating the USA in a war. She was pretty sure that was what her teacher had said, but that couldn't be right, could it? It sounded like the silliest thing she'd ever heard.

Her teacher must be wrong and she was going to prove it and make him look like an idiot. Before she realized what she was doing, she'd dug the book out of her backpack and was reading with extreme focus about the War of 1812. By the time the bell rang, Lincoln was campaigning for president.

"I'm sorry Miss Kleinlich, it's time to go," I told her, as the other students got up to leave.

"Sure, just let me finish this page."

"You've got to go now. You can finish reading that at home."

It had never occurred to Samantha that she could read at home. She dogeared the page and practically ran out of the room, wanting nothing more than to get home and find out what happened next.

Not bad, I thought to myself.

=====

Soon, my study class was almost full, and it was Principal Waldorf's turn to look in on my study class. She was a small, round woman with some very progressive ideas. She found it particularly old fashioned that I made my students address me by my last name. She peered in to see row after row of students intensely focused on their reading, totally silent except for the quiet scratching of the odd #2 pencil. She was trying to figure out the secret of my success and I could see a look of confusion and annoyance growing on her face. She came again to speak with me after my students had left.

"I don't understand it. There's no exchange of ideas, no expression of creativity, and somehow, they're all doing exceptionally well in their classes. What's your secret?" she asked.

"I just give them what they need. Some need discipline, some need love, some need trust, and some just need a stable environment to figure things out."

"Ah, so you take an individual approach?"

"Yes, something like that."

=====

The final addition to my group, the final problem child, slipped in so quietly you could forget she was there. Mary was five-foot-nothing, with Buddy Holly glasses, short curly brown hair and big eyes. She'd been held back a year so was actually the oldest kid in the class, but with her tiny stature, combined, with her naive smile and almost child-like habit of avoiding eye contact when she spoke, she could have easily passed for younger. She also had an obvious case of unmedicated ADHD and undiagnosed autism.

Outside my class, she could be seen bouncing off the walls, rambling on without a filter and having the occasional overload meltdown. The principal had pawned her off to me, hoping she wouldn't have to hold her back yet another year and, indeed, in my class, she was a picture of focus, and for the time being, there's not much more to say about her.

You might be wondering at this point, whether I made a deal with every student there, and the answer is no. Some just interested me. Some I made deals with which aren't relevant to this story, but, well, maybe a story for another day.

By mid-November, a change in several kids was obvious. If not exactly different, Mary was at least quieter. Molly still dressed like a grandma in an overly bulky sweater, trying to be invisible, but that grandma sweater was hanging a little looser on her and she was sitting up straighter. Marcy still looked a little fragile, but also more focused and determined. However, the real drastic change was in Samantha, who was devouring books at an alarming rate. She'd gone through all of her history books and then she was on to math. I had high hopes for her.

After class one day, she waited until everyone else had left, and nervously walked forward to my desk.

"Mr. Teufel, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"My math teacher said you spoke to him and he agreed that he would ignore all my tests until now and only count my final grade."

"That's right. I spoke with him and he said since you were really applying yourself now, that would only be fair."

"You didn't have to do that."

"A deal is a deal. You've done your part, coming here every day and studying hard."

"No other teacher ever really tried to help me before. I, uh, thank you." Her face was turning red and she quickly left.

The next class, Samantha had moved to the front, right in front of my desk. She was still intensely focused on her textbook, but every now and again, I caught her looking up at me with a dreamy look on her face.

A few days later, it was Molly who stayed after class. I noticed Samantha gave her a dirty look as she walked out.

"Mr. Teufel?"

"Yes, Miss Gross?"

"I, um, I, I uh, just wanted to let you know that I signed up to take the SAT."

"That's great news. When do you take it?"

"Um, actually, I already took it and I was thinking of applying to um some colleges."

"Ah, I guess that means you've already received your score. Do you mind if I ask how you did?"

"Um, well, 1580" she practically whispered. "The the thing is, um, I need 2 recommendations from teachers for the application and, um, I hate to bother you, but um, I wondered if you could write one for me?"

"Of course. It would be my pleasure."

"Thank you so much. And, um, well, uh, I just wanted to say, um, you were right. Since you talked to me at the beginning of the year everything's gotten better. I mean, I have so much more energy, I've even started jogging after school, and um." She paused, probably realizing she was rambling. "I, uh, I, I, wanted to say thank you, and, uh..." and with her eyes watered up, she dropped the letter of recommendation form on my desk and scurried out without finishing her sentence.

=====

By mid-December, Samantha had gone from the occasional glance to practically staring at me during class when she thought I wasn't looking. It was winter, but her clothing became more and more revealing. One day just after the winter break, I noticed Samantha wasn't wearing a bra. I had definitely seen the outline of her bra under her tight, yellow t-shirt earlier in the day, so she must have taken it off right after school before attending my study class. She also seemed distracted and fidgeting that day, crossing and uncrossing her legs and looking up at me.

After glancing around the room to ensure everyone was looking down at their books, I looked up at her. She met my gaze and pulled in her elbows, pressing her little breasts together, her erect nipples clearly visible through the fabric, pointed at me like little missiles. I raised an eyebrow in recognition before looking back down at the tests I was grading.

That day, she waited after class and asked me something about a book she'd just read. She did that every day for a week. On Friday after class, she was waiting again, but this time, she was noticeably nervous. The shirt she was wearing rode up exposing her belly button, and the skirt she was wearing barely came to mid-thigh. She must have been cold and I was pretty sure she was violating several school dress codes.

"Mr. Teufel."

"Yes."

"I, um, I want to thank you. It's just like you said, ever since I've been coming to your class, everything's gone great. I'm doing great at school, things are even better with my parents and, um..." She was blushing hard now.

"I've been thinking." She continued, "You, you've helped me so much. I mean, you've done so much for all of us. I, uh, I wanted to give you something."

"That's very nice of you," I replied.

She walked over and closed the classroom door.