The Sidereus Prophecy Part 5 free porn video

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: This story is my thank you to a community that has provided me free fiction for years. It is also my first story (and probably my last), and I will warn you- it is long. My intrepid editor, Robyn Hoode, slaved through the drafts of the story, providing insightful and helpful commentary. His enthusiasm for the subject material kept me motivated. Honestly, without him and his constant feedback, this story wouldn't exist. So, if you enjoy this story, you have him to thank, as much as me. This story is very much a slow-burn, character-driven transformation. As I said, it is lengthy, but I hope you will stay for the entire ride. This is a nine part novel that will be posted on a weekly basis. It is complete. Please feel free to leave a comment or to send feedback to the following e-mail: [email protected] DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Chapter 50 (Part 5) Me: Hey Andrew, I'm really sorry about before, Ethan is back in the band, I was just going through some pretty heavy stuff. Friday night, before I went to bed, I sent Andrew a text, hoping that we would be able to jam this weekend. It was very short notice, but if my band mates were still into the idea, they would find a way. Saturday morning, as I woke up in Abigail's room just after ten AM, I noticed Andrew had written me back. Andrew: It's OK. Laura told me about some of it. So you really had to go back to school? I rapidly texted him back: Me: Yeah, 10th grade. Me: You guys aren't telling anyone else about what happened to me, are you? I don't really like Amelie talking about that stuff with Laura Andrew: Hey can we talk on the phone? I'm having trouble keeping up. The difference between generations was startling. Where Alyssa would send me many screens of texts that comprised a whole conversation, Andrew preferred the telephone. I also preferred speaking on the phone because I could gauge Andrew's tone far easier, even though I really disliked my voice over the phone. It was no wonder that law firms did not take me seriously- I sounded like a kid. I hadn't fallen into the trap of ending every sentence as if it were a question, so-called up- talk used by many adolescents, but I sounded the same as I looked. I asked Andrew to call me, since I hadn't been able to transfer any of my numbers. My old phone was not salvageable, meaning I could not access my contact list. I realized that I didn't even know my parents or even Am?lie's number off by heart. They were stored in my ruined phone, and I just used a single button to call, which removed the requirement to memorize numbers. Amazingly, I still knew the number of my childhood best friend, but I could not remember my wife's number without looking at my phone. I said, "Hello?" There was a pause on the other end. Andrew replied, "Hi, Darren. Uh- sorry, never heard your voice over the phone before." I nodded, "It's fine. Now you guys aren't telling anyone else about what happened to me, are you? Also, I don't really like Amelie talking about that stuff with Laura. She told Laura I had to go back to high school?" Andrew said, "No way, we are going with the story you and Amelie came up with. You are in Vancouver in law school. Oh and about the talking, Laura and Amelie are best friends, they are going to talk." I sighed, "How come we never hang out like before? You know the new NHL is out. We always play it together when it comes out." I was referring to a hockey video game that I had played for nearly twenty years. I had played it with Andrew for the last ten years. Andrew replied, "Sorry, Darren. It's tough with the baby, Laura is cool with the band, but I'd have a hard time leaving the house for a video game. What about online?" I frowned, "I don't have it anymore." I didn't have it anymore because Am?lie and my parents had forced me to cancel it. We still had Internet, but online play for the game cost extra. It was only ten dollars a month, but my father called it an unnecessary expense. My father did not understand the allure of modern gaming, but then his only game experience fell within the realm of Windows games such as Minesweeper and Spider Solitaire. I said, "Anyway, the reason I called is that I'd like to get the band back together. I spoke to Ethan, and he's willing. I wanted to talk to you first because you are my best friend- you know I don't want it to come between us. I want to hang out like we did before even if you aren't into the band anymore." There was a pause on the other end. Andrew cleared his throat, "You know like I said, Darren, I can't. Maybe after band we could all play. But yeah, I am definitely into it. I was mixing some of the tracks we recorded with Ethan, and your voice and all the parts. We've really got something here. I get chills when I hear you sing." I nodded, "It's about the only positive thing that's resulted from this change. What about Steven?" Andrew said, "Steven's been texting me, asking me what's happening. He's got another band interested in him." I replied, but in an anxious higher-pitched voice, "Oh. Damn. Well d-do you think he will come back?" My voice was uncertain. Andrew said, "I think he will. I've been sending him some of the mixed tracks. We both figured you'd come around eventually, especially once the dust settled- you know with school. I heard school kind of sucks." I said, "I don't really want to talk about it." Andrew said evenly, "Fine. I think Steven will come back. Just be glad I didn't leave." I grinned, "Yeah, bass players are hell to find." We laughed and after a little small talk, I hung up. Andrew could do Sunday afternoon, but I had to find out if Steven was even willing to come back. Even with the awkwardness in the discussion concerning my return to school, I still felt positive about how it had gone. I was hopeful that Andrew would accept my invitation to hang out because my home life had been altered to the point where my wife was no longer my wife. She acted more like my mother. I desperately needed my best friend to infuse a sense of normalcy. I also needed someone my own age, who didn't give me homework or ask me to do my homework. I hoped Andrew's friendship would halt my slide into complete adolescence. I called Steven at home, but he was working, so I sent him a text identical to the one I sent Andrew. He called me back at noon. I was going to have to change the ringtone. It was a Britney Spears song from the Blackout album. It reminded me of Am?lie and I and what we used to do in the bedroom. I said, "Hello?" Steven said, "Hey, Darren. So you want to get the band back together?" I replied, "Yes, are you free tomorrow?" Steven said, "Yeah, I can jam tomorrow afternoon." I asked, "What about the other band? Did you play with them yet? Andrew said there was another band." Steven laughed, "There wasn't one. I wasn't actively looking either. Andrew and I knew you'd come to your senses, but we needed a little incentive." I frowned, "That was pretty sneaky." Steven replied, "Yeah, well you need underhanded tactics when you are dealing with a level 5 diva. That's like Barbara Streisand and Celine Dion level. Like not only does the whole room need to be white, everyone who serves you has to be wearing white. There'd be this machine too that sucked out the colour from their eyes so they'd have these white orbs. I smirked, "Are you quite finished?" Steven added, "Oh and everyone in the audience would have to wear white. If they didn't, they'd be dyed white on entry." I said, "You've thought about this way too much." Steven said, "I've had a lot of spare time over the last few weeks." I replied heavily, "Sorry about that. I didn't treat you guys very well." Steven said, "The person you really should be apologizing to is Ethan. Kid's got it rough." I blinked, "What do you mean by that?" Steven replied, "He's into the band more than any of us. He texts me at least once a day to give me another song idea or something. I was really surprised you wanted to kick him out. Andrew said you were dealing with a lot of stuff, but it didn't make sense why you wanted him out- you've always said that music is therapy." I couldn't very well tell Steven that Ethan had a crush on me, but I wondered if Andrew and Steven actually saw it. They were adults, and that meant, they could see through the adolescent haze that had enveloped Ethan. Did they already know? For instance, Am?lie met Ethan once and knew that he was head-over-heels for me. Steven had also noticed the clerk in the pizza place. I had noticed his little gestures toward me, such as offering to give me his old phone. He had also offered to help me with my math homework on a few occasions. Were his gestures merely innocent attempts at gaining my friendship, or were they subtle actions to gain my affection? I knew that I had to take a stand against my hormones and my sexuality before they swallowed what remained of my masculine self. I was going to have to keep our relationship purely professional. I replied, "I was just dealing with a lot of stuff at the time. I'm not sure how much Andrew told you, but it doesn't matter. I am perfectly fine with having Ethan in the band. I'm also firmly committed to the band." Steven said, "Hey, that's good enough for me. I gotta get some lunch, I'll see you on Sunday. Oh hey, did you get your licence back yet?" I sighed, "Not until December." Steven said apologetically, "Ooh sorry, man. I forgot- fifteen." I nodded, "Yeah, fifteen." We said our goodbyes, and I hung up. I took a few minutes to load some music on my new phone. There wasn't nearly as much room as before, so I had to select them carefully. I chose Alice in Chains "Them Bones" for my new ringtone. At ten thirty, I climbed the stairs, surprised when I didn't smell Am?lie's waffles. Am?lie was in the kitchen doing the dishes. Chloe was colouring at her table. She shouted, "Daddy!" and then pointed to the little stool next to her. She continued shouting "Daddy! Sit Daddy! Daddy!", as I walked to the cupboard to grab a cereal bowl. The cereal bowls were now a shelf lower, so I no longer needed a chair to reach them. I said, "Not right now, Chloe. Daddy wants to eat first." I looked at Am?lie, "Hey, how come no waffles this morning?" Am?lie said, "I figured with you trying to lose some weight, you wouldn't want them. I'm trying to lose a few pounds too. You might not want to eat those sugared cereals. I had oatmeal." I stuck my tongue out, "Blech. Gross. Cereal is fine." I frowned, "How come you are trying to lose weight?" I couldn't very well tell Am?lie not to lose weight and embrace her feminine curves- not when I was having difficulty embracing my own. I was trying to lose weight, but my exercise regime lacked focus. Not only that, but all the work I had done since Wednesday was lost on Friday night with two helpings of risotto and two chocolate chip fudge brownies at Alyssa's. That girl's mother could cook, but she was going to make me fat. Am?lie said, "Just finding my clothes don't fit that well. Probably the same feeling you have with your skirt." I nodded and asked, "Yeah, I guess. Where'd you go last night?" Am?lie replied, "Out with my friends from law school. Gina was in town, we celebrated her birthday." I nodded and then noticed a text from Ethan. Ethan: so we rlly jamming 2moro? Me: Yeah, definitely. Maybe we can get that show again Ethan: that would b sick Ethan: can eric a ryan come if alysa wants t come she can Me: Maybe we should get some of the rust off before we go inviting a crowd Ethan: lol k c u 2moro Practice went well the next day. Despite having not played together for weeks, the songs were nearly seamless. Ethan didn't miss a beat, and he had either been practicing, or he was a really quick study. As a three piece we had played most of the songs for nearly a year before Ethan came along, so I assumed that he was working on the songs at home. I had barely practiced singing, but my performance was as effortless as always. I did have some difficulty on the guitar however. I was out of practice, and I flubbed a few sections. After finishing the set a second time, I felt a lot more comfortable, but there was still a lot of improvement required on my end. My school work was eating up a lot of my practice time, but as long as the threat of the social worker remained, I had to act the exemplary student. During the tail end of practice, Ethan started playing a very sombre melody. It was beautifully finger picked with multiple arpeggios. A vocal melody instantly entered my head, and I started humming along. I got up to the microphone and started adlibbing words to feel out the direction I wanted to take the song. Ethan stopped abruptly and said, "Oh. There's lyrics actually." I stopped singing and replied, "Oh. Okay." I wrote all the lyrics for the band. A little pang of jealousy stung my chest as I realized that Ethan was entering my territory. I did two things very well in the band- create vocal melodies and write thoughtful, dark and fitting lyrics to accompany the music. At least as lead singer, I was irreplaceable. Ethan rummaged through his guitar case and handed me a lyrics sheet. I figured they wouldn't be very good, only because I remember a lyric assignment I had given to my tenth grade English class. Only five percent of the lyrics were decent, and the other 95% were terrible. Raw adolescent emotion poured onto a page lacked the hindsight I believed was required to write excellent lyrics. Because adolescents lived within singular moments, their writing was often unfocused and one- dimensional. It took an adult or at least a mature mind to really craft meaningful lyrics because if you spewed recent anger on a page, it wasn't a song- it was a tantrum. I believed in subtlety in lyrics and allowing the listener to determine their own meaning. Imagine my surprise when I read the lyrics over, and they were not only heartfelt, meaningful and well written- they were clearly about me. The song's title "The Girl I'll Never Know" spoke of a young man absolutely smitten with a girl who clearly felt the same way, but who could not or would not reveal her feelings openly. The concept was complicated, in that, he knew the girl, but not the one he wanted to know. I felt strange as I read the lyrics, and as I did, my crush on Ethan intensified. My face felt hot, and that traitorous little smile appeared on my face. I turned away from my band mates, hoping that they hadn't seen my reaction. The feeling did not leave as easily as it had previously. Where before I could remove the thoughts from my mind, now, I could not ignore the fact that I was touched by his gesture. Did he write the lyrics knowingly? Ethan started playing the song again, and Steven and Andrew attempted to join in, adding very subtle pieces to the already full-sounding arpeggios. I remember Am?lie's reaction when I sang the song I had written for her on our wedding day. She cried, which was unusual. I could count the number of times I had seen her cry on one hand. She was moved by my words, tears glistening and then falling down her cheek in a gentle streak. Now I was the subject of a song, and I was similarly moved. Within my mind, I sent metaphorical dive bombers after the thoughts, then when that didn't work- an atomic bomb, but the power of the blast was negated by Ethan's playing and the way he played the song- with eyes closed. Was he thinking about me as he played? The traitorous smile appeared again, and I knew I had to put a stop to this. The song was making me act funny, not as bizarrely as I behaved in Alexandre's presence, but a close second. I said, "The lyrics are written from a guy's point of view. It might sound weird with me singing these lyrics." I had written other lyrics for the band that would sound similarly bizarre coming from a teenage girl, but no one had mentioned that as yet. Ethan said, "Well you could teach Andrew and I some harmony parts for the verse, and then you could come in on the chorus. And sing something like 'I'm the girl you'll never know'." I frowned, "Am I even playing guitar in this song?" Ethan said, "There's one guitar so far, but maybe on the chorus." Andrew added, "We should jam on it, and see where it goes." My band mates were all in agreement, and considering my previous hissy fit over Ethan's membership in the band, I had some ground to make up. I had to choose my battles carefully. The first time I was expected to sing, I missed my cue because I was too busy noticing how Ethan's tight band shirt- some band I didn't even know- showed off his arms. His years of guitar playing had given him well defined biceps. I hadn't really noticed before, but then I wasn't really looking either. I also thought it was really cute how he kind of pursed his lips when he played. I even liked the way he held his pick. Was I going crazy? What a stupid thing to like about a person. There was sense of humour, intelligence, and even body, but I liked the way he held a stupid piece of plastic? What was wrong with me? Although I am loathe to admit it, I also thought about him at night before bed and at school. The fantasy of him kissing me in the band room was ever present in my mind, but his song had stoked a fire in me by pouring gasoline on an already brightly burning flame. Once, I even thought about him in my bed, not in a sexual manner, but just holding me and caressing my hair. I couldn't fathom a more girly thought than that one, and I was glad they were relatively rare. Why did he have to write a stupid song about me? I had a feeling that the images in my mind would become more fixed because of it. Steven cleared his throat, "Uh- hey Abby, you missed your part." Had he noticed me staring at Ethan? Oh god, I hope not. The last thing I wanted was for my adult male friends to think of me as some love struck teeny bopper. They had already taken to calling me Abby, instead of Abigail. I said, "Yeah, you know I was listening to the song, and I'm not sure it works, you know with the sound of the band. It's a bit um sappy, and it sounds really pop." My plan of attack was clear. I would use Steven's hatred of anything pop and gain an ally, hopefully eventually Andrew would join us in denouncing the song. Steven said, "But you haven't even sung a word. I don't think the verse sounds poppy." I turned to look at Ethan's reaction, and I felt an instant pang of regret. There was clear hurt on his face. He quickly turned away, and I frowned. His song wasn't poppy at all and neither were the lyrics. Andrew acted the voice of reason, "Let's just keep jamming on it. We'll make the decision then, OK, Abby?" I felt like Andrew might be patronizing me, but I had difficulty reading him exactly. Before my change I would have just thought he was playing peace maker, but now- I actually wondered if he was semi- lecturing me. I nodded. They started the song again, and I told myself that Ethan wasn't trying to kiss me or even hold my hand. I was letting my crush dictate my actions. After all, the song he wrote might have just been cathartic, knowing he couldn't have me. That is what we agreed on. The end of the song left the couple's story open, either for the young man to walk away, tired of being spurned or for the girl to let down her walls and embrace the mutual feelings. As my part began, I burst forth, carrying the song through the chorus. A second time through the chorus brought us to the bridge where Ethan pined for the girl he would never know and all the things he wouldn't get to do with her. As he sang, I imagined us doing them. *** A few hours after band finished, I received a text from Alyssa: Alyssa: h was band Me: It was OK. We were a bit rusty. Alyssa: k and h was Ethan |_- Me: He was fine. Played a new song, it was OK. Alyssa: its so obvis u like him abby u told him b4 u want 2b friends Alyssa: i know hes waiting for u to tell him hes too nice to make a move Me: Does he ask you about me? Alyssa: yeah Alyssa: he asked if u were still having probs in math Alyssa: he asked if u ever ask about him Alyssa: how come u wont make a move he told me u kissed him back Me: He told you about that in detail? Alyssa: he jus said u guys kissed u didnt stop him Alyssa: hes a rlly nice guy and youd be so CUTE together Me: I told you, I don't want a relationship, and I told him that too. I just want to be friends Alyssa: OMG abby whats wrong w u y not admit u like him Alyssa: every1 knows u get this little smile on yur face when he looks at u its so adorable Alyssa: its just like from instant star u r jude and ethan is vincent Alyssa: in the same band u will fall in love LOL I actually knew what Alyssa was talking about- well sort of. I had caught a few episodes of Instant Star, a Canadian television show about a girl who gets a recording contract by winning a singing contest, but the incessant teen melodrama turned me off the show. The songs in the show were catchy and well-crafted, but the relationship squabbles made it unbearable to watch. I was surprised Alyssa had heard of it because it wasn't a new show, but I guess MTV must have played reruns and Alyssa got hooked. Me: Life isn't a television show, Alyssa. It doesn't really work out like that, especially when one person isn't interested Alyssa: same thing happened to jude she went crazy Me: I am not going to go crazy just because I don't act on some feelings. OK, I have a crush on him, but it's manageable and it'll go away Alyssa: thats what jude said LOL Alyssa: then one day u r working on a song he looks at u u smile and know its right u kiss MUAH Me: You watch way too many of those shows. They are so formulaic, first she doesn't like him or vice versa then they get together and all the little girls swoon and say, oh I wish that was me Me: It's not real. Love doesn't work that way. Alyssa: u r 15 how do u know abby u have a bf b4 Me: No, I just see it, you know I watch my sister and her husband and other couples Alyssa: they r old abby its diff w adults like i know my mom likes this guy at work Alyssa: she doesnt look like u do when u look at ethan lol Alyssa: u r rite I watch a lot of shows but u can learn from them and heres what i know Me: What? Alyssa: u guys r perfect the cutest couple :) :) :) Me: Alyssa, all you are doing is trying to live vicariously through me because you are too nervous or scared to ask Eric out. So you create this little fantasy in your mind about Ethan and I, and it helps you forget that you don't have the courage to ask Eric out. Alyssa: :( u can b pretty mean abby i just think u 2 belong together Alyssa: u like him he likes u its just sad u know dont u want a bf I do Me: No, I'm focusing on music and school Alyssa: u need to come back to my place u got all boring again LOL I sighed. Speaking to Alyssa was literally like speaking to a child. The shows she watched had no doubt filled her mind with this notion of the perfect smile on the perfect teen couple enjoying their perfect moment. Life did not function this way, and the sooner Alyssa understood that the better. She would be less disappointed when her first boyfriend, potentially Eric, turned out to be an asshole, was a terrible kisser or when their relationship burned out because Eric had no interest in discussing hair, makeup, Katy Perry or Instant Star. Me: Look, I need your help with Dr. Phillips. I have to meet him again this coming week. You said he was nice to you. What did you do? Alyssa: i told him i want to get better Alyssa: dont know y u r having probs w him Me: Because he doesn't believe that I worked at a law firm. He thinks I am making it up and that I am delusional Alyssa: well u r rlly young to b working there u said too that ur boss wont admit u work there Alyssa: just tell doc phillips that u were lying Me: But I'm not lying. My sister is going to talk to my boss and get her to admit I worked there Alyssa: u make a lot of probs for urself abby like when u 8 in the pit this too jus tell him u were lying Me: You can't go through life running from your problems. Look how you stood up to V?ronique Alyssa: yeah but doc phillips is an adult if he thinks u r crazy u might have to go to the hospital Me: Don't be ridiculous. We've had one session. Alyssa: im jus trying to help abby u cant fight against everything and expect to win Alyssa: like my mom i know when shes in a mood no asking her nothing well doc phillips is nice he wants to help jus hes stubbern u know thinks hes right so if i wanted to leave early i jus agreed w everyth he said Alyssa: u have to admit that its hard to believe u worked in job like that u r smart abby but dont u need to go to uni for that would people pay money for u to work on their stuff Alyssa: doc phillips prob wont believe u ever i told him that i cut myself cause i wanted attention from my parents and i saw kids do it on youtube Alyssa: he said that wasnt part of the tipical profile or whatever and he kept pushing me so i told him it was because i was bullyed by veronique and he was a lot nicer Alyssa had a point, and with Stephanie's refusal to admit that I worked at the Locke Agency, it would be nearly impossible to prove. I couldn't believe that I was going to take advice from Alyssa of all people, but Am?lie had been unsuccessful, although I wasn't even certain if she had spoken to Stephanie yet. As for Doctor Phillips, his behaviour was also not completely unusual for a medical professional. Logically, if his thesis or main area of study was self-harm and he had argued in a paper published in medical journals then he might do everything he could to ensure his thesis was proven. It was highly unethical, but it explained his behaviour, and he wouldn't be the first professional to skew results to support a theory. Me: Okay, I will try it. My appointment is on Tuesday, so I have some time to think about it. Alyssa: :) Alyssa: g2g dont think bout ethan too much before bed dirty girl :) :) :) I went to bed that night trying to think of anything but the reignited crush. I looked at my wedding ring, the object that had initially broken our brief but passionate kiss. I thought of Am?lie, but it was getting harder and harder to see her as my wife and even more difficult to find her attractive. I felt almost nothing when I saw Am?lie on Friday night, squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans that exaggerated the flare of her hips and tight blouse that while surprisingly conservative still accented the size of her full breasts. I literally had to force myself to look at her, and when I did, there was a teasing minute tingle. We hadn't been intimate in months, and I was craving the closeness and something else. My hormones took this opportunity to move into overdrive, replacing the image of my wife with Ethan. Months after my transformation, I had still not thoroughly explored my body. I was curious certainly, and there had been moments when I knew I was alone, when I put my hand on my breast and played with the nipples. I had never ventured to what I termed the nether regions, but with images of Ethan all over me, kissing my neck, playing with my boobs, in my very bed, my nipples weren't enough, so my hand tenuously crawled down to what I knew was my most sensitive area. I thought about what I was doing, but the pleasure quickly numbed my thoughts. Would this act make me a real girl? Was I losing a significant part of my old self? They were forgotten. I hid under the covers, fearing that Am?lie might suddenly burst into the room. As I continued, I noticed a cold sensation. I pulled my hand away, realizing that it was my wedding ring. I wondered if it ever bothered Am?lie. The object once again jolted me back to reality. I felt that my actions somehow betrayed my wife- my marriage vows. It had been a few weeks since I had written Mama Khalia telling her about what I had felt within the circle, the presence that seemed to pick at my thoughts. That night, I sat at my desk, dressed only in my pyjamas, and penned another letter to her, pleading for her help, explaining that if she did not act soon there would be nothing left of Darren Lawrence to save. After writing, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep or to dismiss from my mind the image of Ethan or the temporary pleasure I had inflicted on myself. On Tuesday, I took Alyssa's advice to heart, agreeing with much of what Doctor Phillips said, and retracting my statements. He seemed pleased that I was able to make such progress in a week, noting that once I had told him the truth, he believed that I was no longer delusional. He told me that it was silly to think that he would believe a fifteen year old girl worked as a paralegal, and that a firm would even consider hiring someone my age on a full-time permanent basis. He told me that I had made up the story to act as a fantasy escape from a school where I was having difficulties. Again, I agreed with him, noting my problems with the girls in the Pit, V?ronique, and how the kids treated me in general. I couldn't believe I was following advice from a teenage girl, but I was even more shocked when it worked. After my confession, Doctor Phillips told me that he had a treatment plan for me, and he laid it out- step by step. It was almost a carbon copy of the one he had discussed with Alyssa. I left there with my pride wounded, but with the realization that it was a necessary evil to avoid further difficulties. I hoped that the social worker would speak to Doctor Phillips and learn of my progress and admission. As I digested the session, I realized that while I had lessened my problems, I had seriously gone against my convictions. I was telling the truth, but the adult world refused to believe it. My confession had made my life easier, but at what ultimate cost? Wednesday night, Am?lie returned home looking worried. Her interview with Mrs. Warner, the social worker, had not gone well. The woman was still challenging the veracity of Am?lie's tale, and Am?lie's inability to produce any substantiating documents was not helping things. We had still not received the birth certificate for Abigail Grenier, and Am?lie had indicated there were problems with the process. Her aunt was having trouble because Abigail Grenier had no medical records, no doctor visits and no immunizations. This was worsened by the lack of school records. The province tended not to grant birth certificates to people who didn't exist. Am?lie explained that Mrs. Warner wanted to contact her parents, or rather our parents, to get their side of the story regarding the missing birth certificate. A small part of me wished that when I changed that the world changed around me, rewriting my existence. Darren Lawrence would perhaps have never been born, but we would not have faced all of these legal hurdles and the potential consequence- having to live in a group home away from my friends and family. September ended, and the online ad for my car was posted. In the meantime, I found out from Andrew that the downtown show with Porcelain was back on. Another band had dropped out, so we were it. We started practicing twice a week in preparation- the show would take place in only two weeks. I had managed to keep my hormones in check, and while I still stared stupidly at Ethan at certain points during band and in class, I had not acted on anything, and thankfully neither had he. Also, over the last few weeks, Alyssa and I became better friends. Whenever I reverted to my old ways, putting up my walls and acting generally cool toward her, she would call herself the Panty Queen, in memory of her run-in with the undergarments, and this would almost always elicit a giggle from me. She had asked a few times if she could come over to my place, but I wasn't ready for Am?lie to see me with Alyssa outside of Chloe's dance studio. I feared what she would think, considering Alyssa's success, at times, in reviving the child in me. Also during that time, Alyssa continued to pressure me to try out for local singing competitions. On both fronts, I had managed to hold her at bay, but she was tremendously persistent. Mercifully, she stayed off the topic of Ethan, mostly. As for my car, it had barely been driven since my change, although recently, my father had taken it for an oil change and a complete tune- up in preparation to sell it. It was officially for sale, and that meant prospective buyers coming to the house. In hindsight, my father should have driven it to his place to sell it, because I had a plan to keep it. *** "So what you are saying is the car is a lemon. The sun roof is broken, and it needs a new clutch. Oh and it leaks oil. How do you know that? You don't look old enough to drive." A middle-aged man, likely looking for something sportier than the ten year old mini-van he drove, looked at me suspiciously. I frowned, "Look, I'm just telling you the truth. Don't waste your time with it. My uh- sister drives it. She found all the problems. That's why we are trying to sell it." My father and Am?lie had agreed that it would be best to sell the car in town because there would be more potential buyers, but it meant that Am?lie would have to do the test drives. My mother usually left when Am?lie got home, and she would have been unable to do the test drives while watching Chloe. Thankfully, during the evening, Am?lie was often occupied with Chloe, who was still having hell-raising exorcist-style tantrums. Chloe's newest game was to make the biggest mess she could as many times as she could. This left Am?lie conveniently occupied while I intercepted buyers and told them the car was worthless. This would be the fourth buyer I had turned away. The man shook his head, "Why should I believe a kid? You probably want it for yourself." I wasn't stupid, I knew that they wouldn't believe me from words alone. I said, "Take a look under the car and see for yourself." I had taped a two litre pop bottle to the underside of the car and filled it with water and soil. A quick shake and it looked like motor oil. My father always called Am?lie when a buyer was coming to coordinate, but this also gave me plenty of time to prepare my ruse. It also wasn't the type of car that attracted gear heads, so all the buyers saw was what looked like dripping oil. The man shook his head, "I should report your dad, you know. It must be against the law to try and trick people into buying a car that has serious problems." I watched the frustrated man walk back to his car with a satisfied smile on my face. After he drove away, I crawled underneath the car to retrieve the bottle. I heard a car door slam, but figured it was the neighbours, so I quickly began ripping the duct tape off to free the bottle. Just as I was finishing, I saw shoes at the side of the car. They looked like my dad's. The bottle slipped from my grasp and rolled right out from under the car. The shoe raised and stopped the bottle's momentum. "Darren, get out of there. Now." It was a voice I had not heard in almost fifteen years. My father's authoritative tone. I did as he said, and he took my arm and pulled me into the house. Once inside, my father directed me downstairs to Abigail's room and closed the door. He said, "I don't want Am?lie to hear this." He motioned for me to sit on the bed. He stood over me, shaking his head and frowning deeply, his mouth was tight and his whole demeanour screamed disappointment. She would hear it because he raised his voice at me. "Just how long did you think you could get away with lying to people about the condition of the car?" My head was lowered, my shoulders slumped and I swung my legs back and forth, "I don't know." My father sighed, looking completely exasperated, "Did you not even think that we would find out? That people would call me, accusing me of being a thief?" I frowned, "I don't know." My father walked over to me and looked me right in the face, "What's wrong with you, Darren? We need this money. By November, you are going to be broke. What were you thinking? Did you think you would be able to keep that car?" His face was getting red, "Do you think Am?lie and I are stupid? I called her from a payphone, and I was just waiting for you to do exactly what you've been doing since the car went on sale." I raised my head, "What order would you like me to answer those questions?" As Darren Lawrence, my father would have hit me for talking back to him that way. He hit me very rarely as a kid, and when I look back, I deserved it. I once threw away all of my newspapers, neglecting to deliver even one along the route. How did I think that was a good idea? It was clear that people were going to notice that they hadn't received the papers they had paid for. He raised his hand, but it didn't come down. My father's expression softened, "Darren, this behaviour is extremely worrisome. You are regressing. Can you not see that? You are acting like you did when you were a kid." I narrowed my eyes, "What did you think was going to happen? I'm surrounded by kids all day. I have to have friends my age or the stupid social worker will think I'm not normal. And here you are selling my last vestige of adulthood, my car- my freedom. How did you want me to act? I'm losing myself in this body, Dad. I need to grab onto something, something that was- that is me." My father sighed, "I'm sorry, Darren, but we have to sell that car." I sniffed and said, "I know, Dad." I reached out to hug him, and he looked as surprised as me, but he held me there for a few minutes, then he left quietly. Two days later, my car was sold. The young man who bought it indicated that his girlfriend was expecting, and they needed something larger than the hatchback, but they didn't want something bulky. I watched as he reversed it onto the street, and then turned toward the main road. *** I heard my phone vibrating in my school bag. I knew it was a text message, so I ignored it. I knew that M. Landry confiscated cell phones, and while I didn't like mine, I also didn't want to lose it. Students who had their phones taken away had to get a parent come pick it up, which in my case meant Am?lie. It was nearing the end of the week. My car had been sold a few days ago, and I was still reeling from the loss. The only piece of my adult life that I had left to lose was my mind itself. The phone vibrated again. M. Landry was lecturing on the rise of Fascism in Germany and Italy, and despite the interesting topic, the class was, as usual, on life support. As I scanned the faces, I could see that my classmates were bored. M. Landry had a drone-like voice, it lacked emotion and that meant he was more textbook than man. It also didn't help that to a high school student, he looked about a million years old- with big bushy grey eyebrows, mostly bald with just wisps of greyish-brown hair along his temples. His baldness revealed a vein in his forehead that pulsated when he became angry. He was a bad teacher. I noticed that he didn't try and gauge student reaction, he just continued to lecture without any concern for whether his students actually understood the material. He rarely checked for prior learning, and he never diverted from the lecture style to disseminate the information. This was further demonstrated by his announcement that we were going to have a test in two days. This was clearly against the three-day notice policy that was written in our student planners. It didn't bother me, but I knew that for students who needed more time to study, it would be an issue. M. Landry said, ?The test will cover this week's material.? There were groans from the class, but no one spoke up. My phone vibrated again. Thinking it was Am?lie texting me about a potential emergency, I quickly retrieved it from my school bag. I frowned. They were from Alyssa: Alyssa: omg m landry is so booooooring Alyssa: hes got really gross nose hairs Alyssa: I hate him so much hes so mean to me Alyssa: hey abby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Alyssa: abby Alyssa: pick Alyssa: up Alyssa: ur phone I shook my head as I read the texts. Alyssa was doing better in the class, but she was still only just passing. I had worked with her, but she proved to be a challenging student. She was even giving me bad habits. During a previous study session at her place, I let her put music on, and then she managed to distract me for nearly twenty minutes with a discussion about Instant Star, which she then insisted we watch. So for the three hours that I was there, we got ten minutes of studying done! Still, the show was better than I remembered. Alyssa caught me up on the plot lines, and it made a lot more sense. She said we should watch it from the beginning, but I was hesitant. I was really there to help her study. I made sure M. Landry wasn't looking and texted her back: Me: Why is he so mean Alyssa: he never changed my grade Alyssa: i told him what u told me about that stuff Me: Did u tell him like that Or in detail If I texted in class, I used short hand because you never knew when the teacher would appear behind you, forcing you to stash it away quickly to avoid being caught. You wanted to make sure you got your message out so short hand was handy. Alyssa: yah i did he said it was still wrong Alyssa: i told him exactly what u said abby Alyssa: he hates me im going to fail history Me: Thats not right at all u should stand up to him Alyssa: i cant he jus stares at me and i feel stupid Alyssa: thats how i felt when he told me the answers were wrong Me: u need to be ur own advoc- I was too engrossed in my conversation with Alyssa to notice that M. Landry was right behind me. I saw a hairy arm enter my line of sight and then my phone was snatched from my fingers. M. Landry furrowed his bushy brows at me, ?Mademoiselle Grenier, you may have the highest mark in this class, but that doesn't mean you can ignore the lessons. You set a bad example for your peers. I expect better from you.? He looked at my phone and his face hardened. He then went over to Alyssa, who had stopped texting and put out his hand, ?Mademoiselle Moore, I will take yours as well. Your mother can pick it up after school. And your sister- Mademoiselle Grenier.? Alyssa pleaded, ?Please sir, I have a dentist appointment. I need to- um...? M. Landry shook his head. He impatiently tapped his foot. ?You need to what?? Alyssa was turning red. V?ronique smiled triumphantly at her, even though she had done nothing. Alyssa mumbled, ?I need to know what time it is.? M. Landry pointed at the clock on the wall, ?This is a clock, Mademoiselle Moore. It has all the information you require.? Alyssa was now bright red, ?I can't- um- I use my phone to check the time...like I know you took my phone once and then I could ask Abby, but if you take them both-? V?ronique blurted out, ?Alyssa can't read the clock! Did you miss that part of third grade?? This caused laughter to erupt in the classroom. Alyssa looked like she was going to cry. What was it that caused perfectly normal teenagers to join together as a pack of hyenas, feasting on self-esteem? I retorted, trying to stand up for Alyssa, ?Can you read the clock, V?ronique?? M. Landry was the next to speak, ?With a test in two days, we should be focusing on the material. Although, I do wonder. How many of you can read the clock? Should we really be learning about Fascism when half you probably can't even read the clock? I want all of you to take out a fresh piece of paper and write the time on it by looking at the clock on the wall. Not at your phones.? This is what was called a teachable moment. M. Landry could have briefly discussed the prominence of digital over analog devices and how it has changed our society. It could have tied in nicely to a lesson on how technology can change not only a civilian population, for instance the emergence of commercial flight, but also how it can alter military strategy, i.e. the use of aircraft to wage Blitzkrieg. Instead, M. Landry decided to be an asshole, and I had had enough. After a month in an all-French school, my command of the language had improved immensely. I was no longer shy to participate in debates, where I had previously been at a disadvantage. I set narrowed eyes on M. Landry, ?You are one to talk. You use outdated teaching methods. Where all other teachers utilize multi-media to engage their students, you hit us every morning with overhead notes that have way too much information. Also, some of what you are teaching us is also out of date and in fact, has been discredited by prominent historians! Based on that, some of your overheads have to be over twenty years old.? M. Landry made a beeline to my desk and stood over me menacingly. ?Then, Mademoiselle Grenier, perhaps you would like to teach the class?? The students watched the exchange in silence. I smirked, ?I would do it gladly, but then you'd be out of a job. Wouldn't you?? This caused laughter among my classmates, but M. Landry was an old soldier in the teaching ranks, his glare silenced them. I could see the vein in his forehead throbbing. M. Landry said, ?Young lady, that's enough. Report to M. St-Valentin's office. Now.? I shook my head, ?No.? There was whispering going on behind my back, and this soon turned to excited chatter. With the eyes of my peers on me, I was filled with energy and immense bravado. I felt untouchable. M. Landry stared me down, but I wasn't budging. I continued, ?Could this test that you are planning have anything to do with the fact that progress reports are due on Tuesday? It couldn't have anything to do with your poor planning. So all of us have to suffer and worry over a test just because you can't look at a calendar properly?? I had plenty of ammunition, but I could see M. Landry wavering under my attack. The students caught onto this and now their eyes were primed on the teacher. We were steadfast in our resolve. He said, ?I assure you that is not the reason.? He moved over to the phone. I could see his decision making process as he considered whether to call in his own big guns. My eyes scanned the classroom and I could see my classmates furiously texting. The whole tenth grade was going to know about this in seconds. I said, ?And what about your negativism? The fact that you mark certain students harder than others, and then when they come to you with clear evidence of your mistake, you tell them that they are wrong. Doesn't that make you the worst teacher in the world?? A few people were recording the event on their phones. M. Landry, in my mind, had lost complete control of the class. I asked for Alyssa's paper and she gladly handed it to me. I read her answers to specific questions and then mine. They were the same, but I received full marks. I was standing by this point, loading my gun for the final shot. ?You are a disgrace to your profession. A dinosaur. You don't help out with anything around here either. You don't coach any teams or supervise students' council or any clubs, and you don't even do your mandated supervision duty.? I had learned that M. Landry was the teacher who was supposed to be on duty when I was assaulted in the Pit. M. Landry was frantic. He picked up the phone, but the noise level caused him to have to shout into it. Because of the noise level, we didn't hear the knocking and then banging on the door. Usually, M. Landry's classroom was quiet- mostly because the students were comatose, but now it was like a circus and a stock market floor all rolled into one. A teacher I didn't recognize came into the room, and a minute later, M. St-Valentin was there. M. Landry fled the classroom, his face a mask of shame and anger, and I proceeded to bow to him as he left. That fingered me as the culprit, and M. St-Valentin quickly took me out of the room. I saw our math teacher, who was on her prep period, enter the room, likely to try and calm the students down. I wore a big smile on my face as M. St-Valentin escorted me to his office. I didn't have to sit in one of the naughty chairs in the office. No, my behaviour apparently warranted an immediate trip into M. St-Valentin's office for a closed door meeting. The principal asked me what was going on, and I told him the truth. There was no use lying, especially considering the video evidence that would likely make its way to YouTube under the title "TEEN GIRL SCHOOLS TEACHER!" M. St-Valentin frowned. I was unfazed by his expression. I still held myself like my shoulders were a million feet wide. He said, ?I am surprised by your behaviour, Abigail. For one, you are an excellent student. I never see you in here, and beyond your truancy at the beginning of the year, your teachers have nothing but good things to say about you.? I replied, ?M. Landry was disrespectful to the entire class. He basically called us stupid, and he is causing unnecessary stress by scheduling the test at short notice. What if someone can't do the test on Friday, then they have to do it tomorrow with only one night of preparation? It is completely unfair.? The frown never left M. St-Valentin's face, ?The classroom is not the right forum for such a discussion, Abigail. I wish you'd come to me with your concerns after class. I would have considered speaking to M. Landry to change the test date. As for the other things you said, don't you realize that is a form of bullying?? I shook my head raising my voice at the same time, ?The truth is not bullying. It's an eye for an eye. He was bullying the entire class.? I folded my arms underneath my chest. He sighed and replied, ?I thought you were more mature than that. When you represented yourself in the courtroom, I was very impressed with how you handled yourself. There you used the proper forum to discuss the faults of the police officer. If you are unhappy with the way a teacher is treating students, then you should to speak to me.? He caught me off guard with his first statement. Was I being immature? I saw myself as calling out a person who masqueraded as a teacher, collecting a pay check for little work. ?I don't think it's immature to call someone out like that. Besides, if I had told you or any other adult in this school, you wouldn't believe me.? I said in English, "Teachers are like cops, they are all as thick as thieves with each other." I knew this to be the truth. In my teaching career, I had seen teachers like M. Landry receive the benefit of the doubt simply because of their seniority and stature. The administration backed the teachers in 99% of cases, unless parents complained. To a parent, M. Landry's crimes were likely very minor, but to a person who lived it every day, I saw them as egregious. I really was living within the world known as high school. The principal's frown deepened. He also switched to English, "If a teacher saw another teacher doing something illegal or something that would jeopardize the safety of a student, they would definitely speak up. I'm afraid that teaching methods don't apply. As for M. Landry's behaviour prior to your outburst, I will speak to him about that." He continued, "I know how this place can really seem like its own world sometimes, Abigail. And students your age can see things a lot more seriously than they are. But just to be sure, M. Landry wasn't doing anything inappropriate was he? Lewd gestures or sexual comments?" I shook my head. He said, "I'm sorry but I'm going to have to call your sister. I am suspending you for the rest of the day. As I said, your behaviour was inappropriate and disrespectful. I don't condone bullying of teachers. Please wait outside. When your sister arrives, we'll have another little chat." Surprise, surprise, another teacher protecting their own. Am?lie would be pissed. She would have to take time off work to come and get me. Plus, this would give the social worker more evidence to argue that Am?lie was raising an unruly child. I was pissed too though. I sat in one of the naughty chairs, glowering at anyone who happened to lock eyes with me, including one of the secretaries who reminded me of my dear departed grandmother. The woman, Madame Hillier, gave me a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie the first time I sat in one of these chairs after my bullying incident in the Pit. I was not offered such a delectable treat this time. Twenty minutes passed, and I continued to stew in my seat. Madame Hillier looked at me through her thick bifocals with concern, ?Abigail, what did you do?? I met her gaze with intensity in my eyes, ?I told off the worst teacher in the world.? The woman frowned deeply, ?A sweet girl like you? I have a hard time believing that. You are so polite usually.? It was true. The previous times I had come to the office, either to pick up a letter or form for Am?lie, I had been courteous and kind to the office staff. Now, I was giving them death looks. I shrugged and turned away from her. I felt bad for even considering mistreating Madame Hillier, but I was angry. My rage was misplaced because the office staff had done nothing. They were not part of the collusion that occurred between teachers and principals. It was particularly difficult to swallow because I knew it happened. I had seen it as a teacher. A few minutes later, the vice principal walked in with of all people, Ethan. The vice principal was petite, but she wore a padded suit jacket that gave her at least the appearance of being bigger than she was. I had heard stories from my classmates at lunch of her legendary temper. The kids said she once made a senior cry when he found out he was flunking English and would not graduate. They said she took pleasure in telling him. This after he allegedly dressed in a Spider-man costume as a senior prank and sprayed her with silly string. I thought the woman looked a little like a harpy, with a hooked nose and long, scraggily hair. I began to wonder if my perception was off because I hadn't seen her that way when I first arrived at St. Jo's. The vice principal said, ?Have a seat, Mr. Rayner. Your parents can pick up your phone after school.? She made him sit three seats away from me. He did as he was told, but as soon as she went into her office, Ethan slid down two seats. Madame Hillier was busy in the copy room. He said quietly, "So, you're a little rebel now? That's pretty hot." Something about his hushed tones made me want to feel his hot breath against my ear. His behaviour was odd because I knew he was flirting with me, but with his own teenage rebellion, he was likely filled with much the same energy that had pushed me to rant against M. Landry. I tried to brush off his attempt, but the way I positioned myself told a different story. I turned to face him and placed my hand down flat on the empty chair. He did the same. I whispered and smiled at him "So what did you do, talk out of turn, forget to raise your hand or turn in your homework?" He smirked, "Oh worse than that. Okay, so I'm in music class and everyone is talking about what you did, and I'm like talking about you, and how cool you are and everything. And I say that we are in a band and people want to hear it. So I turn my phone on super loud cause there's like fifteen people or whatever, and Madame Morin comes over and she's like turn it down." He continued, "So, we are getting through one of our heavier songs, and people are really into it. And I say to Madame Morin, this is music class, it's music. Right? So she gets mad and asks for my phone and I refuse to give it to her. So she says give it to me now, and it's at my solo and I'm saying after this. And she says NOW, so I put it down my shirt and say come get it. Everyone's laughing and she gets on the phone to Ms. Harpy there." He smiled as he edged closer. His scent, eau de teenage boy bathed in body spray, suffocated my senses and made me feel giddy. Ethan looked at me expectantly. He wanted my approval for his deed. I found myself giggling lightly. Oh god, I thought his music class joke was funny. Was it because of the way he smelled or the way he smiled at me? He looked me in the eyes as his fingers crept along the chair, until his hand was on mine. "Hey, did you, um, wanna come over sometime?" He saw the immediate conflict in my eyes, but what he did not realize was the fear I felt. I almost said yes without thinking. He pulled his hand away and immediately added, "You know I heard you complaining about having no one to play NHL with. It's cool that you and Andrew played, but I guess he's busy with his son. You know, you could come over." I still didn't respond, and he added, "Uh Ryan and Eric will be there. You could bring Alyssa too." Wow, what a retraction. At first, it sounded like he was asking me out, and to his house no less, but the boy went from bold stallion to gelding in seconds. I mumbled, "Uh, sure. Sounds like fun." He smiled, but I could tell it was partially forced. This wasn't what he wanted. It's funny, but if he had kept his hand on mine even a few seconds longer, I probably would have said yes before he started babbling. He received a yes, but to a watered down proposal. He said, "You can be the Habs, and you can try and beat my Bruins." I shrugged, "I prefer playing teams." He laughed quietly, his eyes lighting up and his mouth curling a little. It was really cute. I realized I was staring at his lips. He said, "You are such a girl. You don't think you can beat me?" I frowned. I suppose I must have looked doe-eyed to the boy. I always preferred playing teams, even when I was a kid. It gave me a sense of belonging, which is probably why I always preferred team sports. I was competitive in real hockey games, but with video game hockey, I favoured being teammates with my friends rather than playing them one- on-one. Ethan read my reaction, and he said, "Teams is fine. We could play two on two and alternate. Does Alyssa play? I shook my head. "And I doubt she would want to watch either. She doesn't have to come." Ethan said, "You sure? You guys are always together. I think she's been a really good influence on you. You seem a lot happier since you started hanging out." I said, "No one wants to be alone." Ethan laughed, "Are you kidding? You are so emo sometimes, Abby. I've seen you two, laughing. You aren't going through the motions. It's okay, just don't get the disease." I raised a brow, "Huh?" Ethan grinned, "Whatever Alyssa has. I hope it's not contagious, because I like you the way you are. You know, you can talk heavy music, and you love hockey. Like you seem to know more about past cup teams than any of us. I mean you can name every Stanley Cup winner back to 1986. I've heard Alyssa try and start those conversations about make-up or clothes or Katy with you. You seem to zone out, just like us." He added, "Except when she's talking about that show uh-" I interjected, "Instant Star?" He nodded, "Yeah exactly. So-" We were interrupted by Am?lie marching into the office. She looked both disappointed and furious. Her nostrils actually flared in an unflattering manner. She gazed at me fiercely and then approached the front desk. She announced her arrival and a few moments later, we were ushered into the principal's office. As I left, Ethan gave me the rock on sign and smiled. I felt a pleasant tingling in my head. Am?lie said, "M. St-Valentin, I'm really sorry about this. I know that Abigail didn't mean to cause all this trouble. She's very opinionated, but she doesn't understand her place sometimes. I'm bringing her up to question, but not to do so in such a rude and public way." She turned to me, "You are going to apologize to your teacher, Abigail." I sat there with my arms crossed and my head lowered. M. St-Valentin smiled at my wife, "I admire that you are teaching Abigail to advocate for herself, but she needs to learn to do so in the proper forum." The principal's expression and voice was far softer than before. I knew that he wasn't an ogre, and when he spoke to me, it was polite but firm, but the way he spoke to Am?lie was different. They were equals, and I was just a kid in trouble. She turned to me again, trying to meet my eyes, but I constantly shifted them from her gaze. She said, "Abigail, you are going to apologize to your teacher. When you come back from your suspension, first thing in the morning. In front of the entire class." My eyes flashed with anger, and I gazed at my wife menacingly and then leaned in to whisper, "You are overdoing it." M. St-Valentin shook his head, "Ms. Grenier that really isn't necessary. I think that might be embarrassing for Abigail. She can do it before class starts when she returns." I shook my head and said through clenched teeth, "I won't do it. M. Landry gives his students no respect whatsoever. And I could teach the class better than he could. I'm serious." M. St-Valentin frowned, "Abigail, while your mark in the class is impressive. I doubt it. You don't realize what teachers really have to do. They have to write tests, research details regarding their subject matter, but it goes beyond that too, they have to be disciplinarians and they have to correspond with parents. You don't see what happens outside of the classroom. Teachers, like lawyers, are professionals. You need to understand teaching theory- which is called-" I sneered, "I know- pedagogy. Listen, I see M. Landry tracing over the same overhead notes he has been using for the last twenty years. I guarantee that if you gave me a week in that class, everyone's mark would improve and the students would actually learn something." M. St-Valentin shook his head and smiled at me, but I found it patronizing. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we really can't do that. If you are interested in becoming a teacher, you need a degree and you need to be certified. As I said, teaching is a professional career." I said, "Right, I know, but here's the thing. There isn't anything remotely professional about M. Landry. He is the laziest teacher I have ever known. He also has no respect for his students or the profession. He's just sitting at his desk counting the days until he retires and collecting a paycheck. And you've got hundreds of young, smart and passionate teachers who are dying for a chance. But that fossil you have upstairs just plays the system, while you sit in your office happy to accept the status quo." Am?lie interjected, "M. St-Valentin, I'm sorry- I uh, Abigail has an uncle who is a teacher in a similar boat. They've had a lot of discussions." M. St-Valentin was unfazed, "Not to worry, Ms. Grenier. I appreciate the girl's candour. She is spirited. You know she should run for student government or join the environmental or debate club. That would be the proper outlet for such topics." M. St-Valentin looked at me, "Does that sound like something you'd like to do, Abigail?" I narrowed my eyes, "Student government? I'm not interested in that puppet string program. As for the proper outlet, I believe the classroom is the proper place, maybe those students I informed today will take the issue to their parents. You certainly haven't done a goddamn thing about the so-called professionals you hire. Are you scared of the unions, or are you just too much of a fucking coward to take on someone with seniority?" As soon as I said the words, I knew I was wrong to speak that way. However, my time at St. Jo's had reminded me how much I missed teaching, and also reminded me of the grudge I carried against do- nothing teachers who stayed, not for the challenge, not to shape young minds, nor to coach a team and enjoy the satisfaction of seeing students excel in areas outside of academia. No - they stayed because it was easy and for that pot of gold at