Page 8 of For Your Own Good

Frank is wrong. No one put anything in her coffee. Not today, anyway.

But Teddy has done it before.

5

TEDDY SPENDS Along time thinking about how the voting will work. His first idea is to have the students raise their hands. It’s an appealing option. He likes the thought of the students being able to see who chooses which book.

The downside is that it could skew the results. Most kids are followers, so depending on who they admire or who they don’t, they might change their vote at the last second. The chance of it happening is small, given the choices, but it’s possible.

A secret vote, then. It has to be.

He spends the evening designing the ballot while drinking tea. Tonight isn’t a milk night. Dairy is only for special times. Too much, and he’ll be doubled over in the bathroom for hours.

Not tonight, though. He sits in the office of his huge, empty house, and he tries his best not to think about his wife.

No, no. No.

He isn’t going to think about her. Even reading his email is better than thinking about Allison. Forcing himself to stop picking his cuticles, he pulls up his inbox. Email messages are boring, predictable, and easy to answer. The opposite of his wife.

Every once in a while, he receives one that’s interesting. Tonight, he hits the email lottery.

It comes from a former student, a horrible girl who didn’t deserve to be at Belmont. She didn’t listen, didn’t participate in class, and when she did talk, she was an arrogant snob. Fallon Knight was Zach Ward multiplied by a hundred. But damned if she didn’t turn in the best papers Teddy had ever read. She aced everything, all the way through high school. Teddy had no choice but to give her an A on every assignment—though it was always an A-minus.

Still, the universe always finds a way to right the wrongs. For Fallon, it was when she asked Teddy for a reference letter.

Writing it was a pleasure.

Teddy spared no detail, describing at length Fallon’s attitude, her behavior during class, and her inherent elitist beliefs about herself.

And he mentioned—perhaps even expanded on—his belief that Fallon cheated. This was a girl who got everything she applied for. Student representative to the board? Fallon Knight. Student representative to the Parents’ Collaborative? Fallon Knight. Nominee for the summer seminar? Again, Fallon Knight.

She had to be doing something. Maybe using her parents to influence who was picked, which to Teddy was the same thing as cheating. So that’s what he put in his letter.

Many teachers give reference letters directly to students. Not Teddy. He sends them to the recipient, and Fallon’s letter went to every college and university she applied for.

Not a single school admitted her.

As he’d expected. The unwritten rule about cheating is to err on theside of guilt. No matter how wealthy a student is, they aren’t worth having the school’s reputation sullied.

A year passed before Fallon figured out why, and by then it was too late. Not even her parents’ money could help. She goes to a state school now, and not a good one.

Fallon still blames Teddy for all her problems.

It’s me again, reminding you what a piece of shit you are. You remember that paper I wrote onThe Grapes of Wrath? You gave me an A-minus on that. I turned in the same paper for my college lit class and got an A. Good to know there are still a few honest teachers out here.

Teddy reads the email twice. Fallon always makes him smile.

STUDENTS ARE ANTSYon Fridays. They want their phones—so anxious to make plans with their friends—and they’d rather be anywhere but in class.

Too bad. For one hour, they still belong to Teddy.

Today, he looks particularly smart. He’s wearing his nicest jacket and a new button-down shirt, and his slacks are creased hard enough to cut glass. He didn’t shave, though. Stubble is part of his look.

“I hope everyone has given some thought to which book you’d like to read,” he says, pointing to the board. “Does anyone have any final comments before we vote?”

He looks around the class. Not a single student raises their hand.

“Then let’s get to it,” he says. “There’s a ballot on your desk. Please circle the book you want to read. When you’re done, fold it up, and I’ll come around to collect them.”