Page 6 of Teacher's Pet

Mr. Gordon swallowed. “No–I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

My father lifted a hand in a silent order to continue.

I hated being seen as a victim, so I opened my mouth to set the record straight.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it was—”

“Not now, Ryan.” His voice shut me down. I bit the inside of my cheek.

Calm down.

The Dean shifted, his expression caught between reality and his assumptions.

Whore or victim?

His face drooped with pity, his lips pressed in a tight line, but his eyes roamed.

“I don’t know if we can allow someone with his… academic history into our establishment.” His smile was thin, bleeding condescension. I could tell he was grasping for straws.

I gave a forced smile, but he wasn’t looking at me; he was staring at my father.

A silence passed.

My father cracked his knuckles, stood, and pulled a checkbook from his jacket along with a pen. His handwriting scratched against the paper before he tore the check free.

The dean dabbed at his glasses with a lonely handkerchief, then leaned forward. My heart pounded.

Is he bribing him?

Seriously?

The Dean stared at the check.

My father checked his phone, posture heavy with entitlement. “A contribution for the amenities. I’m an alumnus.”

The checkbook disappeared back into his pocket.

Please say no.

Stand your ground. I hate watching my father get away with everything by just waving a wad of cash and his influence around.

Instead, the Dean nodded, slid the check into a drawer, typed something, and sent the printer buzzing. He tore the page free and handed it to me.

“Welcome to KanderHill, Ryan. This is your schedule for the upcoming semester.”

Great.

I didn’t take it. My father did, shoving it into my hand before we left the office.

The paper burned in my palm, mocking me.

My father always told me that one could get anything they want with either a bribe or blackmail. I hate that he's always right.

***

In the parking lot, he turned to me. His tired green eyes narrowed as he hooked two fingers under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

I tried to look away, but his fingers tapped sharply against my jaw.