Heather's Story

Walking through the hallway, Heather clutched her notebook tightly, head bowed as a gaggle of her fellow students smirked at her. She caught snatches of snarky remarks, slighting her for her deep Texas twang or awkward demeanor. By her count, the word retard was used at least ten times. Spaz came a distant second.

They say words don’t ever hurt teenagers, but the words wounded Heather every day. In class, at recess, even in the cafeteria. Especially the cafeteria. Nothing hurt more than having a girl turn her down when she asked to sit at their table, or vice versa. The few friends she had pitied her, like a single mother on food stamps.

She was a leper, a outcast, someone to be avoided rather than welcomed. Heather had no illusions about making lifelong friends in this foreign world -- she may as well be a Martian. Not a day passed that she didn’t curse her parents for choosing to relocate, rather than stay at home where at least she could socialize with all her old friends.

She spent the day putting her head on her desk, taking notes, reading her textbook, anything to avoid eye contact from teachers as well as students. Most of the time she wished she was somewhere else instead. Her apathetic attitude didn’t raise too many eyebrows. She preferred the anonymity—at least it beat the name-calling.

She dozed off in Mr. John Doe’s class in sixth period. The teacher did his best to remain professional despite Heather’s lack of participation, but the rosy cheeks betrayed his anger. This was exactly the sort of thing that caused him to flame out in the first place. The sad truth was, Heather was not dropout material. On her better days, she crawled out of her shell and revealed the genius lurking beneath.

Those days were few and far between. Time to fix that.

“Don’t forget to read page 570-586 in your textbook class.” Mr. Doe pointed at the American History book in a nearby student’s hand. “Pop quiz next week. Other than that, class dismissed.”

Heather got up to join her fellow students emptying the classroom, only to be blocked by the teacher’s frame.

“Everyone except you, Heather.”

She glanced at her instructor pensively, trying to ascertain intent from the hands on the educator’s hips.

“Ah don’t understand…” She gripped her book bag firmly.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. Your grades are tanking. Your scored a 73 on your last test. 73. Remind me what your GPA is again?”

“2.0”

“Borderline.” Mr. Doe rubbed his chin. “Do you think about life after high school?”

Heather shrugged.

“Ain’t gonna matter.” Her voice was curt. “I’m destined for failure anyway.”

“Well today that all changes.”

“What do you propose? It’s not like all the extra credit in the world is goin’ change the fact that I’m white trash anyway.”

“Au contraire.”

“How do you propose to change things around so quickly? This ain’t one ‘those fuck for favors' things like on Lifetime, is it?”

Mr.Doe’s face was anything but jovial.

“You shittin ‘ me?” Heather threw her hands in the air. “You know how dangerous the road you’re about to cross is? We’re talking serious jail time. You may not even have a job again after this…”

“Not if you keep your mouth shut.”

The blonde shuffled her feet and glanced momentarily at the floor.

“Say I take yer deal. What’s in it for me?”

“Oral gets you a C, missionary gets you a B and anal gets you a first class A and a ticket straight to college. If you’re kinky enough I may throw in an A+ for fair measure. But you better be good.”

Heather considered the offer.

“Okay. But nuttin’ rough now. I’m a virgin.”

“So what’ll it be?”

The student rubbed her chin.

“Aww hell. Might as well go for an A.”

“An A it is.” John crawled out of his pants. “Take your clothes off and leave them by the door.”