Her Grade

"I need to talk to you about my grade."

I couldn't say I was surprised. "Do you think there's been some kind of mistake?"

Beth must not have heard the skepticism in my voice, or the exhaustion. Her large, expressive brown eyes grew hopeful. "M-maybe? It says I have a C-minus, and you know I ace all my exams." Her tone had a subtle pleading, as though it was important to her that I'd noticed her exam results.

I'd come across several teacher's pet types through my years. Some kissed ass for the grade, and some really were all about the approval. But I was surprised to see that eagerness in Beth. I'd always read her as a stoner/drinker slacker, barely skating by.

Maybe I'd misread her.

"You do well in exams," I acknowledged. "But they only account for half the grade." Beth's mouth opened to object, but I forestalled her. "Look, this is the first time I've seen you here in weeks. And it's to, what? Ask me to give you a passing grade?"

"No!" she said, too quickly. She had her laptop clutched to her chest like a shield. "No, I don't just want you to change my grade. I know I've not...not been doing everything I need to. But if my average lapses, I lose my scholarship, and my dad won't cover my whole tuition. I just..."

She stumbled into silence, her teary eyes imploring.

"I'm sorry, there's just not--Fuck." My phone rumbled in my pocket. "Sorry about the language."

"It's fine," she said as I pulled out the phone and denied the call without looking. She sniffled, her free hand wiping a stray tear from her face. "Are you ok?"

I followed her gaze to the hand holding my phone, and found it trembling. Setting it down on the desk, I **** myself to breathe.

Fucking Moira. She'd taken years of my life, and that wasn't enough. She'd cheated on me, and that wasn't enough. now she wanted every moment I had, wanted to steal the semblance of normalcy my job provided.

The thought continued to echo: I never should have married her. Never should have given up my power.

I'd had the very vaguest shape of a plan in my head. A general direction: ****. But in the last few moments, it had taken shape. One thing had become certain, become inevitable.

"I'm fine. Thank you." I sighed. "About your grade..."

"Please, Mr. Stevens. I'm not asking you to just give me a better grade. But if there's any extra credit work, something coming up to help save my grade, I'll do it. I'll put in the work. Just, please, give me a chance."

Her hand rested on my shoulder. If it were another student, I'd think she was trying to manipulate me. To distract, insinuate. But Bet was all sincerity, and that's what decided me. I let her keep her hand on me.

The power I'd sacrificed had never gone away. It had always been there, waiting to be used. Wanting to be. A constant companion, a constant temptation, a constant opportunity.

Letting the power loose for the first time in eight years was like stretching after a long nap.

"Beth, I'm going to take another look. See whether there are any extra assignments or bonus points in the next few weeks. I have office hours until 5. Meet me in my office at 4 so we can go over your options."

Her hand made a fist by my collarbone, as her whole body coiled like a spring. I could see emotion flood across her face, relief and excitement and joy. I expected her to squee with delight. To her credit, though, she quickly composed herself. With a slight grin, she said, "Thank you, professor."

She started to turn to leave, but I set a hand on hers. I didn't grab it, but I gently drew her attention back to me. Her brown eyes seemed brighter in her excitement.

"Beth," I said, my voice soft and low.

"Mr. Stevens?"

She was looking up at me, a half-step too close to be appropriate. I didn't think she'd noticed stepping closer, but if anyone came in just then, they might have had questions.

"You're serious about putting in the work, aren't you? You want to earn a better grade, not just be given it?"

Her expression shifted. That's the simplest way to put it. Someone who hadn't used this power a thousand times might not notice the change. But her expression smoothed, rounded, like a smile without the smile. Her eyes shone with sincerity.

"Yes Sir. I want to earn it."

I smiled. "Good. See you this afternoon."

"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, cradling her laptop like a child. "I'll see you at 4! Bye!" She bounded out of the classroom. I watched her go, admiring how her pants hinted and revealed. Everything about her was just asking to be plucked, to be consumed.

I listened to her footsteps retreating, and then sighed, leaning against my desk. It was good to be back.

My phone rang, and my shoulders tensed before the name popped up on ID. But it wasn't Moira.