“We don’t know that,” Brandon said, sounding irritated. “It could be anything. If it even happened.”
“Well, I believe it happened,” Genevieve countered. “It makes perfect sense. And at the very least, Principal Mattison needs to know who’s threatening Miss Love since she was obviously too afraid to tell him.”
“You’re going to the principal?” Brandon said dubiously.
Genevieve paused. “Maybe not yet. Maybe I’ll see if I can get the truth out of Ms. Pierce first.”
At the end of the day Genevieve made her way back to room 209. The hallway, empty of students, seemed somehow eerie, and she remembered once, when she was in fourth grade, her Girl Scout troop having to meet at Pinewood Elementary in the evening. While waiting for the meeting to start, a group of them had wandered away from the library and into the dark halls, and what had at first seemed adventurous and deliciously forbidden soon became weird and even a little creepy. Those dark, silent classrooms, the empty desks, abandoned—where were the children? Where were the adults who kept them safe?
Genevieve and the other girls had run, shrieking, back to the library, where Miss May, their troop leader, had admonished them sternly for causing a ruckus—much to the relief of the girls, who were glad to be under the command and thus, protection, of an authority figure once more. Order restored.
Now, standing before room 209, Genevieve pinned back her shoulders and smoothed her long skirt. Order was still of the utmost importance to her—she loathed chaos and confusion; she needed things to make sense. Yet she was no longer a child. She knew that it was often the authority figures themselves who created mayhem and turmoil, and that the fastest way to restore order was to take action yourself.
A shuffling of papers broke through her thoughts. The shadow of Ms. Pierce crossed the partially open doorway, and Genevieve, with no more hesitation, rapped her knuckles sharply on the door, and then entered.
“Miss Winterland,” the substitute said coolly. “I believe you managed to hold on to your phone today. What can I do for you?”
Genevieve ignored the acerbic tone and flashed Ms. Pierce her most endearing smile, the one she used to charm unsatisfied customers at Sweet Dreams, although those were, naturally, few and far between.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, ma’am,” Genevieve said, striding resolutely up to the teacher’s desk. Ms. Pierce looked startled; she hastily slid a sheaf of papers closer and folded her hands over the stack.
“I don’t remember you requesting permission—”
“I was just thinking,” Genevieve interjected. “It’s silly really…” She smiled demurely. “Maybe you know this, but my father owns the ice cream shop on 5th Street? And he’s always expected me to take over the family business—”
Ms. Pierce’s bewildered face was turning increasingly alarmed. Apparently, she’d recognized Genevieve’s tone as one seeking advice, something that had probably never happened to her before. “Miss Winterland, I really don’t see how—”
“But,” Genevieve continued, injecting a note of longing into her voice, “I’ve secretly decided that my dream, my true calling, is to teach, and since you’re the most qualified and effective teacher in Pinewood—”
The teacher’s baffled expression smoothed at once, and she straightened in her chair.
“—I wondered if maybe you could give me some advice.”
“Well,” Ms. Pierce sputtered, color flushing her cheeks, “well, I suppose a few minutes really… You are quite right, certainly there’s no one more qualified—”
Genevieve fought back a triumphant grin. Flattery works every time, she thought.
As Ms. Pierce loosened her clutch on the stack of papers, Genevieve pulled up a chair and gave the substitute her full attention.
“The secret to effective teaching,” Ms. Pierce began, “is all about discipline.”
“Discipline.” Genevieve nodded.
“Discipline, yes! Children these days are sorely lacking in discipline, a direct consequence of indulgent parenting, to be sure.” She peered at Genevieve from beneath her frizzy red hair and frowned.
“To be sure.”
“Why, in my day,” she continued, “if a student talked back to a teacher or fell asleep during a lesson—whack!” She smacked her hand flat on the desk, and Genevieve jumped despite herself. “You’d get the smack of a ruler against your hand.” Ms. Pierce curled her hand into a fist, muttering, “There must be consequences, that’s all.”
Genevieve swallowed. “Of course, I agree,” she lied. “And you must have raised your own children with these values, and surely they appreciate you for it and have gone on to great success.”
To Genevieve’s surprise, the icy surface of Ms. Pierce’s face briefly melted into sorrow. She stared down at her hands for a moment and said quietly, “Of course, I... we always wanted children, but…” Her eyes cleared, and her expression snapped back to its usual sternness. “Well! Some things are not meant to be, Miss Winterland. God chooses a path for us and we follow it humbly and with gratitude. My destiny was to teach those children who have need of an authority figure in their unstructured, ill-mannered lives. An entire generation of children lacking even the most basic principles and manners!”
She rose in indignation. “Yes, Miss Winterland, you study hard and get that degree, and keep in mind, always, that students are not your friends. They need structure! Guidance! And rules. They do not need more friends. Like some teachers.”
Genevieve rose as well, leaning in confidentially. “I know what you mean,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. Ms. Pierce was quite unstable, she thought, but also—that look in her eyes when Genevieve mentioned her own children... She couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. “Do you mean teachers like, well, you know…” She glanced meaningfully at the door.
Ms. Pierce nodded encouragingly and whispered, “Yes?”
“Well,” Genevieve whispered back, “teachers like Miss Love, for instance?”
“Precisely,” Ms. Pierce snarled. “Prancing around, pretending to be friends with the students, looking like a teenager herself... well, that’s all fine,” she said, and a triumphant expression crossed her face. “We won’t be seeing her again.”
Genevieve stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”
Ms. Pierce started, as if she’d forgotten Genevieve was there. “Why, nothing, nothing at all. Only it does appear as if she’s taken some time off, you know.”
“I didn’t know.” Genevieve, done pretending, gathered her courage and said forcefully, “Is that, by chance, because you threatened her yesterday?”
The woman’s eyes bulged and she puffed up like a blowfish. Any sympathy Genevieve had felt toward her moments before vanished. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“I heard you. You said—”
“Nonsense,” screeched Ms. Pierce. “You’re making things up! You heard nothing, do you understand me?” She advanced on Genevieve, who backed away, frightened.
“Now go! Get out of my room at once, young lady. And don’t let me catch you wandering the halls again!”
