Chapter Text
WELCOME BACK STUDENTS, FACULTY, AND STAFF!
The large, flashing red letters on the digital marquee scream at Helen as she pulls into the parking lot. Year six of a job she thought would only last three months. New school years always fill her with a bit of dread; there’s no telling what the new crop of students will be like, and that uncertainty is a little nerve wracking. Still, she’s excited. She knows that eventually she will be overworked, and underpaid, and not appreciated, and probably disrespected, and –
Well. Anyway, she knows the feeling won’t last forever, but she’s excited nonetheless.
Helen makes her way into the building, walking the same familiar route she’s taken quite literally a thousand times. She warmly greets some of the custodial staff who pace around making sure everything is in order just so hundreds of teens can turn the place upside down. Passing the administrative offices, she briefly peers inside. The door to the principal’s office is closed, but a young woman with icy blonde hair sits at the desk placed in front of it. Her presence means only one thing: Viola has arrived.
Helen unconsciously shivers as soon as she thinks of her. It’s not that she dislikes her boss, but she is grown and mature enough to acknowledge that the woman is absolutely fucking terrifying. She runs this school like the Navy – which is surely the reason their test scores are so high – refusing to settle for anything less than perfection. The trade off, though, is a reputation that boasts numerous faculty meltdowns and professional relationships that are saturated in barely suppressed disdain. Still, the woman is good at her job. Really, really , good. And Helen is always going to respect that.
The hallway is blissfully empty when she reaches her classroom. She likes getting there early, before her head is filled with the cacophony of sounds that accompany a high school. It gives her time to think, and to collect herself before she has to be on for seven hours.
She loves teaching – she truly does. There are few things she enjoys more than delving into a text with the explicit purpose of a thorough analysis, and she finds it invigorating to share that joy with new generations of readers. The critical thinking, the different perspectives – she loves it all. To her dismay, though, there’s a short supply of dedicated students these days.
She should probably be teaching college, but even those pupils are questionable.
The next thirty minutes are spent cataloguing novels, double checking lesson plans, and trying to slow her pulse. Minutes before the first bell is supposed to ring, Helen takes a dark brown marker and writes on the whiteboard in romantically messy cursive,
Welcome to AP English Literature
She pushes her glasses up a bit further and straightens her posture – adjusts the sleeves of her dress shirt and smooths down the front of her slacks. A final checklist flits through her mind and her hand goes instinctively to the pendant around her neck. And then she waits.
In truth, she doesn’t ever expect to accomplish anything substantial in the first week of school. The students are still too wound up from summer, certain experiences are too new and fresh and exciting to ignore, and the teenage hormones radiating off of these kids would lead you to believe they’d been living in isolation for their entire lives.
All in all, it’s chaos. And she expects that. In general, she tends to stay in or near her classroom all day, rarely venturing out even during her free period. It allows her to avoid any conversations she’d rather not have or interactions she’d rather not be involved in.
Usually.
On Wednesday, however, she finds herself in a particularly full teacher’s lounge during a lunch period. She stands in front of one of the vending machines in the corner, trying to choose between a can or a bottle, when she hears it.
A laugh. It drifts across the lounge like smoke from a blown out candle, creeping through space and past people, landing squarely at the back of Helen’s neck, making her tense. She looks in the direction it came from, seeing what feels like a bright, bubbly orb heading in her direction.
Of course. Of course she has to see Madeline when she’s unprepared. The blonde strikes up a brief conversation with everybody she passes; she lingers on some longer than others but navigates the scene with ease, and it genuinely looks like a presidential candidate meeting the poor, lowly, normal people. Helen realizes too late that Madeline is coming in her direction, and fast.
“Ms. Sharp!” she says. Her voice sounds like a song, but Helen can sense the venom hiding just under the surface. “How was your summer? Tell me, did you make any progress with that little book you’ve been writing?” She plasters fake interest on her face like a billboard. “I know you’ve been working to finish it for so, so long. ”
Helen cocks her head and smiles, matching Madeline’s energy. “I did, actually.” She pauses before continuing. “And yours? How did your sixth audition for Macbeth turn out?”
Madeline’s smile nearly slips off of her face, but she catches it just in time to respond with renewed cheer. “I’m delighted you remembered. It went wonderfully! The creative team is doing something truly groundbreaking. I cannot wait to be a part of something so special. ”
“I hope you will be,” Helen says genuinely. But it’s only to set up another shot: “Six different productions without landing a role must be starting to sting.”
Madeline clenches her jaw and runs her tongue over the front of her teeth. “Oh, you remembered that, too. I’m impressed! That’s a big feat for a woman your age.” She gives Helen a head-to-toe body scan like she’s airport security. “ And big feet, for a woman your age.”
Neither one of them moves or speaks next. The women size each other up like lionnesses hunting for their pride. Eventually, Madeline clears her throat.
“Well, welcome back! Here’s to a new school year, and all of that.”
Despite clearly coming over to the vending machines to buy something, Madeline turns and strides away, empty-handed. Helen can feel something hot thrumming through her body like electricity. She picks out a can of Diet Coke and doesn’t look at anybody when she leaves.
By Friday, Helen is reconsidering her life choices.
Her students this year are nightmares . It’s the first week, yes, but she can tell already; they have no attention span, no respect, and no ambition. Uninterested, uninvolved, and uninspired, they simply go through the motions, completely content to disengage from anything. The kids are happy to pass through life by settling for average rather than striving to be extraordinary. Helen hopes she can get at least one of them to care by the end of the year. And if she plans to spend the entire weekend watching TED Talks in order to get there, that’s nobody’s business but hers.
Just before the final bell of the day can ring, her classroom phone does. Helen, puzzled at who could be calling so late in the school day, picks it up on the third ring.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Sharp. This is Principal Van Horn.”
Helen inwardly groans. The last thing she wants to do on a Friday is engage in whatever conversation her boss wants to have right before she’s off the clock. If she ends up spending the next two days wracked with anxiety and thinking about every little thing she could possibly be fired for, she’ll be quite annoyed. But, if this is in fact the last thing she does today, she might as well end the week on a pleasant note and build some good will with the woman. God only knows you can never have enough.
“Oh, hello. What can I do for you?”
“Once you finish your dismissal duties, I need to speak with you in my office.”
She waits for more – an explanation, a question, literally any more information, but the woman on the other end of the line is silent. At first Helen isn’t sure she’s still on the line.
“Ms. Sharp?”
That sure brings her back. “Yes, sorry. Of course, I’ll see you then.”
And then she knows the line is dead because she can breathe again. As she places the phone back on the receiver, the traitorous ringing of the school bell plays over the intercom. That couldn’t happen five minutes ago? Her students leave, the classroom empties, and she makes her way outside, weaving through the flood of teens paying attention to everything else except where they’re going. While supervising the kids clamboring into their various buses, she picks at her cuticles.
It is literally the first week of school. There’s no way she’s done something to piss off Viola Van Horn already. By her assessment, Helen is arguably one of the better behaved faculty members. Not a single scandal is on her record in her years at the school – no drugs, no sex, and not a single complaint from any of her colleagues.
Except for one. But she doesn’t count.
And yet, the queen hath summoned her to atone for some sin she’s unaware of committing, she’s sure. Whatever Viola says, she’ll just go along with it. She’ll take the punishment, whateve r it is for whatever she did, grovel a perfectly decent amount, and then everything will be perfect once more.
These thoughts race through her head over and over as she heads to Viola’s office. But as she approaches the secretary’s desk, she spots a familiar blonde blowout leaning over the counter, chatting animatedly with the person sitting there. Helen catches the last bit of the conversation.
“So I said to him – and, this is important to remember, I’m in that dark green cocktail dress with the–”
Madeline stops in the middle of her sentence, and that’s how Helen knows she, too, has been spotted. Both Madeline and the secretary (it’s another young woman today – beautiful with smooth dark skin and the biggest doe eyes Helen’s ever seen) drop the conversation, with the former slowly turning toward Helen and the latter immediately casting her eyes down at whatever task she had been doing before. Madeline pastes her signature thousand watt smile on her face and acts every bit the polite, pleasant coworker they both know she’s not.
“Ms. Sharp! How …fun to run into you.”
Helen’s extensive vocabulary immediately provides an entire dictionary’s worth of different words that evoke entirely different feelings, but she keeps that to herself. She tries to return a smile that doesn’t look pained.
“Likewise, Ms. Ashton. What brings you here?”
Madeline maintains her grin, but her eyes are cold as ice. “A $200,000 Porsche.”
Before someone dies, the secretary clears her throat. “Ms. Van Horn is ready for both of you.”
Both of them? It’s a scenario neither one of the women expects. It takes them a second to process what the girl has said before they both head toward the office. Madeline enters first, confidently pushing the door open and promptly letting it fall like a cartoon anvil behind her, seemingly unaware of the way it nearly smashes directly into Helen’s face.
Fun, indeed.
When they step into the room, Viola is at her desk, flipping through and signing various papers. The two women stand in front of her, waiting to be acknowledged. Helen is fidgeting with her watch and biting the inside of her lip. Madeline takes out her phone to check an Instagram notification. Finally, they are rewarded with eye contact.
“Afternoon, ladies. Please, have a seat.”
There’s a certain tension building in the room as Madeline and Helen each slip into a chair in front of Viola’s desk. Once more, she says nothing. Her gaze rests for a long moment on Madeline first, then Helen.
“I assume you both are familiar with the district’s Pillars of the Community program?” Tentatively, they both nod. “Good. It appears our institution is in need of two co-chairs for the outreach committee.”
Helen’s brow furrows in confusion. “Weren’t Paul and Daniel supposed to be running it this year?"
Viola drums her manicured nails against her desk. “They were. However, something has come up which has required their removal from Hayes High School-related activities.”
Madeline quirks an eyebrow and scooches forward in her chair, nearly salivating. “Both of them?”
“Yes, Ms. Ashton,” Viola replies, tersely. Her eyes narrow in Madeline’s direction. “And that’s all you’re going to get.” The blonde sighs and flops back in her seat. She gestures for Viola to continue. “In their absence, I have decided that the two of you will be taking over their roles.”
The silence is thick enough to take a jackhammer through.
Helen is the first to speak. “As in, the both of us – together – will be responsible for coordinating all of the events and activities this year? Together?”
Viola looks bored out of her mind. “Yes, Ms. Sharp. That is typically how co-chairs operate.”
“And if we say no?” Madeline asks, a definite edge to her voice. She seems just as affected as Helen, which offers some comfort at least. The redhead can feel her heartbeat in her teeth.
“That isn’t an option.” Viola says it with a finality that fills Helen with dread and irritates Madeline. She’s never been one to go down without a fight.
“Why does it have to be us?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not fair.
“I never said it was.”
“What if we went on strike?”
“You’d never get the support of the union.”
“Maybe we wouldn’t need it.”
“I don’t think a two person strike would be particularly effective, Ms. Ashton.”
Madeline lets out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her chest. Both she and Helen resign themselves to their fates, though not happily. Viola makes an attempt at peace keeping.
“Look, I understand this isn’t ideal. For either one of you. But the fact remains that I need two faculty members to present to the school board and neither one of you have participated in all the time you’ve been employed here.” Madeline opens her mouth to object, but Viola silences her with a raised hand. “I checked. Twice. Every other teacher here has spent at least one school year involved in some aspect of the program. Except you two. I’m trying to be fair.”
Madeline snorts. “Oh, now you care about fair?”
“I think what she means,” Helen interjects, catching Viola’s attention and desperately trying to keep this trainwreck on the rails, “is that while it’s not exactly what we’d choose, we will do our best to represent Hayes High...honorably?"
Viola slowly turns her head in Madeline’s direction. She waits for a response. Madeline looks as if her mouth is glued shut. Helen thinks they’re going to stare menacingly at each other for the entire weekend until her new co-chair finally gives in. “Yes. What she said.”
Their boss shakes her head in a way that says girl, I guess and dismisses both women from her office. The walk past the secretary desk and into the hallway feels like it takes an hour. Helen winces when she realizes they’re both headed in the direction of the teacher’s parking lot, making her escape from the other woman nearly impossible. Before they split ways toward their respective vehicles, Helen steps in front of Madeline and faces her.
“I know you don’t want to do this with me as much as I don’t want to do this with you, but it doesn’t seem like we have a choice. So, here’s what I’m offering.” She takes a deep breath, preparing to sign her life away. “I’ll organize some volunteer events, a few open forums with parents, and maybe a fundraising event or two. You just have to show up. I’ll do all of the planning and the organizing and we won’t have to see or deal with each other unless absolutely necessary.”
For a split second, Helen thinks she sees hurt in Madeline’s eyes. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, and in its place returns her usual glare. “No,” she says.
“No?”
“No,” Madeline confirms. “If my name is going to be connected to something, I’m not going to just hand it over to someone else.” A thought occurs to her, then. “You could easily sabotage it all so that my name is associated with trash and my reputation is ruined . Absolutely not.” She punctuates the statement with a theatrical flip of her hair.
(Helen neglects to remind Madeline that her name, too, will be attached to whatever they accomplish. She doesn’t imagine it would matter.)
“Fine,” Helen says, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll be able to act civilly.”
“Of course I will,” Madeline starts, “ You are the one we need to worry about, if your presentation at last year’s seminar is anything to go by.”
Helen bristles. “I only hope I can live up to your expectations. It’s not every day I get to work so closely with someone whose career boasts projects like the 1996 production of What’s This in the Freezer?” She takes a beat, pretending to think. “How many ‘off's' were in front of ‘Broadway’ for that one? I can never remember if it was three or four.”
Madeline’s eyes narrow for a split second.“Three. And I still find it just such a shame that audiences didn’t connect to the heartwarming and brave story of a woman who gives birth to twins with different fathers in the back of her family’s Mafia-run meat packing business.”
Clearly finished with the conversation, she pivots and struts toward the sparse cluster of cars on the far left side of the lot, but then turns back last minute.
“Also, your hair is dull and lifeless like your personality.”
One for the road, Helen thinks, as she watches the other woman walk away. There’s an irony in the fact that she has to turn in the complete opposite direction to reach her own car. The redhead is pensive as she adjusts the mirrors, buckles her seatbelt. Her hands sit perfectly on the steering wheel at ten and two.
Fuck.
There’s no way both of them survive this. There’s either going to be a murder or a homicide or both. Helen closes her eyes and lets her head thunk against the steering wheel, causing the horn to give one short but loud honk . She jumps and frantically looks around making sure nobody saw or heard. It feels like an omen. As she makes the short trip back home, she only has one thought in her head.
This is going to be a long, long school year.