An A in Paranormal: Deal with the Devil

1 ~ UNUS

1 ~ UNUS

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Oliver Hill arranged his desk for what seemed like the fiftieth time that morning. His mug of lukewarm black coffee was on a coaster at his right. Parallel to it was his Homework tray, empty on the first day of school, and a chipped mug that contained his pens and markers. Exactly below the tray were the English text books, brand new and gleaming. There were exactly twenty books for his twenty new students.

And in one of the drawers just above his knees, he’d cautiously shoved his weed.

Oliver didn’t go anywhere without weed. It was his guilty pleasure. That and his PSP, which had been on the fritz as of late. He didn’t know if Abel Wiltshire, the English teacher he was replacing, had had any guilty pleasures – but, judging from the dog-eared 1989 Playboy issue he’d discovered when emptying the desk, Oliver decided that old Abel Wiltshire probably did.

He jumped in his seat when the glass door was pushed open.

“Relax. It’s just me,” Anya LaGrange grinned, closing it behind her. Anya was the twelfth-grade French teacher. The first time Oliver had seen this auburn-haired, green-eyed beauty, he’d wondered what the hell she was doing standing in front of a bunch of ignorant seventeen-year-olds teaching them how to conjugate verbs. It was a waste of sex appeal, in his opinion.

“I thought you were the mob,” he said, reddening.

“From experience, the mob usually takes their time returning on the first day of school.” Anya’s gaze turned to the chalkboard; she giggled. “Hi, I’m Oliver Hill,” she read between bouts of laughter.

Oliver turned in his seat, analysing what he’d neatly chalked onto the blackboard. “What? Is it too much? Or should I just write Mr. Hill?”

“No, no, it’s…cute.”

Cute? Oliver thought, brow furrowing. Cute is for puppies and old women trying to hit on me.

“What do your students call you?”

“Miss Anya. Or ‘that French bitch’.” She laughed. “Most of the young teachers here allow their students to use their first names. The older ones, much like poor Mr. Wiltshire, demand a certain level of respect. Hell, I even used to call him Mr. Wiltshire. I never even knew his first name.”

“Yes, well, may his soul rest in peace.”

“I highly doubt that. He was a shithead.”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “And here I was thinking you were a sweet little redhead. Stereotypes don’t lie.”

Her eyes hardened. “You’re in for a few surprises then, Mr. Hill.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Anya smiled again. “I just stopped by to wish you good luck on your first day. And to advise you that teachers don’t usually give work today, unless they want to receive death threats. Feel free to get to know your kids. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun,” Oliver repeated weakly, tapping his fingertips on his desk. “Sure. You know, Anya, being a high school teacher wasn’t my first choice as an occupation.”

“No? What was your first choice, then?”

“Bail bondsman.”

The kids started streaming in at exactly 8:17. Class was supposed to start at 8:00 sharp, as Principal Greer had informed Oliver a week ago. Oliver had been standing by the open door for exactly seventeen minutes, cursing under his breath.