Teacher Short Stories & Novels

When my wife's student, Damon Herman, tries to kill himself again, I don't rush to save him. Instead, I calmly step back. Down below, my wife, Sophie Barrett, turns pale. She yells up at me in a panic, "Don't back away! What are you doing? Pull him down!" In my last life, at the exact same critical moment, I lunged forward to grab Damon, but he shoved me off the ledge. In that final second, there was no fear on his face. Instead, there was only a satisfied smirk. "You have to die for me to get what I want. Don't worry. I'll take good care of Professor Barrett. You can rest in peace now." After my fall, Sophie locked herself away for three days, refusing to eat or drink. I thought she would help me get revenge, but instead, she used mental instability as an excuse to help Damon escape. A year later, they got married. Mom killed herself over the grief, leaving Dad all alone to fight for justice. When I open my eyes, I'm back on the very day Damon pretends to jump.

My twin sister Selena was the most troublesome grad student my fiancé, Professor Adrian Hall, had ever taken on. Skipping class, showing up late, doctoring observation curves. Every time she walked into his lab, the two of them seemed ready to set the whole college on fire. I told Adrian to stop using that tribunal tone with her. But he explained, "Eve, if she keeps drifting like this, sooner or later she'll ruin herself." When he looked at Selena, his gray-blue eyes were as cold as a lake on a winter night. "Have every raw record on my oak desk before eight tomorrow morning. One page short, and you don't set foot in the observation tower for the rest of the month." I felt embarrassed for Selena, and grateful that I'd fallen for the right man. Adrian Hall was the youngest tenured professor at St. George's College. Tall and lean, always in a dark gray cashmere coat, shirt buttoned to the very top. He could dismantle an entire model in the calmest voice, and still hold an umbrella over me on a rainy night, so gentle it made me believe I was the one exception outside his academic world. Until the day we were preparing the wedding invitations. I borrowed his tablet, and my finger accidentally slipped into a document buried under layers of folders. Inside were five hundred and twenty memos. [Punishment No. 519: Selena talked back to me again. I kept her in my office and fucked her until three in the morning;by the end she didn't have the strength left to even look up at me.] [Punishment No. 520: She got jealous. She insisted I leave something behind inside Eve's wedding dress — to prove that the white gown meant to symbolize purity could be dirtied by her too.] With trembling hands, I scrolled to the video at the very bottom. On the screen, the aloof and untouchable Professor Hall was down on one knee on his office carpet, kissing the rose tattoo on Selena's ankle. "Selena, stop torturing me. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you, alright?"

When I missed the passing grade by one point, my best friend dragged me to a bar. She said there was nothing a drink couldn't fix. I drank until I blacked out. When I woke up, a man lay beside me, all cool eyes and tightly leashed control. I left two hundred dollars on the nightstand and ran for my life. I thought I'd never see him again. Then, on the first day of the new semester, the class I'd failed had a new professor. I looked up at the podium. The man from that night stood at the lectern, opened the roster, and read my name in a cool, even voice. "Vivian Harper, come see me in my office tomorrow." The color drained from my face. Convinced he was here for payback, I stayed up all night writing a transfer application. The next day, I clutched my transfer application all the way to his office. Before I could work up the nerve to speak, he pulled out a sheet of paper and studied me with an unreadable expression. "I've read the assignment you turned in." "Care to explain why a positive pregnancy test was bound into your term paper?"

An hour before the SATs, our homeroom teacher suddenly had a medical emergency. Before he was rushed away, he handed the folder containing everyone's admission slips to Leo Jordan—the notorious, pretty-boy troublemaker at school. Thirty minutes before check-in closed, he still hadn't shown up. By then, the rest of us were standing outside the exam center, completely freaking out. Without that folder, none of us could get in. I rang his phone until he finally picked up. I begged him to hurry and bring the folder over. Everyone was still waiting for him outside the exam center, after all. He scoffed on the other end. "Just because you're at the top of the class doesn't mean you get to boss me around. I'm getting tattooed right now, and I'm not leaving until it's done." I nearly lost my mind. There was no time to argue. I grabbed a few guys from our class, and we ran nearly two miles to the tattoo store. By the time we got there, the artist was finally finishing the last bit of color on the huge dragon covering Leo's back. I thought, 'Thank God. We can finally grab the folder and go.' Just then, Leo stood up. He unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down, revealing his hairy legs. "What's the rush?" he said. "We haven't even started on my legs yet." He turned back to the tattoo artist nonchalantly. "Okay, the dragon and tiger are done. The legs are next. Put Bugs Bunny on one leg and Lola Bunny on the other. They're my favorite couple."

During study hall, everyone in the classroom was going through their homework. Meanwhile, I had my earphones plugged in, playing a mobile game. My teacher and classmates all noticed this, but no one stopped me. After all, I was the state's top scorer. The headmaster gave me privileges, and I could spend my time how I wanted. However, the new dean of students had no idea. He snatched my phone away and bellowed, "What's your name? What do you think you're doing? Everyone else is working hard, so why aren't you?" With a deadpan face, I answered, "My name's Finn Wood." "You're at the top of your year, right? Just because you have good grades doesn't mean you get to disrespect your teachers! Everyone else is putting in the effort, and sooner or later, they'll catch up to you! You'll write a 5000-word reflection, and you're not going to bed until it's done!" I wrote two copies of the reflection. One for the dean, and the other for the headmaster. The reflection only had one string of numbers written on repeat. "154-XXX-XXX." Only the headmaster realized what number that was. It belonged to the headmaster of another high school.

My mother was the grade dean at Westbridge Academy. To prove she would never favor her own daughter, she always used me to set an example. When I scored a 98 on her AP Statistics exam, she displayed my mistake in front of the class to prove she held me to a higher standard. When I picked up a calculator another student had dropped, she gave me a conduct notice. But Olivia, her favorite student aide, could cheat, lie, and break rules, and Mom always found a reason to believe her. Then two students were caught skipping PE to make out in a restricted equipment room behind the gym. I happened to have gone to the bathroom around the same time because my stomach hurt. That was enough for Mom to decide one of them had been me. She was furious. She said I had humiliated her and disgraced the school, then posted my name on the disciplinary board as if I were the most shameless student at Westbridge. She even revoked my National Honor Society membership. Later, the principal found security footage proving I had never entered the equipment room. But Mom only said, “It’s fine. Don’t make an announcement clearing her name. Otherwise everyone will say I made up an excuse to protect my own daughter.” What Mom didn’t know was that her refusal to defend me gave everyone else permission to hurt me. When I was shoved down the stairs, only one thought remained in my mind. Mom, if I die, will that finally be enough to prove you never favored me?

"Stuff some more trash in there. Trash deserves a trash can for a locker." At noon I went to the locker room to change my shoes. I had just come through the door when I saw Venetia and a few other rich girls throwing garbage into my locker. It was packed so full the door would not close. My coat and my shoes were in the actual garbage can. Venetia raised an eyebrow when she saw me come in. "Good. Now you've seen it. You aren't welcome at this school. Trash belongs where it belongs. "I'll give you one more week to leave on your own. Otherwise, I've got other ways to deal with you." I answered coldly, "You don't get to decide who stays at this school." Venetia gave a soft laugh and drew one immaculately manicured finger across my face. "You'll find out soon enough whether what I say counts. "My daddy is the largest shareholder in this school, and every family here donates to it regularly. "Getting you expelled takes one sentence. Understand? Don't test my patience." The girls behind her all wore the same sneer, and they shouldered me hard on their way out. I watched them go and laughed under my breath. Ignorance is a fine thing. They have no idea who I am. And they have no idea that, with a single word, I could not only throw every one of them out of school but also bankrupt the parents they are so proud of.

A rare chase figure popped out of my blind box and somehow bound itself to me through an empathy link. Two days later, the doll vanished. During class, I suddenly felt two warm hands stroking my neck. A shiver ran through me. Damn it! Whoever has my empathy doll is putting their hands all over it. Before I could react, those hands slid lower and squeezed my breasts. A rush of tingling pleasure flooded my body. I reached out to stop them without thinking. The sudden movement made the cold, serious young professor at the front of the room turn to look at me. With one hand in his pocket, he pointed at the formula on the board. "Dalia, come and solve it." I had barely taken two steps when a finger suddenly brushed against the sensitive slit between my legs. I wasn't used to being touched, so I couldn't take the sudden stimulation. My knees buckled, and a moan slipped out…

Dad is my homeroom teacher. He loves using me to assert his authority. He firmly believes that the more I suffer, the more the other students will fear him, which, in turn, gives him more authority. When I help my classmate pass an eraser to their friend, Dad slaps me in front of everyone until my face is swollen. When I sneak a bite of my friend's leftover chips after class is over, he drags me to the podium and pokes my lips with needles until I'm bleeding profusely. Later, the school's head of discipline, Mary Milner, catches a pair of students dating on school grounds. Dad insists that I'm one of the culprits. He doesn't even give me a chance to defend myself and drags me to the hallway and strips me of my clothes. He then heads to Mary's office and says with a smile, "My apologies, Ms. Milner. It's my fault for failing to raise Zack properly. Don't worry. I'll definitely teach him a lesson he won't forget this time!" Mary frowns and asks, "Zack Curtis? He's not involved in this dating incident." Dad is briefly stunned before he nonchalantly says, "It doesn't matter. I'll still punish him as a warning to the others. Besides, Zack always breaks the rules. He has already received countless punishments. What's one more?" However, Dad doesn't know that every time he punishes me, I secretly deduct a point from him in my heart. I've already deducted a total of 100 points. I make my way to the hallway on the sixth floor and jump out of the window without hesitation. I wonder if my death will be enough to assert Dad's authority.