Page 2

“Please sit,” David says, motioning to the four seats he, without a doubt, set up in front of his huge desk just for this occasion.

If I’m honest, it gives off “small dick energy,” and I’m not just saying that because of the size of his desk—three people could easily work behind it—but also because of his need to always show off who’s the boss around the school.

I mean, he could have told us in advance why he was calling us here, but no, he had to be cagey and make us sweat at least for a few minutes.

We all still comply as if our jobs are on the line—which could very well be the case.

“The council had an idea,” he starts, and something inside of me relaxes.

If he’s not the one who had the idea, we might still be good.

“They decided the shifter community needs to start fitting into the human world and not the other way around,” he says with pursed lips and narrowed eyes—he clearly doesn’t agree with this idea. “And to do so, they’ve asked, or more like ordered, the different species of shifters to learn the native languages of Europe.”

How is that going to help? Teaching them our history would, but why languages? It makes no sense.

“And so you all are the lucky winners of that brilliant idea,” David adds. “You’ll have new additions in your class starting this New Year, and if everything goes well, we’ll keep the program.”

It’s said so dryly that I’m sure no one in this room doubts the fact our dean hates the idea.

Sometimes I wonder why he became dean of an integrated school. But then I remind myself that he’s probably not that high up in the food chain amongst the shifters, and that he wouldn’t be able to flex and get high on power in a school full of shifters, and I don’t wonder anymore.

“I hope you fail,” David adds so low that I almost miss it. I think he believes no one hears him.

I’m not even surprised by his words.

I raise my hand like I’m still a student, and wait for him to let me talk.

“Yes, Constance,” he enunciates my name with a forced English accent, butchering it in the process since he knows very well I prefer the softer version of the French pronunciation. He doesn’t care. Or more precisely, he won’t bother pronouncing it the way I want just to get a rise out of me. I’m not going to react, though. I can’t afford to.

That’s what I repeat to myself every day.

I need this job.

“Are we going to pair that up with history lessons?” I ask, still wondering why they picked languages as the first thing to try to integrate the shifters.

“No,” David answers without any more explanation.

“But—“

“There’s no ‘but,’ Constance. It’s already enough that they’re forcing us back to school. Don’t be greedy,” he adds before I can get another word in.

I can hear what he means perfectly clear, though. There was no “or else” at the end of that sentence, but it’s all the same.

And so, like the good girl that I am, I don’t ask anything else, but I can’t shake the feeling that David chose us because he’s hoping we’ll make a mess of everything.

I don’t know what he wants exactly out of our possible failure, though, and I might have to look into it.

2

Constance

I’ve not looked into it.

The beginning of the year is always the same for me. Getting my class in order, making sure my weekly schedule is actually achievable, updating the framework of the lessons of the year, lesson by lesson, and making sure I feel ready for my new students.

Why so much preparation when I could just have ideas for the year? Because my class, my work, is the only thing in my life that makes sense. Because outside of these four walls, I’m a fucking mess. And so I need somewhere where my life is in order, where there’s some control, some limits or frame.

At least at work, when I’m teaching, I know what I’m doing.