I was alone in the classroom when I heard her call my name. I fidgeted with my hands and wiped my brow nervously, trying to make myself comfortable on the hard wooden seat. Then I got up and moved to the board, and came back again.
"You know," she spoke through the door, "I've wanted to get to know you better... for a while now, actually." Her voice was as smooth as silk. It flowed.
My own voice was a terrible contrast in reply. "R-r-really?" I stuttered, cleared my voice and repeated, trying to sound collected. "Really?"
"Oh, yes," she said warmly, and I could her the smile in her tone. "Your papers are absolutely brilliant. I bet there's a lot you can teach me. I don't always have to be the teacher..." she trailed off invitingly. I looked at my hand. It was shaking.
"Ms. Rosenberg-"
"Please," she cut me off, and stepped into the room. She was wearing nothing but some strategically placed whipped cream covering areas of her body. "Call me Willow..."
That was when the bell rang and I jerked awake.
***
"...and when did they stop?"
"The fantasies? When we found out she was pregnant. Hell, we didn't even know she was married, if she is. Sorry," I added, suddenly feeling bad. "I didn't mean to say that word."
"It's all right," Father Harold reassured me. "The church acknowledges the existence of the place." I relaxed a bit. "So is that all?"
I nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see me and said "yeah."
"Well, then. Don't worry about the dreams, there's always that one teacher. And you should apologize to your brothers for handcuffing them to each other," -I flushed a bit- "but that's basically it."
"Thank you, Father."
"Have a nice day," I heard as I left the booth and walked out of the church.
I'm a good guy. I don't have a lot to confess about, usually, and I really had to scrape the corners of my memory to find something to talk about this time. Hence the story of the dream (although, you have no idea how scary it actually is to fantasize about your teachers. I mean... it's twisted). But being close to the church is important, especially when you live here in Sunnydale. You really need to stay close to God, or else you'd be closer to... other things. You feel safer when you have your cross with you (Ms. Rosenberg was the head of the Carry-a-Cross campaign, which is weird because I remember hearing she's Jewish).
I'd be the first to admit Sunnydale isn't your average town, and not only because of the high mortality rate. But mostly, yes, because of it. And memories. You go to the bronze one night and wake up with vague memories of fighting an ET-like creature, minus the cute & cuddly aspects. And then you forget, and have an occasional nightmare but that's it.
It's not that people are ignorant here, that they know nothing, because, come on- a thing like a whole town with laryngitis is kinda hard to overlook (that happened about ten years ago). There's no ignorance. People ignoring- that's a different matter. It's our own form of natural selection. Curious and inquisitive people start talking about monsters. Then they just *have* to go looking and the next thing you know there's another dead body adorning the cemetery. 'Curiosity killed the cat' is very literal in Sunnydale. But He Who Ignores Lives to See Another Day (our unofficial eleventh commandment).
So there's a small part at the back of our head that tells us to pay attention, not to stay out too long after dark, to keep in shape and the rest goes on with life. We repress, because we don't want to spend half our salary in the future on therapists analyzing our childhood traumas and fear of bats.
On my way home from the church I passed the school. It had been rebuilt three times in the past twenty years, but always stayed in the same place. You'd think people would realize it was a bad omen, but then again the mayors of Sunnydale were always a bit out of it. The school was fine, if slightly abnormal. It had a pretty big library, an advanced computer lab, all the regular facilities. A big gymnasium. I mean, really big. Our gym teachers had a hard time figuring out what to do with all the extra space (we even had a week of country line dancing lessons, but it wore out after a teacher broke her toe). The vastness is supposed to make putting out fires easier, and you'd think- who'd be dumb enough to burn the gym? -but this is Sunnydale we're talking about.
Sunnydale High also has a Memorial, with pictures of all the students and teachers that died in their time here. It hasn't grown much lately, though. Ms- I mean, Mrs. Rosenberg takes care of it. I have a feeling she knows everyone there- she was in school way back when Calendar and Snyder died, and even French and Flutie.
Ms. Rosenberg (I think I'll keep with the Ms.) is really the favorite teacher in my grade. She teaches computers and science, and would never hesitate to stay at school afterhours helping out whoever. She's nice, and caring, and compassionate, you can tell she loves her work and actually *likes* her students, which refreshing in the tyranny that is our school. Plus, she's super-sexy.
Which was why we were shocked to discover she was pregnant. It was an accident, coincidentally. I was the one who found out.
I had gone to the library. I'd gotten a paper to do in art about the Mona Lisa (did you know it was stolen, like, three times? Oh. You did.), and my last report card had just enough Cs on it to reduce my allowance (I should get a job, I know, but I'm lazy and spoiled and a teenager), so I knew I had to do better this semester. Going to the library seemed like a small sacrifice.
So anyway, I'm away in the stacks and Giles (the librarian) is talking to this blonde woman, when I hear the door burst open and a familiar voice, nearly in tears, says "I'm positive."
Being naturally curious (did I say I wasn't earlier? I lied), I crept over to the railing and peered down unnoticed at the three. Ms. Rosenberg and the blonde were hugging, and Giles was wiping his glasses. It only took me a moment to figure out what they were talking about and I knew it was a very private moment but I couldn't help myself.
"What am I going to do?" Ms. Rosenberg asked tearfully. Giles put his arm around her and sat her down. She leaned heavily on him. "I don't know what to do..."
"Oz?" The blonde asked. Ms. Rosenberg nodded.
"Two months ago, when he came for that pack of Gherogs... But Buffy, I didn't mean this to happen, I knew he was going away again..." My brain was letting off alarm bells at this point. My teacher's sex-life was certainly more than I needed to know, but my legs wouldn't budge. And letting them know I'd been listening all along wasn't a very appealing option.
Then they talked for a while in hushed voices, and I could only pick out a few choice words. "What if... baby... where... oof..." (at least that's how my conscious mind translated. That night I had a dream about silver bullets). At last they spoke up again.
"Since you've decided to have the baby-" Giles looked at Ms. Rosenberg again, and she nodded. "-we must minimize the risk of it not being normal."
She looked up at him suddenly with fear on her face as she grasped his meaning. "Not-"
"Leave," Buffy finished quietly for her. "You have to get as far away from the Hellmouth as you can, Will, because if anything supernatural's gonna happen, it'll be here."
"But I can't," Ms. Rosenberg protested despairingly. "My job, my friends, my life-"
"You can't chance it," Giles said. "But I'm afraid that's not all. Raising a child here might be too dangerous for you."
"No! Other people do it!" She was almost pleading.
"Other people aren't involved."
"I can stop! I'll stop slaying, I won't even research!"
"Do you really think you could? Knowing we might be in danger and not help?" Giles looked at her for a long time, until she finally lowered her eyes, and barely audibly whispered "no."
Buffy's eyes also started to well up. "God, you're leaving permanently... I can't believe this."
"Maybe you can-" Ms. Rosenberg trailed off.
Buffy looked at Giles, who looked back at her helplessly. She turned to Ms. Rosenberg sadly. "I can't. I'm stuck here in Sunnydale. But... this is good for you, I guess."
"No..." Ms. Rosenberg was crying now. Giles also wiped his eyes.
"Yeah... And hey," she squealed, squeezing Ms. Rosenberg's hand. "You're having a baby!"
Ms. Rosenberg smiled through her tears and sobbed again. Giles led them both to the office and I took the opportunity to sneak out.
The church and the school behind me now, I finally reached my street. There was a big truck standing in front of Ms. Rosenberg's house (did I forget to mention she lives- or lived- in my street?). I guess she's moving out today. A couple of guys were moving boxes from the house to the truck, but I couldn't see her anywhere.
I'm really gonna miss her. Good teachers are everywhere- finding ones that you *like* is something else. We'll probably have subs for a while, until the new teacher settles in. She told us his name is Finn or something, and that he's a nice guy, but it won't be the same.
I really regret eavesdropping on that conversation. There were a lot of things there I didn't have a right to know, and some things I really didn't *want* to know (Gherog? Slaying? Ugh).
Maybe I'll go confess sometime.
Maybe I'll just ignore.
"You know," she spoke through the door, "I've wanted to get to know you better... for a while now, actually." Her voice was as smooth as silk. It flowed.
My own voice was a terrible contrast in reply. "R-r-really?" I stuttered, cleared my voice and repeated, trying to sound collected. "Really?"
"Oh, yes," she said warmly, and I could her the smile in her tone. "Your papers are absolutely brilliant. I bet there's a lot you can teach me. I don't always have to be the teacher..." she trailed off invitingly. I looked at my hand. It was shaking.
"Ms. Rosenberg-"
"Please," she cut me off, and stepped into the room. She was wearing nothing but some strategically placed whipped cream covering areas of her body. "Call me Willow..."
That was when the bell rang and I jerked awake.
***
"...and when did they stop?"
"The fantasies? When we found out she was pregnant. Hell, we didn't even know she was married, if she is. Sorry," I added, suddenly feeling bad. "I didn't mean to say that word."
"It's all right," Father Harold reassured me. "The church acknowledges the existence of the place." I relaxed a bit. "So is that all?"
I nodded, and then remembered he couldn't see me and said "yeah."
"Well, then. Don't worry about the dreams, there's always that one teacher. And you should apologize to your brothers for handcuffing them to each other," -I flushed a bit- "but that's basically it."
"Thank you, Father."
"Have a nice day," I heard as I left the booth and walked out of the church.
I'm a good guy. I don't have a lot to confess about, usually, and I really had to scrape the corners of my memory to find something to talk about this time. Hence the story of the dream (although, you have no idea how scary it actually is to fantasize about your teachers. I mean... it's twisted). But being close to the church is important, especially when you live here in Sunnydale. You really need to stay close to God, or else you'd be closer to... other things. You feel safer when you have your cross with you (Ms. Rosenberg was the head of the Carry-a-Cross campaign, which is weird because I remember hearing she's Jewish).
I'd be the first to admit Sunnydale isn't your average town, and not only because of the high mortality rate. But mostly, yes, because of it. And memories. You go to the bronze one night and wake up with vague memories of fighting an ET-like creature, minus the cute & cuddly aspects. And then you forget, and have an occasional nightmare but that's it.
It's not that people are ignorant here, that they know nothing, because, come on- a thing like a whole town with laryngitis is kinda hard to overlook (that happened about ten years ago). There's no ignorance. People ignoring- that's a different matter. It's our own form of natural selection. Curious and inquisitive people start talking about monsters. Then they just *have* to go looking and the next thing you know there's another dead body adorning the cemetery. 'Curiosity killed the cat' is very literal in Sunnydale. But He Who Ignores Lives to See Another Day (our unofficial eleventh commandment).
So there's a small part at the back of our head that tells us to pay attention, not to stay out too long after dark, to keep in shape and the rest goes on with life. We repress, because we don't want to spend half our salary in the future on therapists analyzing our childhood traumas and fear of bats.
On my way home from the church I passed the school. It had been rebuilt three times in the past twenty years, but always stayed in the same place. You'd think people would realize it was a bad omen, but then again the mayors of Sunnydale were always a bit out of it. The school was fine, if slightly abnormal. It had a pretty big library, an advanced computer lab, all the regular facilities. A big gymnasium. I mean, really big. Our gym teachers had a hard time figuring out what to do with all the extra space (we even had a week of country line dancing lessons, but it wore out after a teacher broke her toe). The vastness is supposed to make putting out fires easier, and you'd think- who'd be dumb enough to burn the gym? -but this is Sunnydale we're talking about.
Sunnydale High also has a Memorial, with pictures of all the students and teachers that died in their time here. It hasn't grown much lately, though. Ms- I mean, Mrs. Rosenberg takes care of it. I have a feeling she knows everyone there- she was in school way back when Calendar and Snyder died, and even French and Flutie.
Ms. Rosenberg (I think I'll keep with the Ms.) is really the favorite teacher in my grade. She teaches computers and science, and would never hesitate to stay at school afterhours helping out whoever. She's nice, and caring, and compassionate, you can tell she loves her work and actually *likes* her students, which refreshing in the tyranny that is our school. Plus, she's super-sexy.
Which was why we were shocked to discover she was pregnant. It was an accident, coincidentally. I was the one who found out.
I had gone to the library. I'd gotten a paper to do in art about the Mona Lisa (did you know it was stolen, like, three times? Oh. You did.), and my last report card had just enough Cs on it to reduce my allowance (I should get a job, I know, but I'm lazy and spoiled and a teenager), so I knew I had to do better this semester. Going to the library seemed like a small sacrifice.
So anyway, I'm away in the stacks and Giles (the librarian) is talking to this blonde woman, when I hear the door burst open and a familiar voice, nearly in tears, says "I'm positive."
Being naturally curious (did I say I wasn't earlier? I lied), I crept over to the railing and peered down unnoticed at the three. Ms. Rosenberg and the blonde were hugging, and Giles was wiping his glasses. It only took me a moment to figure out what they were talking about and I knew it was a very private moment but I couldn't help myself.
"What am I going to do?" Ms. Rosenberg asked tearfully. Giles put his arm around her and sat her down. She leaned heavily on him. "I don't know what to do..."
"Oz?" The blonde asked. Ms. Rosenberg nodded.
"Two months ago, when he came for that pack of Gherogs... But Buffy, I didn't mean this to happen, I knew he was going away again..." My brain was letting off alarm bells at this point. My teacher's sex-life was certainly more than I needed to know, but my legs wouldn't budge. And letting them know I'd been listening all along wasn't a very appealing option.
Then they talked for a while in hushed voices, and I could only pick out a few choice words. "What if... baby... where... oof..." (at least that's how my conscious mind translated. That night I had a dream about silver bullets). At last they spoke up again.
"Since you've decided to have the baby-" Giles looked at Ms. Rosenberg again, and she nodded. "-we must minimize the risk of it not being normal."
She looked up at him suddenly with fear on her face as she grasped his meaning. "Not-"
"Leave," Buffy finished quietly for her. "You have to get as far away from the Hellmouth as you can, Will, because if anything supernatural's gonna happen, it'll be here."
"But I can't," Ms. Rosenberg protested despairingly. "My job, my friends, my life-"
"You can't chance it," Giles said. "But I'm afraid that's not all. Raising a child here might be too dangerous for you."
"No! Other people do it!" She was almost pleading.
"Other people aren't involved."
"I can stop! I'll stop slaying, I won't even research!"
"Do you really think you could? Knowing we might be in danger and not help?" Giles looked at her for a long time, until she finally lowered her eyes, and barely audibly whispered "no."
Buffy's eyes also started to well up. "God, you're leaving permanently... I can't believe this."
"Maybe you can-" Ms. Rosenberg trailed off.
Buffy looked at Giles, who looked back at her helplessly. She turned to Ms. Rosenberg sadly. "I can't. I'm stuck here in Sunnydale. But... this is good for you, I guess."
"No..." Ms. Rosenberg was crying now. Giles also wiped his eyes.
"Yeah... And hey," she squealed, squeezing Ms. Rosenberg's hand. "You're having a baby!"
Ms. Rosenberg smiled through her tears and sobbed again. Giles led them both to the office and I took the opportunity to sneak out.
The church and the school behind me now, I finally reached my street. There was a big truck standing in front of Ms. Rosenberg's house (did I forget to mention she lives- or lived- in my street?). I guess she's moving out today. A couple of guys were moving boxes from the house to the truck, but I couldn't see her anywhere.
I'm really gonna miss her. Good teachers are everywhere- finding ones that you *like* is something else. We'll probably have subs for a while, until the new teacher settles in. She told us his name is Finn or something, and that he's a nice guy, but it won't be the same.
I really regret eavesdropping on that conversation. There were a lot of things there I didn't have a right to know, and some things I really didn't *want* to know (Gherog? Slaying? Ugh).
Maybe I'll go confess sometime.
Maybe I'll just ignore.