Taking The Class Pt. 01

"You know how it is, always someone wanting to talk about something. Ended up in the English department talking to some freshmen about Skills and Classes, and that was before I got dragged into an argument with Mrs. Erikson about whether..." he trailed off, realizing how she was tapping a pen distractedly against the desk and not smiling.

She didn't know what he meant. Occasionally a classmate would call out to her with some matter they wanted addressed, but it was far from being a common occurrence. She had officially-scheduled hours at her desk for students to bring topics that they wanted to raise to the faculty.

"Yes, very interesting, I'm sure. After I'm done reviewing the Senior Day suggestions from our thoughtful and creative classmates, I'd certainly be interested in hearing more about the debates you had with one of our senior English department faculty members. Perhaps with some help, the work might be done faster and you could tell me about it?"

She slowly moved her eyes down to the stack of papers—had it somehow grown since she last looked at it?—and then resumed pinning him in place with her stare.

"Ah, well, I'd love to help you out, Prez, but I've sort of got another thing that I was hoping you could help me out with this afternoon. Not that I wouldn't want to assist you on this matter, of course, because you know I'm always here to help; leadership and such—very important—right?"

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes inwardly. Will White, the spoiled, rich layabout, was doing something on his own which he needed the help of the student council president? It seemed improbable; Will was simply not one to take initiative, or to do anything that went against the path of least resistance. "So?"

"Um, yes," he said, trailing off under her scrutiny. He looked back and forth, scanning the room. Were it anyone else, she'd have described his state as nervous, but this was Will White—the epitome of confidence.

He turned back towards the door. "I think we'll want some privacy for this, so I'll make sure we aren't disturbed. Unless you mind?" He gestured at the shade over the door which was traditionally pulled down when meetings were in session for discussing sensitive topics.

She nodded her acquiescence, her interest piqued. Had he gotten himself into some sort of trouble and needed her to rescue him? A thrill ran through her at the thought. Not because she had any interest in saving him in particular, but because he'd owe her afterward.

He pulled down the shade, the "Student Council Meeting In Progress: Do Not Disturb" text now facing outward and blocking any view of the room. His turning of the lock completed the usual process that the student council undertook for some meetings. When they were all present. Not when it was only part of the council, and certainly not when it was just a boy and a girl alone together.

Will walked forward, approaching her desk with his usual nonchalant grin. He didn't loom. Will had a certain attitude about him—affected or not—which tended to put everyone around him at ease. He just wanted to talk, or listen to you talk. Will was a talker.

"It's like this, Prez," he said, hopping up to sit on the edge of her desk. He rotated his body so that he was perching with one leg on the desk and one leg dangling off, facing her. He lowered his voice, speaking more softly as though afraid he might be overheard, and she started inwardly at the unexpected intimacy of the setting; she then became annoyed at his assumed familiarity. She stopped tapping her pen on the desk.

"I've recently become aware of some troubling information regarding one of the members of the student council." He leaned in and stared into her dark brown eyes. He stopped, gauging her reaction. When she blankly returned his gaze, he continued, "I don't have any evidence of wrongdoing, but I'm certain that if the faculty were alerted, the individual in question would fail a Truth Detection. This would, obviously, be a problem for the rest of us since it would tarnish the reputation of the student council. And the school."

He continued eyeing her, his grin having faded, but there was no way he could know. It was impossible. Which meant that he must have dirt on someone else. But who?

Seeing her lack of reaction, he did not fidget. He simply maintained eye contact with her, making her feel uncomfortable. It was awkward for people who were barely more than acquaintances to make eye contact like this for such a long period of time.

"Well, what did you find out?" she asked. She resumed tapping her pen on the desk. "Who is it?"

Will glanced momentarily at the motion of the pen, then met her eyes once more. His grin was entirely gone now, and he even looked slightly confused.

"Prez," he said slowly, his eyes boring straight into her brain, "it's you."

She stopped breathing. The pen froze in her hands. It was impossible. She remained convinced of the impossibility that anyone could know, resuming her affected poise.

"Will. If this is a prank, not only is it not funny, I find it extremely offensive." She furrowed her brow, expressing her displeasure by letting her glasses slip slightly down her nose. The change lost some of its effectiveness due to the fact that he was still sitting on her desk, forcing her to look up at him. "And get off my desk." She made a shooing motion with one hand.

"You're certainly a great actress," he said while sliding off the desk and onto his feet. He spun, facing back towards her. "And it makes this all the better." He placed his hands on the front of the desk and leaned in too close, his face only a few inches from hers. "Prez, you don't know me very well. I get that, and it's mutual. You also don't like me much, and I get that—I can be a bit polarizing."

She arched an eyebrow, surprised that Mr. Oblivious was aware of anything that didn't directly involve him. If this was meant to be intimidating, it wasn't.

"I don't have a problem with you," he said, ignoring her provocation. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she noticed that his eyes were actually a bit cute up close. Clear blue. This would have been so much easier for her if he'd showed up a few minutes earlier, before she got horny. She rubbed her thighs together slowly, not letting the motion change her upper body's posture or allowing the slight glare to drop from her face.

"...Even when you don't take me seriously. So let's try this." He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice resonated inside her head.

"I know you cheated on your midterm exams. I don't have the details, and I don't have evidence, but I can sink you. If we can come to an agreement before I leave this room, I will see to it that faculty never learns of this. If we don't, I will take the action expected of me as the student council vice president, and I won't go easy on you."

She shivered. Her hand dropped the pen, and she jerked away from him. She pushed her chair backwards and nearly tipped over in sudden panic. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. It was like her brain had disconnected itself from her body.

He knew. His statements had bypassed the critical thinking center of her mind, leaving her with absolute certainty that everything he said was completely true. It was impossible for him to be lying.

But how could he know? How? She'd left no evidence. It had been late at night, after rehearsal. Nobody had seen her leave, nobody had noticed her grab the extra set of keys out of the janitor's closet, nobody had seen her going into the classrooms or riffling through the paper-filled drawers and photographing the answer keys with her small digital camera. She was certain of it. There were no security cameras, she hadn't told anyone, and she'd deliberately gotten some answers wrong to avoid suspicion.

How.

She came back to herself after a moment, but she was still unable to respond. He was going to expose her to the faculty. She would be destroyed. No medical school would accept her. Cheating a single time was perhaps excusable if the person was suitably repentant, but she'd cheated on more than just one exam. She was fucked.

"Prez," he said, cornering her further. She was still in no condition to respond and was staring at the floor, eyes unfocused, lost in her thoughts. "Prez. What do you think? Is this still a prank?" He waited a moment before gesturing at the door. "I can leave—"

"No!" she was terrified at the prospect, recalling his words and the consequences if he were to leave now. She lunged forward, catching at his hand. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, and her breathing quickened. "No," she said again. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I believe you. Please please don't tell anyone." She clasped his left hand with both of hers. His palm was cool and sweaty, the hand trembling, but the ramifications were lost in her state of fear. She brought his hand in front of her face, gripping it as though it were a life preserver preventing her from drowning. "Please, my life will be over," she whispered. "I'll never do it again, please, Will." She stared up at him, her watery brown eyes pleading. This was no act.

"Well, Prez, it's like I said." Will hopped back up onto the desk, allowing her to continue clutching at his hand while he made himself more comfortable. "If we can reach an understanding, your secret will be safe with me."

"Understanding?" she asked, grasping at the lifeline that he'd thrown her. "You mean like a deal?" Her mind was focusing on the possibilities. "Okay, I'll do anything. What, you want me to handle your student council duties? Do your homework the rest of the year?"

"No, no," he pulled his hand free, struggling slightly due to the vice-like grip she had been using. "It's much simpler than that."

In a show of familiarity which would have completely shocked and infuriated her if she'd been in a more normal state of mind, Will reached over to her face and plucked the wide-rimmed glasses off her face. He held them up to his face, taking a glance through the lenses. "Hm, barely any prescription," he commented under his breath. He folded, then carefully placed her glasses on the desk beside him. "What I want, Prez, is you."

She blinked. Had she heard him correctly?

"Is this," she paused, "some kind of pick-up line? Like... you want me to date you?" Her already-muddled brain nearly broke under the weight of this even more baffling prospect. She really had the worst luck with guys. She blinked again.

He laughed, once, and shook his head. "No, don't misunderstand me." His voice was placid, like he was discussing the weather. "Like I said, I don't know you very well, and I'm certainly not interested in dating you. No offense," he added the last part as an afterthought. "What I want is you, right here, right now."

"Um," she began. "I think maybe I'm not getting—"

"I want you to let me fuck you," he said, leaning in slightly. Her eyes widened. "Here." Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "Now." Her mouth fell open. "On this desk." He rapped his knuckles on the desk, and she glanced down at it involuntarily, then back up at him. What?

"That's what you want? But—I...What? You.." She stopped sputtering and took a futile moment to try and collect herself. She took a breath. "There's no—"

"Stop." He interrupted her. "I want you to think before you respond, because this isn't a debate or a negotiation. Have you ever known me to give up halfway on something or to settle for less than I asked for?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but fell short, her tongue feeling dry in her mouth. He was right; for all she derided him in her head, she couldn't think of a single case where he'd actually given up on a task that he'd started, or a time when he'd failed to get exactly what he wanted out of a situation. Even his grades: she might be the valedictorian, but had he ever budged from his position at ninth in the class?

Was he serious then? He was blackmailing her for her body? In her office? Her mind swirled, unable to think effectively so soon after being dealt such a haymaker.

"Why wouldn't I just report this to the principal, or even the police?" she tried. "You know what this would look like to them."

"Really, Prez?" He looked askance down into her now-naked eyes. It somehow made her feel shy to not have her glasses between them, to not have the glasses of the Student Council President keeping him out. "You'd turn yourself in?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Wow, I really didn't see that answer coming. You'd rather ruin your life on your own? For pride?"

Her mind blanked. That wasn't what she'd meant! Her face flushed, realizing that not only had he misunderstood her, but it was actually less embarrassing this way. She hoped he wouldn't—

"Oh, I see," he chuckled. "That really threw me for a loop when I thought—well, you know. I'll humor you, even though I think you already know why it wouldn't work. Even if, hypothetically, they somehow ignore you—Little Miss Perfect, Madam President—cheating like this, even if you convince people that I tried to," he paused, "make an arrangement with you to prevent your life from being ruined—which, if I might say, is really quite noble if you think about it, I'm basically trying to be your knight in shining armor here—nothing will happen to me. Truth Detection? Pretty sure I can break it. And even if I can't, you know who my old man is. He'll see that I get maybe a slap on the wrist publicly, but this will just prove to him that I'm on track to join his good ol' boys club and he'll be patting me on the back and setting me up for some internship at his firm."

She was beating herself up inwardly. Of course he wouldn't care; his father was a senior partner at one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. Making a relatively small matter like this disappear was nothing for him.

"If I speak up," he continued to drive his point home, "regardless of what happens to me you're still screwed. Metaphorically speaking, of course, though I'm hoping it will be literal very soon."

She glared at him again, hating that he could so glibly come up with puns while blackmailing her.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this," she said, the annoyances building up and helping to clear her mind somewhat. "You've hooked up with a handful of the most beautiful girls at school—more beautiful than me, I'm aware enough to admit that—and if even a fraction of the stories I've heard about your nightlife are true then at minimum you're used to drinking shots out of models' cleavage and fucking daytime TV starlets. Why...Why me? Is this some kind of role play type of thing? I don't get it."

She wasn't doing a great job of convincing him to change his mind, but it was the best she could do at the moment with how flustered she was.

"You flatter me!" He seemed to be greatly amused by some or all of what she'd said. "I could explain, and answer all of your questions, and maybe turn this into some kind of forbidden romantic tryst for you, but I won't and it's not going to be."

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had the same resonating quality as earlier. "If you'd asked me last week, I would have said that you were a cute girl but nothing special. Average, maybe a bit above. You put a lot of work into maintaining your appearance, and that raises you up in my estimation; I appreciate the effort and dedication.

"Perhaps I had an epiphany over the weekend and my tastes have changed, perhaps you've gained that certain je ne sais quoi which makes some women irresistible, but when I saw you today I thought you were by far the most desirable girl at the school, and I wanted you more than I've ever wanted any woman."

He was a little red in the face when he finished, but it was nothing compared to the full body blush that she felt as his words once again bypassed all reason in her head and went straight to her heart. And then past her heart and to somewhere lower. She'd been a little turned on before he showed up at the thought of a rendezvous the following day, and it had lingered into the beginning of their meeting, but this was something else entirely now. She'd never felt this kind of arousal before, this...heat. It felt like her skin was on fire. The tightness of her jeans was unbearable, and she struggled mightily to avoid giving away how much she was squirming under her desk.

She looked up at him, looking into his eyes. She bit the corner of her lower lip, unable to stop herself.

"If you agree to my proposal," he said, looking back into her eyes, "stand up, pull your jeans down—just the jeans, and bend over your desk."

* * *

That piece of shit! He used a Skill on me! Alaina had been reliving the previous afternoon's events over and over as she stalked through Will White's social media accounts, looking for something, anything she could use as ammunition for her revenge. Her search had revealed little she wasn't already aware of: father worked at a law firm, mother was apparently a trophy wife, younger sister who went to their school, and he was squeaky clean. It's almost unsettling how wholesome his profiles are, how carefully he must curate all the photos that he and his group of friends post.

What the fuck, he used a Skill? I've never heard of him using any Skills before. Wait, what even is his Class?! She broke away from her internet fugue for a moment, the enormity of the thought striking her. How do I not know what his Class is? I know everyone's Class.

Everyone talked about their Class. Everyone. When a person received it, even if they got a Class they weren't happy with they would tell their friends, a teacher, someone. And that knowledge would percolate around in the school until it eventually reached the top of the school: her.

But she didn't know Will White's Class.

It must have been a Skill. When he told me he knew I cheated, I couldn't argue it, I just knew that it was the truth. I knew that he would ruin my life if I didn't...

She sighed in frustration.

And then again, when he told me I was 'desirable'. I was so turned on I thought I was going to orgasm just from my pants pressing into my clit! The idea of it doesn't even make sense! She turned to look at her hamper where she'd tossed the clothes she'd been wearing the other day. Including a very sticky, very lacy,black hip hugger panty.

It was like he was speaking right to my vagina, I've never gotten so wet before, let alone so quickly. Like he's some kind of...pussy whisperer. She snorted, laughing. Ridiculous.

What kind of Class could even do something like that? She shuddered, recalling the effects he'd had on her. Extreme fear, then extreme arousal. Maybe he's some kind of [Hypnotist] or something? She tapped her finger on the arm of her chair. But he didn't actually tell me to do anything. I did it on my own. And he did that thing with his voice...

She propped her elbows up on her chair's armrests, resting her temples on her fingers. I'll have to stay away from him until I know more. He said this was going to be a one-time thing, but I don't have any reason to trust him. Not after what he did.

She checked the time. Nearly seven. She was still mad, but not irrationally so like she had been earlier. I should make dinner. And then study. And then plot my revenge.

Alaina was exhausted. She'd felt worn out when she woke up, and the afternoon had completely drained what little energy she'd had left. But I promised Mom I'd make something tonight. And I'm really hungry. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast earlier in the day. The last real meal she'd had was... Lunch yesterday? Ugh, I'm going to waste away.