Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
The administration wasn’t exactly happy with me either, I’ll say that, but they also didn’t object to me personally leading the investigation into Hershman’s questionable scruples, especially when it came to Tempest’s history with him as a teacher. Turns out, if people had bothered to dig deeper than Hershman’s word, they would have seen what I’d guessed all along: Tempest didn’t fail any classes her senior year, he’d goddamn nuked her grades after she’d told him to stop trying to put his fucking hands on her. The whole incident with his car, and then being caught with a stolen beer in the library the following week had all been fallout from her finding out about Amy Sanders and what he’d done to her. People act out, and she’d done so exactly how I’d expect my perfect storm to.
We dug deeper, and it turns out it’d also been Hershman who’d then leaned on her economic professor, Dr. Snell, to fail her there too.
Fuck that shit.
They — well I — also reached out to and convinced the Sanders family to speak up again, and this time, I made damn sure people fucking listened to them.
And they did.
Hershman didn’t go to jail or anything, like he should have, but he did get booted from Thornbull. I also called in some favors with some ex-jarheads I know, who went to his house and basically took their time with him. He now has the word “rapist” tattooed across his forehead, and as far as I’ve been told, won’t have an easy time getting an erection basically ever again.
Fuck him.
The wind hits me and I duck down our street right off the Harvard campus. So, she’s here now, at school where she belongs, with a clean permanent record and everything about that car incident expunged from her record.
And wouldn’t you know it, she’s still fucking her professor.
Not Headmaster, Professor.
See, my staying at Thornbull was honestly never going to happen. I knew that the second I crashed into Hershman’s classroom. And I definitely knew it when I kissed her in front of half the school. And I’d do it all over again, a million times.
Hell, I’d known I wasn’t long for Thornbull the second I’d walked into my office and set my eyes on Tempest. And really, Headmaster wasn’t for me. It wasn’t teaching, it was just directing, and I’d done enough that in the service. I wanted to teach, like my mother. I wanted to foster learning and help minds grow and expand, and I wasn’t going to do that as the school’s task master and rule maker.
So I quit.
Well, no, the town paid me to leave. Same difference though. Technically, I’d done no wrong. What’d happened with Tempest and I was inappropriate, for sure, but seeing as she was eighteen, and a legal adult, and it was all obviously consensual, the only real foul was that I was her Headmaster, and things had happened on school grounds.
Hey, I never claimed to be saint, and I wasn’t going to lie.
Paul and Carrie, the couple who’d raised her, actually seemed like they were okay with it once they’d come home early from their trip and been filled in on what had happened. Okay, at first, I’ll grant them being pissed that a guy basically their age had somehow fallen for the girl they’d sworn to raise. But, when they met me, I think they put aside any misgivings they might’ve still had. They saw that I wasn’t some creep who was just after her for her youth. And besides that, they knew Tempest was always way older than her years anyways, and so us ending up together really just made sense.
Hell, I agree.
They got behind it so much that they ended up leading the call for me to be rewarded for my efforts in saving Tempest, bringing the Amy thing to light, and actually stopping Hershman from hurting anyone else. Turns out, there were a few other girls he’d been creeping on, and their parents also joined in when they found out I’d upended the monster.
So in the end, to settle it all, Thornbull ended up giving me a very nice settlement to walk away, and so I did. Paul stepped up big time, and pulled in some favors with some old colleagues of his who just so happened to work in the administration at Harvard.
And so, yep, here I am — the brand new military history professor at an ivy league school.
Who’d have thought.
I moved up here the same day she did, proposed that very same day, and the two of us have an apartment together right off campus. It’s made for some interesting questions around the faculty water cooler, but I don’t give a shit. So long as she never decides to take “Intro to the Napoleonic Wars” or “Saddam and the Gulf: A Retrospective,” we’re on clean ground.