Chapter 1: The Accusation

Because I was staying late grading papers—again—I got chewed out by the brand-new principal for supposedly wasting the school's electricity. It was another long night, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever. The clock on the wall blinked past seven, casting a harsh glow in the empty classroom. My eyes burned from staring at essays, and my shoulders felt like concrete. The classroom itself was a mess: stacks of ungraded papers teetered on my desk, a half-empty coffee cup went cold at my elbow, and the air carried the faint, comforting scent of old textbooks. As I tried to focus, the janitor passed by, giving me a look of sympathy as he pushed his squeaky cart down the hall. Then, like a siren, Principal Hanley's voice cut through the silence, sharp and impossible to ignore.

"Why are you here so late again, Foster? The other teachers manage to get their work done on time."

He stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, his suit jacket stretched tight over his frame. His words weren't really a question—they were a challenge, meant to put me on the spot. He didn't even pause for an answer, just steamrolled ahead.

"This just shows you can't manage your workload, Foster!"

He flicked his hand at me, as if I were some minor annoyance. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration; I could feel the heat rising, the sting of being singled out. I wanted to snap back, to defend myself, but I bit my tongue, swallowing the retort. Still, inside, I seethed.

"You're putting in all these extra hours, but your class never makes it to the top. Why is that?"

His voice echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the lockers and ringing in my ears. Each accusation landed like a punch. I gripped my pen tighter, forcing myself to keep my cool, but my thoughts churned: Did he have any idea what I dealt with? Any clue about my students? But he didn't want to listen. Instead, he humiliated me right there in front of the janitor, a couple of teachers walking by, and even a few lingering students, just to show everyone who was in charge.

The irony? Hanley had no idea what he was really dealing with. My class had a reputation that echoed through the halls—they were infamous, a collection of kids whose last names got them out of trouble and into opportunities. Their parents had money, connections, and enough power to make most adults tiptoe around them. But for reasons I still didn't quite understand, I was the only teacher they ever bothered to respect.

"C’mon, Mr. Foster, let’s hit the pool hall after school. I’ll introduce you to some girls," Tyler Maddox called out, his voice bouncing off the trophy cases as I stepped into the hallway.

Tyler lounged against the glass, looking like he owned the place—designer sneakers, a battered leather jacket, and a cocky grin. He was trouble wrapped in confidence, and he wore both like a badge. I reached over and grabbed his ear, a move I’d perfected over the years. "Skipped your homework again, didn’t you, Tyler?"

He yelped, but the grin never faded. "Why bother, Mr. F? My dad owns half of Main Street. I was born lucky—I don’t need grades to get by."

His bravado was both maddening and, in some strange way, charming. A couple of other kids snickered nearby, enjoying the show. I shot Tyler my best teacher glare. "Cut it out. Ever hear this one? You might skate by without grades, but you can’t fake class."

"How am I supposed to be lacking class?"

He spread his arms wide, like he was center stage in the school auditorium. I shook my head, fighting a smile. "You spend your days chasing girls—high school girls, mind you. Is that really what you want your legacy to be?"

Tyler just grinned wider. "Come shoot pool with me tonight, and I’ll prove I can be a gentleman. Promise!"

He nudged me with his elbow, eyes sparkling with mischief. I let out a long sigh, rubbing my temples, equal parts exasperated and amused. "What did you do this time, Tyler?"

He shifted from foot to foot, his bravado slipping. "Well... it’s not a big deal. I might’ve flirted with some guy’s wife in a Facebook group chat, and now he’s threatening to come after me."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting back a groan. Was this kid ever going to learn? A flicker of worry crossed my mind—what if this was serious? "Call your dad, Tyler."

"No way, Mr. Foster. If my dad finds out, he’ll ground me for a year."

For a second, he looked genuinely anxious. Then his eyes lit up again. "I told the guy about you, though. Everybody in this town knows you used to run things—now they all want to meet you!"

"Get lost, you little punk!"