Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

Halfway down the corridor, I sensed her slipping out of the classroom behind me. “Where’s my mother?” She tried to sound confident, but her voice wobbled at the edges, confessing her distress. Who would’ve thought the pampered Constantine princess had the capacity to care about something other than herself? Her reaction to the bat was a disarming presentation of her character. But she canceled it out with her snarky comebacks and passive-aggressive attempts to belittle me. No student had ever been so bold. As she trailed behind, waiting for my answer, her animosity clotted the air. A glance over my shoulder confirmed it. An inferno consumed her huge expressive eyes, and her lips curled back, baring sharp kitten teeth. Pale blonde hair hung in tangles around her stiff arms, her tiny hands balled into white-knuckled fists at her sides. Her furious stare didn’t lower, never weakening, completely dialed in on the source of her outrage. She despised me. That was atypical, too. All my students felt some form of trepidation in my presence. But none hated me. Quite the opposite. Too often, I found myself reprimanding unwanted flirtation or, worse, infatuation. I suspected that wouldn’t be a problem with Tinsley Constantine. But despite all that, she was the same as every other spoon-fed brat with a trust fund, personal driver, and closet full of designer shoes and emotional baggage. I should tell her the truth about her mother, that the woman intended to leave without saying goodb...