Written by user InkWeave

THE TENTH APOTHEOSIS

-Month of Graves 11th, A.D 1871-

Later, when it became her obsession to determine what would have happened if Gwyneth Tutwiler hadn't interrupted them at that moment, she would have come to realize that she would inevitably met Professor Cook halfway as he leaned in towards her. And on the beginning of her six week long Winter Break her first kiss would have come from a man she all together resented, feared and embarrassingly loved. Minutes before that moment, Anita sat at the back of the congested class, carefully watching her history teacher with a pen in her mouth.

Professor Cook had been a part of the change that had happened at Midreshet Preparatory College one year ago. And that change happened for only one reason. Mass failure in the previous year's SEDWICKE.

Or more specifically, the Safeguard Education with Intermediate Cadet Knowledge Examination.

SEDWICKE was more than just an exam taken by every student in their senior year. It was their only ticket into Yonex University. But for three consecutive years, Midreshet along with the other elite preparatory colleges founded by Yonex, continued to produce a low number of students who passed the exam and were admitted into their university. Compelled to take immediate measures to save the next wave of seniors from failing, Yonex sent a select crop of professors from the university to assist the teachers properly prepare the pupils for the exam. That was a year ago. Like anticipated, they had managed to obtain the general success they wanted. But now that another academic year was in session and some of the professors were still here, Anita began to wonder if she'd ever be free from Dexter Cook.

He sat on the top of his desk, looking casual in a dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and a slightly opened color. It was tucked into his tailored trousers hued a dark brown. Occasionally, he pointed at a student to answer one of his questions, chewing on his apples as he watched them try to conjure up an answer. Once they lowered their gazes to their desk, he called on another student; the smirk on his lips proof that enjoyed publically humiliating them. Anita's teeth tensed round her pen. Nervous that his hazel-green squint would land and stay on her as they skimmed across the class of uniformed students shifting uncomfortably in their seats, she diverted her gaze outside the window. He called on someone else. She exhaled and wiped sweat from her forehead. Only five more minutes, she told herself. Then the final bell would ring. Her Winter Break would start. And she'd be free from him. But how many times had she thought like that before?

Because of her dire need to believe she could be free from him one day, she hadn't believed the rumors circulating around the previous year that the college had offered some of the professors' replacement jobs. How foolish of her. When she ended her freshman year and became a sophomore, rumor became reality when she strolled into her World History class only to find Professor Cook and not Mrs. Whyite in the seat behind the teacher's desk. He reintroduced himself as their new World History teacher. And later she learned that Mrs. Whyite, who'd been temporarily relieved of teaching the senior class when he had arrived, had been moved down to teaching only the first year students permanently, while he now was to teach a mixed class of juniors, sophomores and seniors. It still baffled her that he could accept such an offer. As remunerative as being a teacher at the preparatory college was it was nothing to be compared to the amount of money he was paid at Yonex. Then why had he decided to stay? Maybe a possible lucrative deal between him and Midreshet College wasn't even a variable in his decision and it had been because of something else, someone else. Her eyes widened at the thought that maybe it was because of her but after a short moment she realized how stupid that must've sounded. If there'd been any reason he had decided not to return back to his job at Yonex, it wasn't because of her. Her gaze then shifted to her bag hued a beautifully dark red and made out of authentic Crocodile skin placed on the ground beside her desk. Maybe it was because of what was buried deep inside there. The thinning belief that he'd stayed because of her eventually became a flat line the more she stared at it.

"Mr. Rosser?" Taking another mouthful of his apple, Professor Cook's jaw appeared to be made out of granite as it moved in slow circles, "My patience is wearing thin." The junior he'd called on, resorted to biting the tip of his pen, his eyes betraying him and slightly looking up as Professor Cook slid off his desk and stalked towards him. In his right hand was his apple.

In his left, was his a leather rod that looked like it'd been taken right out of a sadomasochist's playpen. It was still a blur to the student body how the professors had managed to convince the college and more importantly their parents that mercilessly thrashing their rears with sadomasochistic toys was the most effective way of disciplining them.

Anita glanced at the chalkboard behind Professor Cook's desk. They'd just finished covering an extensive topic on the division of what later came to be known as the United Province's of Euirton, her country, into exactly ten states and its further reformation into a republic. Although she had been absent-minded throughout his period, she already knew everything there was to know about the UPE. Its capitol city was Arclow City, nicknamed "The Gold Rush" That was because it was the hub of international trade and its riveting allure attracted thousands, even millions for business. And of course pleasure. Professor Cook stopped in front of the junior's desk. Taking another mouthful out of his apple, his squint then never left Stuart. His jaw moved in even slower circles. The sound of his fingers tightening round the leather surface of his rod was deafening, "....Mr. Rockaway" It was mercy that made Professor Cook's gaze move behind him to another student at the back of the class, "...Can you please help Mr. Rosser over here." Jarec Neröc Rockaway, a senior with pellucid chestnut irises and a ring piercing in his thick, pink bottom lip, slowly rose up from his seat beside Anita, "Question, please sir? Sorry, I didn't hear you the first time...."

"...On what day did the United Province's of Euirton become a republic...." Professor Cook's jaw continued to move circularly.

"....Uh" Jarec let out a shaky breath. Too easy, Anita thought immediately. The answer was even right on the board! Today was the 11th day in the Month of Graves, the same day when they became a republic. The only difference was the year. They were in the year A.D 1871. How could Jarec not know that? Didn't he know today was Republic Day? Jarec's teeth toyed with his piercing as his irises scanned the classroom like the answer was hidden somewhere around it. Finally he let out a sigh and palmed his face with one hand.

"Fucking idiot....." Someone mumbled. The class erupted in laughter but order was immediately restored once Professor Cook raised a palm in the air to indicate the class to settle down. He then began to speak to the senior in a different language, his accent taking on a more foreign tone with all his pronunciations sharp and exacting. Jarec quickly replied in the same manner.

"...Then since you are aware of the fact that you are a citizen of the UPE with Mbainian roots because Yngerat in the district of Movad, where you come from, used to be a former territory in the Mbainian Empire until it was invaded, seized by and amalgamated into the United Province's which in a month after further conquering and restructuring, reformed itself into a republic, it should then be easy for you to understand that all I'm asking is, on what day did Yngerat, your home, become a part of a republic?" Red flecks of anxiety began to shade The Mbainian's face, "...Sir that would be on..." he said, his breath shaky. Normally, Anita didn't do this. Not because she was overly obnoxious and didn't like to help people out, but because Professor Cook was against it and the punishment was severe if he caught you. She scribbled down the answer on a torn note and slipped it onto Jarec's desk. He unfolded and read it; his pierced brows scrunching up at what it said: Look at the date on the board!!! Just change the year to A.D 1156, "...uh..." Jarec looked up; his gaze moving past Professor Cook to the blackboard, "...The 11th day in the Month of Graves...." He looked back down, "...A.D 1156." Slowly nodding as his squint narrowed at the senior, he then with a quick hand gesture told him to sit down. Then with a momentary glance at Anita, he adjusted his glasses.

"Look at me...." he then said and leaned forward on Stuart's desk. A pair of russet irises, widened with fear, looked up and made shaky eye-contact with a pair of stern, hazel ones, "Despite the fact that I think it's absolutely absurd that a junior who is one year away from taking his SEDWICKE can't answer a question as basic and simplistic as that especially on this very day, I'll pardon you and count it as forgetfulness on your part. Now Sit...." His tone became sharp, "...Everyone sit." He straightened his posture.

Walking backwards to his desk, he stopped, tossing the core of his apple into the waist bin beside him. Then he sat comfortable on top of the wooden table. His tone then took on a calm seriousness, "

"Now listen carefully. Statistically, only seventy-five percent of seniors are expected to be admitted into Yonex. According to your score, some of you will go on to take a one year course that will further prepare you for the one profession every single individual who enrolls into Yonex's elite preparatory schools are all mutually ambitious to enter into. While for some of you, and like what happened to me, you will be diverted into different courses if Yonex believes you've been simply called for something else thinly related to what this vocational institute is prepping you for. It was at Yonex that I learnt that I was actually afraid of heights..." There was a soft murmur of laughter that filled the class, "....and so what anybody should be able to deduce from that like I had back then, I was never meant to fly with the birds....literally. But I still managed to soar even with both my feet on the ground. The secret to my success? I realized something when I was somewhere around your age, sitting in a classroom full of hopefuls just like you. This is a competition. Your SEDWICKE to be more exact. Think of it this way. When you can't answer a question correctly. The person sitting next to you will. That means they are one right answer ahead of you. And if they are one right answer ahead of you, that means they have a better chance of being among the seventy-five percent of students Yonex Institute predicts, expects, WANTS....." he paused for dramatic emphasis, "....wants to pass their SEDWICKE. And Yonex is no different when it comes to statistics. Out of the seventy-five percent that make it in, only fifty percent of Yonex students are expected to graduate; thirty percent from the one course we all originally enrolled into the prep schools to pursue; twenty percent from other related courses. Do the math: There are exactly seventy-six elite prep schools in this institute around the globe and approximately a hundred students make up a senior class; seventy-five percent are expected to pass their SEDWICKE and fifty percent out of that seventy five are expected to graduate from Yonex. That means an estimation of two thousand eight hundred and fifty students are expected to walk out of Yonex out of the wave of seven thousand six hundred seniors who took their SEDWICKE together. That single realization motivated me to be the best throughout my years in Paxson prep school. Look at me now. Even though I wasn't among the thirty percent, being a professor couldn't be more rewarding. I have no regrets. Now think about this as you go on your six week winter break today...." he said, his words dripping with wisdom as he watched the students stare at him with a rather grave than thoughtful look on their faces, "....Use that time to think about what your life will be like when you're around my age. Will your biggest regret be being among the quarter of seniors who failed their SEDWICKE just because they couldn't answer a simple like on what day did the United Provinces become a republic....?"

Just as he leaned back up on his desk, crossing his legs and arms, the final bell rang, "....Happy Republic Day" he smiled faintly. But unlike the tingling excitement he expected to be emanating from his class because the 11th day in the Month of Graves was when their six week winter break began, he watched as chairs slowly screeched on the floor as everyone silently slid back out of them. Carrying their belongings, they nodded at him as they passed before they disappeared out of the door. A few of the students purposely left behind most of their books as they joined the hundreds of other students lingering in the long halls.

"....Thanks' Annie" Jarec patted Anita on the shoulder, "I seriously thought I was a goner back there."

"No problem, R2..." Anita looked up at him as he threw his heavy sports jacket with a number twenty seven drawn at the back over his shoulder, "...Just try not to be so absent-minded sometimes, okay?"

"Yeah sure...." Jarec nodded, his tone purposely softening so Anita would catch the hint that he knew what she was actually insinuating. Just because he was a jock didn't mean he had to be a stereotypical dumbass. He knew that to her he had no excuse. After all, she was the new captain of the prep school's cheer squad and she still made straight A's. Really good-looking on your report card straight A's, "....Anyway, there was actually something I wanted to give you during class but it literally felt like Professor Cook had his eyes on me throughout the whole period...." He shrugged, his jaws started to move as they worked on a stick of gum he slid in between his parted lips, "Here it is." Taking out a folded note from his pocket, he handed it to her.

"Yeah, I know the feeling...." She threw a glance at Professor Cook who still stood at the head of his desk, craning his neck in a bend as he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. She then gave Jarec a lopsided smile as she unfolded it and read aloud what was inside: Will you be my girlfriend, Annie? A yes and a no were written beside the two boxes she was supposed to tick her answer in. She uncapped her pen, quickly drew an X in the no box and hand it back to Jarec with a weak smile.

"Uh....?" He slowly took the paper from her; his brows scrunching up in disbelief, "...You didn't even think about it. Why I'm not good enough for you? Or are you still hung up over Broken Wings?" Anita let out a shaky breath, tucking a strand of hair that escaped from her bun behind her ear, "....Look Jarec, this has nothing to do with him. And no, you're not beneath me..." She gave him a quick up and down look: Jarec Neröc Rockaway was obviously handsome with his boyish face and he managed to look utterly sophisticated yet outright badass in his crisply-ironed uniform; his jacket draped over his shoulder like a cape; his short sleeves further rolled up in neat folds with the narcissistic aim of flaunting his muscled arms. He was just how she liked them. But, "...If you want to get a girl like me to go out with you, you got to be a little more creative." She said with a tiny nod.

"I guess this was a little too kindergarten?" Slipping the paper back in his pocket, he nodded down at her as he threw his backpack over his other shoulder, "....I can be a little more creative. I can make you change your mind" There was something about the way he said it that made Anita look up at him, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find and have a little chat with the person that had the nerve to call me an idiot." With a quick glance at the thick Euirsite ripped with muscles from head to toe, Anita felt faint pity for the person who was about to have their limbs possibly broken by the senior. Then shifting her gaze from Jarec who apologized to Professor Cook after they gently bumped into each other, she smiled weakly at the fuscous, creamy-brown-skinned girl with long straight hair walking up to her.

"What did he want from you...?" Marceline Palmer threw a glance over her shoulder just as Jarec exited the class, "I saw him give you something."

"To make a short story even shorter, he asked me to be his girlfriend but I told him to try and be a little more creative in the way he asks me out, or any girl for that matter."

"...Even if he did come up with some totally awesome way to ask you out you'd never got out with him. Why? Because you dated someone who had the same IQ like him once...but then you graduated from preschool."

"That is so not fair, Marcy." Picking up her Crocodile skinned bag off the floor and dropping it on her desk, she looked up at Marcy who had a simpering smile on her lips.

"You don't have to pretend like you're a saint around me. We both know how impious you can be at times. Just like when I saw you slip Jarec that note which saved him from getting his ass beaten."

"I think that was a saintly thing to do. Wait for me outside....?"

Marcy's hazel irises immediately widened and she threw another glance over her shoulder in Professor Cook's direction before returning her gaze to Anita, "Good luck...." Her eyes lingered on her Crocodile bag for a second before she turned and vanished out the door. Anita's heart rate suddenly started to escalate. She took out her handkerchief and patted her forehead. She always hyperventilated when it came down to this moment. With her gaze still on the professor, she unloosened and pulled her tie down; the buttons on her shirt becoming undone just after, until the line between her small breasts was ample. Then quickly stuffing a pile of notebooks in her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, she stepped to the side out of her seat and after another glance down at herself, slowly started to make her way to his desk. They were the only two remaining people in the class. With his back now to her as he rampaged through something behind his desk, Professor Cook gave off the impression that he didn't know she was there. But she knew he knew. She had something he wanted. Turning round, he threw his long, gray coat taken off a rack, over his chair, bending forward as his hands meticulously organized files on his desk which he began to place inside his open briefcase.

"....If you want something from me, I'm afraid you're too late..." He must've sensed someone's presence standing in front of him even though he hadn't looked up from what he was doing, "...As you can see, I'm just on my way out." Sealing his briefcase shut, he straightened himself into a stand, "...Oh, it's only you, Annie" With a weak smile, his hands found their place on his waist "For a second there I thought you were one of those spoiled miscreants that call themselves students of Midreshet Prep College." Anita smiled weakly, "Sorry if I am disturb-"

"Oh, no no, no. Don't even think that for a second" Professor Cook cut her off, holding out a hand. He then rubbed his forehead, "...I was just putting some stuff away. But you know I'm always glad to see you and you're not just any student of mine, Annie. So how may I help you....?" Anita froze. Then deciding to get straight to the point, she went through her bag, drawing out a long, brown envelope, "....I just wanted to turn in my history assignment. I know it's overdue but...." With a polite gesture for her to come closer, he leaned and reached out and took it from her. Opening it, he looked inside. He then glanced up at her while his fingers slide the metal clip into its seal, "...You're right. This is overdue but I'll make an exception on your behalf...." His gaze on her became intense. There was a naturally sexy, provocative flare in his squint that made him look like he was poising for a photo shoot. His curly, blonde hair was already perfectly windswept in a way that was classy yet urban. With one glance at him, it was obvious he was fit like an ox. His rolled up sleeves revealed sleek, powerful, hairy arms and his shirt, partially unbuttoned, exposed a smooth, ripped chest underneath, "....Oh, how I could I forget?" With a shake of his head, he gestured for her to wait, leaning forward. There was a golden, owl-head-shaped seal at the head of his briefcase which his fingers briefly trailed over before clicking it open. He replaced an envelope similar to the one Anita gave him with her own "You know I found a note inside Mr. Rockaway's pants which had the answer to my question on it." Professor Cook glanced up at her, "It was in your handwriting."

She instantly remembered Professor Cook and Jarec sharing apologies after colliding into each other.

"I can explain-"

"Don't" he raised a hand and then sealed his briefcase shut, "...You don't have to plead with me. I know you like to be someone's saving grace whenever they find themselves in a fix." Taking up his coat, he slipped it on, "...That's one of the things I like about you, Annie." Making his way round his desk, he stopped in front of her. He appeared so innocent in his small, old-fashioned glasses which only on him looked smart and contemporary. He always appeared so innocent in them. But there was an unmistakable air of mystery surrounding her history teacher which she hadn't been able to unravel yet. Why? Because the envelope inside his briefcase wasn't an overdue history assignment. But she wasn't quite sure what was inside the one he was giving her.

"Anita..." Professor Cook spoke softly, removing his glasses and sliding them inside his breast pocket. From the faint crinkles under his eyes, it was obvious he was somewhere in his mid forties despite the blaring fact that no man around that age had ever looked that attractive to Anita. Her veneer of calmness started to crack. She didn't need a stethoscope to hear her own heart beating rapidly as Professor Cook moved closer to her; his polished oxfords clicking on the floor only adding a dramatic effect to his approach. He took up her hands in his and she instantly noticed how strong and firm they were as he curled her fingers round the rim of the envelope, "...I'm trusting that you'll make sure that this doesn't get into the wrong hands."

"I won't sir...." Her voice cracked at the end.

"....It's imperative that nobody should learn about the contents that are inside of this envelope...." He then went on to say something that Anita didn't bother listening to. She already heard it all before. Instead of paying attention to what he spoke, she listened to how he spoke it. His accent was a perfect blend of profound knowledge and worldly class. It was also had an undeniably drip of sex appeal as it flowed out of his thin, pink lips. It was still a wonder to her how she could be attracted to a man she both feared and resented but then as he took another step close, invading her personal space, and she felt the exterior side of his glasses pressing against her, she remembered just like his glasses were only an obscuration of his hazel-green squint and just like his S&M toy was only an obscuration of the truly emphatic man she had come to discover existed in him, the envelope they both were holding on to and what she thought was inside was only a hazy excuse for to not to love this man, "...And remember, this is not to be opened by you as well. Do you understand, Annie? "

"I'll make sure she gets it....."

"...You always do." Professor Cook said with a faint nod. His stare lingered on her for a while and then suddenly it dropped to her open cleavage, exposed under her skimpy shirt. His eyes dilated slightly. As precocious as her mind was, so was her body and Anita seemed to have taken advantage of that and joined the wave of underage girls who dressed in high-heels, tight skirts, designer bags, loud make up and a lot of skin. The only thing now decent about her uniform was her maroon jacket and tie. Even the boys dressed ridiculously, wearing trousers deliberately tailored to make their crotches look bigger. Anita looked down at herself. Their gazes then met again. Professor Cook released a silent sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. A sign of frustration? "....Goodbye Anita" Gently cupping the side of her face, he then gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. Anita's eyes fluttered shut. The prickly blonde stubble on his jaw, probably a week's old was abrasive on her skin, rough yet unbearably stimulating. Just as Professor Cook leaned back to look at her, she let out a shaky breath and her eyes fluttered open. Professor Cook held her in an unreadable gaze. A moment passed and then his eyebrows crinkled. Then with a glance at her lips, his own lips pursed and started moving in closer. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall, slim lady appear at the doorway. In a stripped, black pant suit and a matching silky, gray dress shirt tucked in delicately, Professor Tutwiler looked absolutely stunning, "...Dexter?" She said; her tone hesitant. Professor Cook looked to his side, the warmth of his palms on Anita's cheeks burning out once he let go of her, "Gwyneth?" he said, shocked, "What are you doing here?"

"I got tired of waiting for you."

"Well, I was just saying goodbye to Anita, here..."

Professor Tutwiler let her gaze linger on her for a while before a smile slowly appeared on her lips, "Anita...? Shouldn't you have gone home by now?" A furtive glance was then thrown at Professor Cook.

"She was just leaving...." He answered for her and then after kissing her on her cheek, he gave her a gentle push towards the door, "...Bye now, Anita. Remember what I told you." Anita hid her pink cheeks from Professor Tutwiler as they walked past each other, her arms clutched over her beating chest. Professor Tutwiler had interrupted something about to happen between them. And it wasn't a goodbye kiss on the cheek like Professor Cook had made it seem like it was. Then what? Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she watched as Professor Cook's arm formed an unbreakable circle round Professor Tutwiler's waist as he leaned back against his desk. Then after a short exchange of words, he leaned in to peck her on the lips. Quickly, turning round, Anita stepped into the noisy hallway now overflowing with students determined to make havoc as they threw papers in the air, chanting SIX WEEKS OF SEX, SNOW AND NO HOMEWORK. With watery eyes, she then made her way towards the exit.