For Your Own Good

by Samantha Downing

  But as the pods became more popular, he decided to give them another go. Better, but he still wasn’t convinced—not until he found Prime Bold. Now, he can’t imagine his day without it. After a while, he even threw out his French press.

  His wife was rather upset about that.

  Allison went right out and bought another, placing it on the kitchen counter next to his new one-cup machine. Every morning, Teddy listened to her French press gurgling away as he enjoyed his first coffee. She had to wait for hers. He never said a word, though. Her body, her choice, and all that.

  On one morning, when he was in the house alone, a coffee pod malfunctioned and leaked. He wanted to figure out why. He pulled it apart, carefully looking at each part of the pod, and finally spotted an extra hole where the grounds were seeping out.

  That’s when it first occurred to him that not only did coffee come out of the pod, but something could be put into it as well.

  So he tried it.

  Using a syringe, he punctured a tiny hole just under the lip of the pod. The first time, he injected a bit of alcohol right into the filter of coffee. Just to see if it would work, and if he could taste it.

  He did.

  After that, the possibilities were endless.

  All it took was a little observation. Who drank coffee in the break room? Who brought their own pods to work? Which flavors did each of them drink?

  Again, he performed an experiment. He slipped a Gold Roast into his pocket, took it home, and injected it with half a Valium diluted with water. The tiny hole made by the syringe was invisible unless someone carefully inspected it before brewing.

  Mindy did not. She drank up that horrible flavor of coffee, and for a few hours, she wasn’t quite as high-strung. She wasn’t happy necessarily, but she wasn’t huffing and puffing about anything.

  So he tried it again. And again. And again.

  He mixed up all sorts of things—Valium, sleeping pills, even over-the-counter meds. The things he did were good: People who kept sniffling and coughing got cold medicine so they’d keep their germs to themselves. The ones who didn’t get enough sleep got woken up a little.

  And high-strung people got to relax. They needed to, or else they’d have a heart attack. Like the current headmaster, who had one last year.

  Teddy is just helping everyone. Doing what’s best for them.

  Well, except for Sonia.

  16

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Sonia feels fine, just fine. By yesterday, her stomach had felt a lot better, and she was able to review the work Courtney had done on the Bugle. Sonia doesn’t know why she was ever worried. Courtney had done a spectacular job without her, getting most of the edits done and a large portion of the layout. After going through it several times, she had just one thought:

  I should have more confidence in myself.

  Sonia was, and is, a good teacher. Maybe she isn’t a college professor like her husband, but she is a great teacher. Courtney knew exactly what to do because Sonia had taught her how to do it.

  That was the second silver lining of her little stomach flu. It reminded Sonia that she’s good at what she does.

  With a smile on her face, she heads into the school and straight to the Bugle office. Courtney is already at her desk, looking almost as stressed as she did on Friday.

  “Mrs. B! How are you?” she says, getting up from her chair. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine. It was only a little bug. Well, maybe more than a little bug, but I powered through.”

  Courtney smiles. “Good.”

  “Now, let’s see where we are.” Sonia moves past her, to the computer, and bends down. Back in her element now. “Courtney, this issue looks even better than it did last night.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve done an incredible job.”

  Courtney smiles so big it’s blinding. “Thanks, Mrs. B.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I get Zach’s article,” Sonia says.

  It’s still a bit early, so Sonia heads to the far end of the school. The custodian’s room is deep in the corner of the south wing, far away from the classrooms. Joe has been at the school much longer than Sonia. Twenty years at least.

  No doubt he was the one who had to clean up her mess on Friday, and what a mess it was.

  His door is shut, so she knocks, but he doesn’t answer. Sonia is a little relieved, and embarrassed, so she is fine with writing him a little thank-you note and slipping it under his door.

  Next stop before class: the teachers’ lounge. The room is crowded— everyone is getting their coffee before first period, and they all ask her how she is doing.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine.” She smiles. “I’m not dead yet, anyway.”

  “Great, great,” they all say. “So glad you’re better.”

  “Me too.”

  She gets her coffee and leaves, getting the feeling that they had been talking about her before she walked in. They couldn’t still be talking about Friday. By now, that must be old gossip. Nothing lasts more than a day around here.

  So maybe they had been planning her ten-year anniversary party. It’s just four days away.

  * * *

  ONE OF THE reasons Teddy despises giving extra assignments to students is that he has no recourse. From the beginning, the terms are set. Do this assignment, and your grade will go up. Unless the extra assignment is abominable, the deal has been fulfilled. Which means Teddy is stuck raising Zach’s current grade up to an A.

  Minus.

  For all the extra trouble.

  Zach knows it, too. In class, he smiles and looks relaxed. Jokes with his friends and flirts with a girl like he’s got all the time in the world.

  Too bad the students don’t drink coffee from the lounge.

  All of this puts Teddy in a bad mood, which doesn’t get any better when he sees Sonia. She is back at work and getting lots of attention, due to her dramatic upchuck on Friday. He expected this. He just didn’t expect her to be even more pompous than usual.

  They run into each other outside the teachers’ lounge before school has started. Today, her dress is green. Puke green.

  “So happy to see you back,” he says. “We were all worried about you.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind. I certainly appreciate all the well-wishes, but I’m fine now. Just fine.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “And,” she says, “the Bugle will be out on Wednesday, as scheduled, with Zach’s article.”

  Teddy is a little surprised at this but doesn’t show it. “Wonderful,” he says.

  “I think so, too.”

  With one last self-satisfied smile, she goes into the lounge. Teddy does not. Instead, he heads back toward the stairs. Along the way, he passes through the Hall of Fame. That’s what they call it, this area that houses portraits of the Belmont founder, all the headmasters, including the current one, and the board of directors.

  Beyond that are portraits of the teachers and staff. But not all of them.

  The teachers who “make the wall”—as it’s called—are the teachers who don’t just work at Belmont; they also attended the school. Former students who return to teach or work at the school are considered special. Better, even. Belmont, they say, is their home.

  Teddy is not one of them.

  Sonia is.

  17

  WITH THE DISTRACTION of Sonia out of the way, Teddy can go back to doing what he’s supposed to do: teach.

  Although his second-period class was assigned to read The Outsiders less than a week ago, they are already burning through it. He knows this from some of the online talk. Many of the students have read it before, which he expected, but for some it’s the first time.

  “I know you’ve all just started on this book,” he says to the class. “So I just want
to talk a little about your first impressions.”

  Danielle is the first to raise her hand. Always.

  “Yes?” Teddy says.

  “In general, the book’s about the socioeconomic differences between the Socs and the Greasers, and the differences in how they’re treated. The Greasers are treated horribly because they are poor, and everyone assumes they have to be criminals.”

  “Kind of like today,” says Alex, another student. He is not a scholarship student—in fact, his family is very wealthy—but online Alex claims to be quite “woke.”

  “Would you agree,” Teddy says, “that if you lived in the world of The Outsiders, the majority of you would be considered Socs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Probably yes,” Danielle says. “Except they didn’t have the internet. Things are different now.”

  “No, they aren’t,” Alex says.

  “Of course they are,” Danielle says.

  Teddy looks at Courtney, who is staring at her desk. She doesn’t raise her hand to say anything. Unusual for her. Must be all that work on the Bugle, which comes out in just two days, because it certainly isn’t the book.

  “I know some of you have probably read this before,” Teddy says. “So without giving anything away, what else has struck you about this book?”

  “The nicknames,” someone says. “Ponyboy, Sodapop, Two-Bit. It’s weird.”

  “Is it? Don’t some of you have nicknames?”

  A few students nod.

  “So maybe the names themselves are odd, but not the idea of having a nickname,” Teddy says. “What else?”

  “The division is so clear, even in the first chapter,” Danielle says. “There are the Socs and Greasers. It’s like the middle class doesn’t exist for Ponyboy.”

  “Because it doesn’t.”

  Courtney.

  Finally.

  “What do you mean by that?” Teddy says.

  “The middle class doesn’t pick on the Greasers. The Socs do—they beat them up. That’s why it’s important.”

  “Excellent,” Teddy says. “And why do you think the Socs beat up the Greasers?”

  “They think they’re better,” Alex says. “Because they’re rich.”

  “But bullying isn’t like it used to be. It’s not like any of us bully kids who don’t have money,” Danielle says.

  Most of the students nod, including Courtney.

  Granted, the students at Belmont aren’t violent, and there aren’t many fights at the school. Still, Teddy wants them to realize how hypocritical they are about the way they treat those who are less fortunate. Like the scholarship kids. They’re always pariahs.

  There’s one in his class right now. Katherine, one of the Invisibles, who sit in the back. She says nothing during this conversation. Teddy would call on her but doesn’t want to embarrass the poor girl.

  He remembers what it was like to be that kid. What it was like to be looked down on. It’s not so different now, as an adult. His picture isn’t on the wall because he couldn’t afford to attend Belmont.

  Always the outsider. Just like in the book.

  The same book Allison was reading when he met her.

  * * *

  SHE WAS SITTING in front of a grocery store. Teddy almost passed right by her on his way in. Someone was always gathering donations for one organization or another, and usually the tables were manned by a group of children and parents. He’d never stopped.

  Not until he saw Allison.

  She sat behind a fold-out table, book in hand, and she twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger. The hand-printed sign on the table read:

  Memorial Hospital Fundraiser

  The Children’s Wing needs toys!

  Can you help make a sick child smile?

  The sign was decorated with a bunch of stick figures resembling kids with big smiles on their faces. Teddy stopped and stared at it a second too long.

  “You don’t like my drawing?” she said.

  “Oh, no. I think it’s great. Are you an artist?”

  She smiled. A real smile. Not like the ones he saw later, when she was angry. “Funny,” she said. “I’m a nurse.”

  “I didn’t know nurses raised funds like this.”

  “I didn’t, either. But it’s my first year, and apparently we all have to do it the first year. Well, we don’t have to, I guess, but it’s recommended.”

  “Like extracurricular activities in school,” he said.

  “Just like that.”

  “I’m a teacher.”

  “I’m Allison.”

  He laughed. Teddy didn’t laugh a whole lot, certainly not while he was working, but it took this woman less than a minute to crack through that wall.

  “I don’t mind it, though,” Allison said. “The children really do need new toys. The ones they have are just sad.”

  He reached for his wallet and pulled out what little cash he had. “I have a twenty. Will that buy some toys?”

  She snatched the bill out of his hands. “Of course it will. I’ll write you a receipt for your taxes. It should save you a whole twenty-five cents.”

  Again, he laughed. Probably much harder than he would have if she hadn’t been so cute. He started thinking maybe she was what he needed. Someone who made him laugh. He couldn’t remember dating anyone who could do that.

  Teddy nodded toward her book. “I teach that book in class,” he said.

  “Really? First time I’ve read it.”

  “What do you think?”

  She shrugged, tearing off a receipt from the book and handing it to him. “It’s not bad. The Socs are real assholes, though.”

  That’s when he knew for sure. She was exactly what he needed.

  18

  RIGHT AFTER THE last bell, Teddy leaves the school and heads home. It’s not often he does this. Usually, he has meetings to attend or someone to see, but today his schedule is clear. He treats himself by taking off as soon as he can.

  The house looks the same when he gets home. Same overgrown garden and weeds, same dilapidated porch, same weathered siding that needs to be painted. Nothing out of order.

  Until he walks inside.

  It’s the scent. Fresh and clean, like laundry right out of the dryer. So familiar, and so wonderful.

  “Allison?” he calls.

  No answer.

  “Allison, are you here?”

  When he still doesn’t get an answer, he runs up the stairs to the bedroom.

  It’s empty. The bed is unmade, just as he left it, and his pajamas are still thrown over a chair. On the nightstand: a stack of books, several empty glasses, a blinking alarm clock he never reset after a power outage.

  The scent is stronger here.

  “Honey?” he says.

  No answer, no movement. No sound of anyone other than himself.

  But she’s been here.

  He goes to the closet—her closet. The house is so old, it wasn’t built with a lot of storage. They never did get around to building a walk-in. Instead, there are two tiny closets in their bedroom, one for each, and the rest of their things are stored in other rooms. Each season, the clothes are rotated.

  Her closet door is closed, just as it was this morning. He hesitates before flinging it open.

  Empty.

  Hangers with no clothes, a shelf with no shoes. Even up high, where Allison kept sweaters and handbags, there’s nothing.

  Yesterday, there was. The closet was at least half-full, if not a little more. She hadn’t taken everything when she left.

  Four months ago, in the dead of summer, Teddy and Allison had gone to bed at around the same time they always did. Both had read a bit before turning out the lights, though it wasn’t easy to get to slee
p. There was air-conditioning, but it wasn’t enough. The heat came in through the cracks in the old doors and windows, even up from the floor. Allison hated it.

  When he woke up, she was gone. Along with some of her clothes, her toiletries, and her computer.

  After thirteen years of marriage, she just quit. The only thing she left behind was a bill. Right on the kitchen table. No note. Not even a Post-it. Just a bill mistakenly addressed to her instead of him.

  That was the day Teddy started picking at his cuticles again. Whenever he thought about contacting her, he did that instead.

  * * *

  ONE MORE DAY before the Bugle goes live, and Courtney is finally starting to calm down.

  “See?” Sonia says, pointing to the computer screen. “It looks fantastic.”

  Courtney nods, maybe listening or maybe not. When she isn’t staring at the screen, she’s fielding text messages from her mother. But the next time her phone lights up, she turns it over.

  “Everything okay at home?” Sonia says.

  “Just the usual.”

  Sonia doesn’t answer. But, yes, she knows how Ingrid is. When she’s not pushing the board or the Collaborative into action, she’s pushing her daughter to excel. Not that Courtney needs it. She’s hardly a wayward child.

  Courtney flips back to the first page of the paper and starts going through it. Again.

  “It looks great,” Sonia says.

  “I’m submitting this issue with my applications. It has to be perfect.”

  “All right.” Sonia pauses, letting the tension deflate a little. “Why don’t you run out and get some food. Let me go over it. Fresh eyes, you know?”

  Courtney almost argues, but then she nods. “Yeah. Fresh eyes are good.”

  “Get some air. Come back in an hour or so. That’ll give me time to go through it.”

  “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  Once Courtney is gone, Sonia goes through the Bugle, as she said she would, but she starts with the article about herself. She flips through the pages on the screen until it pops up on page three. It’s after Zach’s article, after the lacrosse spotlight, but before the article about the new library wing. Not a bad placement at all.