Liability

Dmitri adjusts his dorky, but supposedly fashionable, tortoiseshell glasses, grimacing at his reflection. He doesn’t feel ready to teach anyone anything, let alone a bunch of spoiled young princes at one of the States’ most prestigious all boys academy. Hell, he doesn’t even feel like an adult. What happened to being an over-worked undergrad student scrambling to finish ridiculous essays twenty minutes before the deadline? He doesn’t know what his professors at Columbia’s Teacher College were smoking to think it was a good idea to give him a degree, a master’s at that, but they must have been out of their minds because Dmitri is definitely not ready.

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to put on your big girl panties and do your shiny new job?”

“My big girl panties are on, already cutting into my circulation,” he snarks back, shooting Carmen a scathing glare from the mirror before it melts into a jagged grin.

Carmen’s dark red lips stretch wide as she walks closer, her lusciously curved hips swaying in the wake of her stiletto aided steps, and then there is a hand on the top of his head, patting it like he’s five years old instead of nearly twenty-five, using her heels enhanced 6′6" against his shorter height. Dmitri scowls, but it’s only for show. They’ve known each other all his life. Carmen is like an older sister to him, even if he once offered to marry her. He was fourteen and she seemed like the perfect choice to succeed his grandmother as head of the family. Her reply was laughing at him and giving him his first kiss.

Even now he is aware that Carmen would be a better choice than him despite the lack of blood relation, but he’s the heir and he knows his duties. He knows that a time will come when his grandmother will step down and he will have to fill her impossibly large shoes. But gor now he can enjoy his life as a high school teacher, passing on his love for books and reading.

“You can still back out, you know,” Carmen says, her dark eyes watchful as she studies him.

“I can do this,” Dmitri says, pushing as much certainty into his tone as he can. “It’s been my dream since I was a kid. I’m not going to give up an opportunity like this just because of my stupid brain.”

“Good, then tell your ‘stupid brain’ to shut the fuck up and get going. Or you’re going to be late on your first day,” Carmen responds, pinching his cheeks, hard.

He bats her hands away and looks into his reflected pale gray eyes, willing himself to shake off his idiocy. He gives himself a tight nod then straightens his starched collar and turns away from the mirror. He can do this. Carmen hums and pats his shoulder, her dark red lips stretched wide. It’s her way to say, “Good luck.”

He refuses the offered car,with a shake of his head when he sees Bree hovering by the elevator. She rolls her large, deceptively innocent eyes at him when he tells her that no one drives in the city. “Yeah that’s why there is always traffic.”

“Another reason not to take the car.”

“Oh shut up.” She swats at him, her fist hiding strength her willowy body belies, but he manages to evade her the last moment and winks at her just as the elevator doors open. “If you kill the brats, just call. I’ll wait with the trunk open.”

Dmitri rolls his own eyes at that. He’s sure all his new students are little gentlemen in training. Spoiled beyond belief, but brimming propriety and eager to please their usually absent parents. Still, he smiles at Bree’s strange sense of encouragement and kisses her on the forehead, huffing a choked laugh when she drives her elbow into his stomach.

“Shoo, Young Master. Teach them rich brats some manners.” Her grin is sharp, near feral, and for a second Dmitri allows his doubts to flood his mind once again.

No, she is just teasing him.

Edison Academy is a prestigious all boy’s school for the heirs and sons of important people. So, his students should all be hard-working and polite and maybe even cute in a way. They will love him and he will do his best to further their knowledge and make them well-read and even more eloquent than they already are.

Chewing on his lip he swipes his card at the subway gate, following the mass of people onto the platform, minding his own business. That’s the beauty of New York. No one cares about anyone. No one spares other people a second glance. Which makes people watching really easy if done right. And as an experienced hunter, Dmitri knows perfectly well how it is done right.

He occupies his mind with analyzing people around him, taking note of little things others would ignore. It’s a good way to divert his attention from going around in circles over how his first day would go. It doesn’t matter that he got the chance to give lectures to college freshmen before. Those chances were few and far between because his professor preferred doing his own work and only left grading to his TA. And his summer internships were always with elementary schools and kindergartens, never with the age group he was about to work with.

He shakes his head, snorting to himself. So much for people watching.

It takes about twenty minutes to reach his stop, and then another ten minute walk across the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge and by a gorgeously maintained park before he reaches the iron wrought gate of the Academy. It’s interesting to see all the expensive cars lined up, dropping off the non-boarders. Spending most of his high school years in Moscow and St.Petersburg, where schools are strict especially for the elite, this amount of coddling seems unnecessary to him. Then again, he thinks, the elite always has to find a way to show off their power. And their children couldn’t be excluded from the rule it seems.

Walking down the paved sidewalk, he wants to admire the grand glass and steel building that oozes a hyper-modern air and actually is horribly ugly. He has no idea who thought that some extravagant shopping mall lookalike thing would serve well as a high school, especially in the middle of a park with no other tall buildings around, but whoever it was obviously had no taste or sense of beauty at all. He sees groups of young men walking in groups ahead of him. They look happy and most of them have wide smiles on their lips, some of them laughing or horsing around with their friends. Their uniform is clean cut and nothing like the building; dark maroon blazer with white, starched shirts and dark gray ties to match the pressed trousers. The shoes are expensive leather, polished and most probably Italian. Dmitri hums admiringly and adjust his glasses.

The automatic doors open to a huge atrium where leather sofas and overly stylish and probably useless chairs are organized in neat groups for the students and possible guests. A receptionist counter with three security gates completed with a palm scanners is waiting for the students to enter the main wing of the school. Dmitri heads for the counter, offering a wide smile to the young man watching his approach.

He greets the man and hands over his Teacher’s ID card. The man’s own greeting is polite and professional if surprised for some reason. He types something into the computer in front of him before reaching over to a pile of leather cases on his right and lifts the top one. Opening the cover the case reveals a tablet which he turns on and then after a few types and swipes he hands over.

“All information you need can be found on this, Mr. Armand,” he says with a tight smile. “Your assigned class is Room 17 in the Edison Wing. Just go through one of the security gates and then take the second elevator from the left. It’s on the third floor.”

“Thank you, Mr.-” Dmitri trails off, waiting for the young man to introduce himself despite a shiny silver name plate claiming him to be ‘Frederick’.

The man blinks, taken aback, then a faint flush taints his cheeks as he says, “Lang, Mr. Armand. Frederick Lang.”

“Mr. Lang,” Dmitri repeats with a small nod and a wide smile. “Where do I find the teachers’ lounge?”

“Oh, y-yeah, sorry,” Mr. Lang stammers, his face even redder than before. “First elevator from the right, on the seventh floor.”

“Thank you.”

“You... You’re welcome, Mr. Armand. And good luck!” Lang calls after him when he steps up to one of the gates and places his hand onto the scanner. He throws another smile back over his shoulder just as the scanner beeps and the gate opens.

Dmitri checks his watch, an old, cherished model that used to be his great-grandfather’s and was his birthday present from his great-grandmother when he turned eighteen. Babushka Illya, who is actually his great-grandmother, sure knows how to make grand gestures. He still has half an hour before first period starts, but he quickens his steps, waving his way around the few early arrivals to reach the elevator because he should have been in the Teacher’s Lounge five minutes ago. A pity punctuality never has been his forte.

The two boys who get into the glass cage with him throw him failed sneaky glances, but the moment he turns towards them to offer a smile, they avert their gazes and choose to stare at their shoes instead. They seem young, maybe thirteen or fourteen at most, reminding Dyma that Edison serves both as a junior and senior high school. They get off before him, murmuring quiet ‘goodbyes’ as they scurry off, never sparing him a glance.

Dyma chuckles under his breath and watches as the floors pass bye, seeing mingling students in front of classrooms. They seem carefree but hold themselves different than most teenagers he’s seen before. Their backs are straight with their shoulders thrown back. Poised, as if ready to prove their worth to the world every second. It looks exhausting. And oh so familiar.

The elevator stops with a merry little ding and the glass doors slide open right into the Teacher’s Lounge much to Dmitri’s mortification. Every head turns in his way, and he can feel the principal’s sharp glare cutting through him even as he studiously keeps his attention on his new colleagues.

“Good morning, Mr. Armand. I’m glad you finally managed to grace us with your presence,” Principal Pratt breaks the awkward silence just as Dmitri opens his mouth to greet everyone.

Dyma feels proud that he manages to hold in the wince that zings at his spine. Josephine Pratt is a tiny woman with steel-like eyes, enhanced by stylish silver framed glasses and a bespoke suit. The lines around her discreetly painted mouth and at the corners of her eyes make her look even more severe, and Dmitri has no doubt she would have no problem forcing men five time her size to their knees. He knows inner strength. He sees it in action every day when he looks at his grandmother, Carmen and his great-gram.

“I apologize for my tardiness, ma’am,” Dmitri says, his chin ever so slightly dipped to show he accepts Pratt’s position of power even as he meets the woman’s hard glare with a steady look. He doesn’t try to come up with excuses, having been taught that excuses were the escape of weak people. And Dmitri was anything but weak.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Pratt says after a few moments of tense silence. Dmitri does not make a promise he know he can’t hold. Pratt takes his silence for what it is, and waves him closer.

Dmitri nods to the five women standing next to the principal, noting their modest, nondescript outfits that almost matches his own with a small tilt of his lips. The woman next to him looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow and tries to mimic the principal’s severe expression, Dmitri’s smile widen.

“As I was saying, this year we welcome six new members in our team. Two of them will work with our junior academy members. Ms. Farrah will teach Mathematics and Ms. Han-Yeoh will teach Protocol and Etiquette.” The women step forward and nod their heads with small, empty smiles and rigid shoulders. They are obviously nervous, first day jitters threatening to get the best of them but they push on with admirable strength and doesn’t submit to the inquisitive gazes watching them.

“I’m Gillian Farah. It’s an honor to get the chance to work at this institution,” Ms. Farrah says, humble and vying for acceptance. It’s disappointing. Her new colleagues greet her with detached professionalism, an air of barely concealed haughtiness oozing from them.

Ms. Han-Yeoh follows her example, but her voice is more confident and her smile matches the faculty’s, issuing a silent challenge. She knows what she’s doing and obviously refuses to be beaten in her own game. Dmitri appreciates her daring personality and thinks they will get along just fine.

Principal Pratt goes on with the introductions, gesturing at the remaining three women after saying their names and department respectively. Dr. Tomoya the new Guidance Counselor, Dr. Yankovic the new Geography teacher and Dr. Farina the new Chemistry teacher are all empty smiles and vapid pleasantries, not even sparing Dmitri a glance when it becomes obvious he doesn’t have a P.h.D in his field. Considering he is only 24 and barely out of college with a double Master’s in English Literature and Psychology under his belt, he can only bare his teeth the way he always does at social functions his grandmother expects him to attend on her arm. People always underestimate him, never looking beyond the image he presents them with.

When it’s his turn, he steps forward with a little grin and adjust his glasses to show just the barest hint of weakness. “Good morning, my name is Dmitri Allen Armand. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.” The reflexive smiles he receives from the teachers seated in the neatly organized couches and armchairs are a promising first step to gain his co-workers’ trust.

Principal Pratt’s clears her throat with a pinched expression and everyone’s attention snaps to her immediately. She waves her hand at the young man stood behind her, who nods quickly and hands over the tray of key cards he’s been holding all along.

“Every faculty member has their own offices where they are requested to hold open hours twice a week so students can approach them privately,” the principal says and holds out the tray and Dyma waits until all the other newbies pick up their keys before reaching for his own and slipping the little blue card into the front pocket of his knitted vest. “Once you set your office hours, inform Administration so they can post the time and days on the academy’s website. Any questions?”

“Is it necessary to hold office hours after classes end or can they be set before them as well?” Dr. Yankovic asks, her voice clipped with false patience. Dmitri would bet she’s one of those harpy type teachers who never have time to repeat things and refuse to wait for slower students to catch up.

“Office hours are strictly after classes end and cannot run longer than eight pm,” Principal Pratt snipes back, obviously not appreciating the tone Dr. Yankovic took with her. “Our students are busy and nearly all of them participate in extracurricular activities. However, do not forget that they are young men on the cusp of adulthood. They test their boundaries and are used to getting their ways due to their upbringing. While under the academy’s care, they are your responsibility. Act accordingly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the faculty choruses.

“Good. Classes start in ten minutes. Tardiness is not tolerated.” She cuts another glare at Dmitri who smiles brightly and salutes, ignoring the annoyed but suspiciously amused sounding sigh that leaves the principal’s mouth.

He follows his colleagues to the elevator door, noting the way they group up. Ms. Han-Yeoh and Farrah are already chatting with a few of the other junior academy teachers, Ms. Farrah’s cheeks pink and her expression relieved. Ms. Han-Yeoh is smiling, too, but she is more reserved just like her greeting was. Dr Yankovic and Farina don’t disappoint either, standing together but apart from the other teachers, holding court to a small group of three elder looking men that are probably just as educated as they are. Dr. Tomoya has joined up with the only other female teachers in the staff. There are only five of them which is surprisingly few in a faculty of over thirty members. Then again, Edison has aways been one of those archaic schools that believed young men only profited from a man’s touch. The principal’s last words just confirmed it further.

Well, Dmitri never believed in such outdated ideas and he refuses to follow a tradition he holds little regard to. Hopefully, his students will appreciate it.