I should have failed VCE maths. About half way through year 12 my parents got divorced and my attitude spiralled out of control, according to my teachers. But my parents were too busy arguing to notice my grades falling or that I was skipping more classes than I was attending.
By September, my form teacher told me I needed to pull my socks up or I’d fail. Luckily I was naturally good at most subjects so passing them wasn’t going to be an issue. Maths, however, was a problem. Without a good result in maths, I wouldn’t get into uni. So I did the only thing I could do — I blackmailed my maths teacher.
It was too late to study properly for the exam, too late to learn an entire year’s worth of maths, a subject I’d always struggled with. So one afternoon after school I told Mr Harrington I wanted to discuss my progress.
We met in our usual classroom. There was no one else around. The school was deserted. As Mr Harrington spoke about the importance of studying, I hiked up my skirt to reveal my thighs and crossed my legs to give him a good view. He coughed and looked away.
So I leaned forward into his line of sight and undid the top two buttons on my shirt. I’m a well-endowed girl and he got an eyeful of cleavage. He turned bright red but said nothing. Did nothing.
So I took his hand and put it on my thigh. He pulled away, but not before he’d had a good feel.
“What do you want?” he asked me quietly.
“I want to pass the exam.”
Since he would be supervising the exam room, I told him to turn a blind eye to the cheat notes scrawled on my arm beneath my sleeves. If he didn’t, I’d report that we’d had an indecent relationship.
He protested his innocence but we both knew that wouldn’t matter. My allegations would be investigated and even if he proved his innocence, his reputation would be damaged. People would always have doubts, including his wife.
So he agreed, quite readily in the end.
I passed and am now doing well at uni. One day Mr Harrington rang me out of the blue. He wanted to have coffee. Feeling guilty, I agreed. I wanted to apologise and explain about the terrible place I had been in emotionally at the time of the blackmail. But all he wanted to do was touch my thigh again.
“You owe me,” he said. Then he told me he’d always wanted me, even at school. He’d been thinking of me ever since I’d come onto him in the classroom. He was glad it had happened, he said.
Disgusted, I got out of there quickly. It served me right I suppose. I’d invited his attention in the first place so I decided not to report him. Instead, I knuckled down and studied.
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