Overkill – Holly Humberstone
tells you about having an arch-enemy is how exhausting it is. Especially when he is as much of an asshole as Ben Bennett.
I watched him pour the last delicious drop of coffee into his usual cup: a white, diner style mug, complete with a corny physics pun on the side. He then returned the now empty jug to the station, leaving the rest of the teaching staff with no coffee. It was exactly the type of behavior I should have expected from my nemesis, but given we were minutes into the first day back after the summer vacation, I hadn’t expected the bar to be set so low.
I opened my mouth to scold him, still in shock at the complete disregard for his co-workers, but no words came out. It was far too early in the morning to deal with that type of psychological warfare. It was the earliest I’d been up in weeks, so I desperately needed caffeine and ‘Ben the Asshole’ was the reason I had none.
He turned around, finally acknowledging my glare that had been burning into him and a smug grin settled on his stupid face. He knew what he’d done, and judging from that look, he knew I knew, and he was finding some sort of sick pleasure in the fact. I gripped my mug so tight I was surprised it didn’t shatter under the pressure.
Ben had been my rival since day one. He’d sauntered into the school two years ago, immediately acting like he owned the place. Within hours, he’d already got his grubby hands on the funding I’d set aside for the annual department school trip, reallocating the funds to his own department, which was–even worse–the math department.
Whatever he’d needed for his students was irrelevant. He shouldn’t have convinced the principal that my trip to the nearest art gallery was a waste of time and effort. Every department was suffering, and nobody saw me shitting all over somebody else’s department for some ‘much-needed’ Sharpies.
I’d been so excited as well. I was going to focus on sculpture as there was a special feature on at the museum with various rare statues loaned from all over the country. For some of these kids, it would be the one chance to introduce them to this side of art and culture, and he’d stolen it away from me like a hungry raccoon with an unguarded sandwich at a picnic.
Not to mention, his attitude was awful. He was rude. He’d barely look at me, cut me off in the parking lot, and speed away like he had no care in the world. And worse yet, on more than one occasion, he’d taken the last baked good left out in the teacher’s lounge before I could even get one.
And trust me, from the way he’d looked at me as he crammed the sweet, flaky Danish into his mouth, he knew it too.
Bastard.
Ben locked his eyes on me and raised the mug to his lips, taking a long slurp of coffee and letting out a sigh of satisfaction.
I rolled my eyes at him, scoffing as I took in his healthy sun-kissed glow. I could only imagine it was gained from spending the summer days in the sun. His perfectly ruffled dark brown hair had been left long enough that it curled and waved in a way that annoyingly only made him more attractive.
Why did he have to look like that?
Clearly his arrogance was justified because he had the face of a man you’d watch obnoxiously sipping coffee in a Nescafé commercial, all the while wishing you were the mug.
“Something wrong, Olive?” Ben asked, brow raised in question. Why was it that only men got the naturally full lips and thick eyelashes?
Before I could respond, a friendly voice spoke at my side.
“I was honestly feeling fine about coming back to work until I remembered I have to teach English to teenagers for eight hours,” Hanna whined as I turned my attention away from Ben. Her eyes narrowed at the scowl on my face. “Jeez, did you crawl out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?”
I controlled my breathing and tried to pull myself back from the brink of a nuclear attack before I looked up to her.
Despite wearing flats, she still towered over me. Her curly, black hair was swept away from her face in a messy bun, and she hadn’t done her makeup. My frustration eased at the sight of her heavy eyes and droopy demeanor. It was a relief to know I wasn’t the only one having a rough time coming back to work.
Trying to regain control of myself, I shook my head. I’d already given him the reaction he wanted; I couldn’t allow myself to give him anymore. He’d enjoy it too much.
“Sorry, it doesn’t matter. You look like hell,” I replied. “Those kids are going to destroy you.”
“I feel like hell, Olive. Why do we continue to do this to ourselves?” Hanna moaned. I shrugged, but she answered for me with a grin. “Well, it’s certainly not for the paycheck.”
Her words had my earlier fury melting even more. I could always leave it up to her to cheer me up. I began to refill the coffee machine when Hanna finally noticed. “Which prick finished the coffee without putting on a new one?”
“I’ll give you one guess,” I mumbled, shooting daggers at Ben, who’d settled on one of the old brown leather sofas far from everyone else, his full attention on his phone.
Was he too important to make conversation with the rest of us?
“Ah, that makes sense,” Hanna replied, frowning as she put two and two together.
A few minutes later, I had corrected Ben’s sin and steaming hot coffee filled our mugs. Hanna smiled over at me as we sat down at our usual table at the back of the room, giving us a perfect view of the crowded lounge. People were chatty considering how early and un-caffeinated they were. It seemed like everyone except for me was ready to be back after the break. The teachers had already been back for a few days, giving us a calm before the storm so we could set everything up for the new semester, but I still felt utterly unprepared.
“So, what’s the goal for this semester, then?” Hanna asked, almost nonchalantly but when I shrugged, her eyes narrowed. “You always have a goal.”
In the five years I’d worked there, I’d always set a sort of theme for the semester – something specific I wanted to focus on and introduce the students to, something that differed from the same set modules we went through every year. Sometimes it was a specific artist I wanted to expand on, sometimes an entire movement. But this term, I hadn’t come up with anything–not yet, anyway. Every time I tried to brainstorm, that new fogginess would fall over my mind, and every idea I came up with seemed uninspired or boring. I played with the thin band on my right hand and caressed the small ruby I’d always been envious of growing up.
“You know, I’m not sure yet. I’m stuck between a couple of different options, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
“Of course, you will. Olive Davis: art teacher extraordinaire,” she grinned. Her bright smile lit up her face, but it only fueled the unease that was growing in my stomach. “Remember that year you focused on pop art, and you came in all dressed up like Andy Warhol, with black dots all over your face? Only you’d go so far to get the kids interested.”
“It’s actually Roy Lichtenstein, not Andy Warhol,” I corrected, trying not to sound like ‘that person’. I used to remember that day fondly. Sure, I had a few students make some smart remarks, but it was fun, and I knew I’d gotten their attention. But now it felt off-color Like, I wasn’t the same person who’d done that, who’d been so enthusiastic about teaching – about art.
Now, I could barely pick up a paintbrush. I could barely make a mark on a blank canvas. The well was truly dry.
She just waved a hand at me before I asked what she had planned for her year. She gladly launched into a rant about having to cover the same book as the previous year due to budget restraints. I couldn’t blame her. Budget cuts had made this job almost unworkable, stripping out most of the joy of learning and instead filled me with constant worry about not overspending. As head of the department, I oversaw the budget for art, and it had been so difficult keeping the other teachers on a budget that I had to cut so many of my own plans for the department. I’d been entirely thankful when the summer break had finally rolled around so I could rest and take a break. Or at least that’s what I had planned to do.
I expected this year wouldn’t be any different, especially when I saw the principal, Rob, edging nervously around the side of the room. I swear he used to smile, but that was back when I first joined the school. He’d start the new year with some sort of rousing speech that really set the mood and lifted us from our end of summer slump – but those days were long gone.
It was only when Rob passed in front of Ben that I noticed how Ben’s eyes were stuck on me, assessing me. As soon as I furrowed my eyebrows in question, he looked away. It was far too obvious for it to be unintentional. Why was he looking at me like that? Why was he looking at all? I sat up in my chair, my eyes narrowing on him as his attention returned to the phone in his hand, acting like nothing had happened at all.
“Hi, everyone! Can I get your attention for a few minutes, please?” A hush fell over the room but my eyes were still on Ben as I watched him redirect his attention from his phone to Rob, who was standing in his usual spot in the middle of the room. Finally, I let my focus shift to the principal, making a note of Ben’s suspicious staring for later. Whatever he was up to, whatever torture he had planned for me, I needed to know. I needed to know fast.
“I hope everyone had a great summer, got plenty of rest, and is ready and excited to get back to work. I am sure there will be those typical first day problems, so if you need to talk about anything, my office is always open.”
The crowd nodded, but Rob’s smile changed to a grimace as the words we could have all predicted fell from his mouth. “As you might already be aware, the budget got a little slimmer over the summer, and there will have to be cuts across the board.”
A collective groan from several members of staff interrupted him, and others yelled questions in protest, but their voices overlapped into an indistinguishable jumble. Meanwhile, I simply sat there. I was hardly surprised, but my heart sank nonetheless.
What would this mean? How much harder would this year be? Did this mean cuts to staff? Glancing around the room, my sights set on my various co-workers. Every single one of them was insanely talented and completely necessary. But like last year, I knew it was unlikely we were all going to last the year.
That’s how we’d lost Rosa. She got sick of trying to teach on a shoestring, and had left us last year, moving away to go teach at a private school. She had been the third in our group, and while I understood why she had to go, but it still felt like there was an empty space she used to occupy.
“I don’t have specific details yet, but as soon as I know, so will all of you. But it goes without saying we should all be looking at our departments and cutting any waste we can.” Rob continued to talk, but he was interrupted by the ringing of the first bell. “One last note! I’m sure you all know this is Richard’s last year with us.” He motioned to the familiar older man who was seated to his right. Richard Wilson, forever with a friendly smile on his face, raised his hand as if to greet the room. “Because of this, we will look for a replacement in the role of vice-principal.”
My heart stopped in my chest. A new vice principal could mean a lot of things for the school, both good and bad. The position came with a direct role in overseeing the departmental budgets, as well as the opportunity to weigh in on decisions about the school itself. Richard had always been a skilled teacher, but as he’d grown older and wearier, I’d always felt like more could have been done in the role.
“So, if you’re interested, please come see me and the application process should be made live on our website soon.”
The rest of his words faded into the background as I quietly pondered what this could mean for the school, if it was open to all staff, and who would be the obvious front runners for the role.
Just as Rob wrapped up, I noticed him shoot a sweet smile Hanna’s way. They were married last summer in a small, simple ceremony that was only for friends and family. I wondered for a moment if she had more information on the cuts, or even the promotion. If anyone would, it would be her.
“What?” she asked, nudging me slightly, and it was then I realized I’d been staring at her. I shook my head, pushing down the temptation to ask. She’d never tell me, even if she knew.
“Nothing, sorry, I should get going. I’ve got a class first thing,” I said, trying to send her a reassuring smile.
“Lucky you. I’ve got a free period,” she smirked, cocking an eyebrow, and I fought the urge to swear back at her. “See you at our usual spot for lunch?”
I nodded in response before discarding my now empty coffee mug beside the dishwasher. I left the staff room and headed into the hallway, which was nearly empty of students, who were filtering into their new classrooms.
“What cuts do you think we expect from the arts and crafts department this year?” a smug voice asked from behind. I didn’t need to turn around to know that Ben was sauntering at my tail, a grin etched into his face. My brain buzzed with frustration, but I fought the urge to fall into his trap. Again.
“Or maybe we can just gut the department entirely. You guys can do your little doodles with pencil, right? Do you even need other supplies?”
That really got my attention, my head finally turning around to look at him. It wasn’t fair that he towered over me, the smirk on his lips causing me to grit my teeth as I talked myself down from smacking him. Sometimes, it helped to imagine what revenge would look like, how it would finally feel to get one up on Ben Bennett. But today, it felt like throwing gasoline on a raging fire.
“Maybe we could cut one of the sciences. Who needs physics anyway?” I retorted. I watched as he rolled his hazel eyes, his arms crossing across his body as the rolled up sleeves of his crisp white shirt pushed further up his arms, revealing thick muscles as the material stretched. My eyes couldn’t help but notice the outline of his shoulders, the visible strength in the dips and curves. Had he spent the entire summer in the gym?
“Well, I’m sure there’s an argument for keeping physics, considering it easily leads to a paying job.”
Ah, this old chestnut.
Ben was a career switcher. He just sauntered in one day, his black Audi easily standing out in a parking lot of beat up Subarus and rusty Hyundai’s, fresh out of some big fancy job in research. He had this attitude, a look in his eyes that told me everything I needed to know; like because he’d been out there, in the ‘real’ world with a ‘real’ job, he somehow thought he was better qualified than the staff who’d gone straight into teaching, that this was beneath him.
I’d always suspected that this was just a temporary gig for him, even tried to start a bet with Hanna that he’d last three months before burning out, leaving the rest of us to deal with the mess he’d inevitably leave behind.
But two years on, and I was still considering practicing throwing darts at a photo of his perfect face.
“Art can lead to a paying job,” I snapped, turning on my heels to look up at him, that goddamn grin shining down on me.
“Oh sure it does, Ms. Davis.”
If I could breathe fire, he’d have been an unrecognizable bit of charred meat. He just loved saying my name like that. On the surface, it sounded professional, but the wild look in his eyes told me he held no regard for my status in this school, or anywhere. It was a clear taunt, a test, to see if I’d step up to the mark and play his game.
The door ahead of us swung open, and we both looked ahead to see another teacher, Alan, coming our way. I said nothing and threw him a smile and a greeting as he passed us. My smile faltered however, when his eyebrow tweaked up, and a sly smile curled onto his lips.
There it was. The look.
The ‘there they are, flirting again’ look.
I should have been used to it. They were all so obvious about it, not even bothering to hide it. Some had even made comments in hushed whispers, but I always knew what they were saying.
“Oh, are you two going at it again?”
“Phew, we are going to have to throw some cold water over these guys.”
“Put me down for chicken on the wedding invitation!”
Even Hanna had made some jokes in the past about how Rob was our couple’s therapist, but I’d shot her a look that ensured she never even hinted at that again.
“Besides, there are other benefits to art, Mr. Bennett.” I kept some control this time, my voice only turning bitter towards the end. “Development of fine motor skills, expression of creativity–”
“I’m yet to be convinced of its usefulness. Seems like a waste of time to me,” His voice dropped. He looked dangerous, his eyes practically turning black as he continued. The hallway was silent now, and I itched knowing I was running late for my class, but he still held on to my full attention with an unwavering grip.
“You know what I would do if I was in charge?” He took a step closer as he closed the gap between us, not giving me any time to answer. “I’d cut it completely, no hesitation. Math has been looking for a new classroom, and they could have yours.”
It was supposed to be a threat, but the way he said it, it was pure filth. Like he’d thought long and hard about how much he’d love to get rid of me, how he’d love to erase any sign I’d ever worked at this school. And now, there was a deputy role opening up. He could finally do it. My heart was racing in my chest, the space between us almost non-existent.
“Too bad you won’t get that chance.” I kept my voice steady, trying to ignore the heat that had steadily built up inside of me. Without a second thought, I turned on my heels and headed towards my classroom.
“Just you wait, Ms. Davis.”
I looked back at him as I opened the door. His grin caught my eye, but it wasn’t just that. His gaze was clearly locked on my ass. I wasn’t sure if he was imagining kicking me to the curb in his sick fantasy or if he was checking me out. I wasn’t even sure what the better scenario was. Instinctively, my hand fell to the bottom of the heart patterned dress I was wearing and pulled at the material, so it stretched further down. I was wearing tights, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough with his eyes glued to me.
He finally noticed I had caught him red-handed, and immediately his cheeks turned a light pink, a panicked expression stretched across his features.
“In your dreams, Mr. Bennett.” The words practically came out as a low growl. His cheeks turned from pink to bright red just as I realized how those words had sounded. I fought the urge to take the words back, to yell out a defense or explain I hadn’t meant it like that.
Instead, I fled into the noisy classroom, wondering to myself why it had all sounded so dirty.
