Did You Hear About Bianca Wheeler?

Content warning: mentions of suicide and inappropriate relationships between a teacher and a student

*

What’s the worst rumour you’ve ever started about someone? I’ll go first: in grade twelve, I told Ellie Jensen that Bianca Wheeler was sleeping with our AP English teacher in exchange for better grades. Ellie, being Ellie, made sure that the story spread like wildfire before the last period bell had rung, and by the time classes resumed the next morning, Bianca and Mr. Keller were the talk of the school.

Maybe it’s wrong, but I didn’t even feel that bad at first about hurting Bianca because she’d been a terrible “friend” to me since our elementary days when she’d always give me the uglier doll to play with, telling me it looked like me anyway. Somehow, I was always stuck with her, and everyone was under the assumption that we were best friends – maybe even Bianca herself – but at least my therapist knew she was the bane of my existence.

I did feel bad for Mr. Keller, though. There was no evidence of any wrongdoing on his part, but he was still investigated and scrutinized, and he left our school before the school year was over. It felt especially awful because he was my favourite teacher who really cared about his students and wanted us to flourish as writers. I would read and re-read his feedback on my assignments, desperate to get an A the next time, but somehow, Bianca always beat me out even though I was the one who loved writing.

All the craziness eventually died down, and even though Mr. Keller was gone, I thought the whole thing had blown over and everything could just go back to normal. But Bianca was showing up less and less to class, which I’d initially been a little relieved about because it was hard to look at her without thinking of what I’d done.

Six weeks before her graduation, Bianca Wheeler killed herself, and I stood up in front of her family and friends and sobbed at her funeral while talking about how much I was going to miss my friend. And I mean, she wasn’t entirely awful, and we did have some good memories over the years, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

And the tears were real, but they were selfish tears. I couldn’t make myself cry for Bianca, but I cried for myself that day because I felt guilty and ashamed and more than anything, I was absolutely petrified that someday, someone would find out what I’d done. Ellie Jensen blamed herself for spreading the rumour, and she was such a notorious gossip that she couldn’t even remember who’d told her the story in the first place and even wondered whether she was the one to come up with it.

My rumour bred fast with a dozen other rumours, and before the body was even cold, our small town was rife with conspiracies about why Bianca had died. Some said that she couldn’t take the pain of Mr. Keller dumping her, and others even speculated that she had been pregnant with his baby. The one thing no one was saying was that Cassie St. Clair drove her best friend to the brink of suicide, and for that, I was thankful.

Now before you judge the actions of a stupid seventeen-year-old too harshly, you must know that I would never have done something so cruel if I could have known how things would end up. Sure, Bianca drove me nuts sometimes, but I never wanted her to die. But I suppose no amount of regret and remorse is enough to un-kill a person, now, is it?

I’ve spent the last five years trying to will Bianca’s memory out of my mind as much as possible. Going to university across the province helped at first, but then I couldn’t come up with an interesting enough idea for a fictional story in one of my writing classes, so I wrote about her. Soon enough, I once again became the Dead Girl’s Best Friend, and everyone wanted to know more about Bianca. She was like a legend amongst my peers, and I found myself resenting a dead girl for stealing all the attention away from me.

After graduating, I decided to move even further to go for my master’s degree, and this time, I was determined to separate myself from Bianca Wheeler once and for all. I’d spent the last several years coming up with better ideas for writing projects, and I’d even managed to publish a few short stories that had nothing to do with her, so I felt like I was finally getting away from her.

So, imagine my surprise that it’s one week into a new school year and I’m now sitting outside of café 4000 kilometers away from home, catching up with Mr. Keller. Except now he’s telling me to call him Everett. Saying his name feels like poison on my tongue, so I just keep referring to him as sir, and I don’t miss the look that crosses his eyes when I do.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you again, Cassie,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette. He’s even more attractive than he was five years ago, and goosebumps prick up all over my body when he says my name in that deep voice of his. If he were still teaching now, I’m sure he’d have even more girls crushing on him than he did back then.

“How have you been holding up after everything?” His words feel pointed, and I’m desperately digging around the inside of my own brain for some kind of answer. How are you holding up, Mr. – Everett? Have you recovered from the time that I ruined your life for fun and made you look partially responsible for the death of a teenage girl?

“I’m fine,” I choke out, struggling to meet his eye. “I, uh, obviously miss my friend, you know, but it’s gotten easier to manage over the last few years. Sometimes I even write about Bianca when I miss her.”

Everett takes another drag, a melancholy look crossing his face at the mention of Bianca’s name, and I can’t help but add in, “I hope you know that I never believed any of that stuff. I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that.” He looks right at me, and I feel like I have the word ‘guilty’ scrawled on my forehead.

“Thank you,” he coughs, putting out the cigarette and focusing all his attention on me. “I appreciate hearing that, Cassie. You were always one of my favourite students, you know. Every time I read one of your assignments, I knew that you’d find success as a writer someday, so I’m very glad to see that you’re continuing to follow that path.”

He smiles sincerely and my face is so hot that I know my cheeks must be redder than the tablecloths. “Thank you, Mr. Keller, I-”

“Everett,” he interrupts, and I swear his eyes darken as he speaks. “Please, Cassie. I need you to call me by my first name.”

“Everett,” I say shyly, averting my gaze from his eyes to the coffee that sits in front of me, “thank you for saying that. You really were my favourite teacher back then, and I was so sad to see you go. I think you made me a better writer, and I would love to share some of my newer stuff with you if you’re interested.”

He places his hand on top of mine, stopping me from fidgeting with my napkin, and I can’t help but look back up at him. There’s something like hunger in his eyes, and I swear my stomach is doing cartwheels. I must be imagining this, right?

“Come back with me to my apartment,” he says, and I already know I won’t be able to say no to this man. “Show me some of your work, and I can give you feedback, if you want it. You can read something of mine, too, if you’d like.”

*

Everett is sitting on his couch, hair mussed and shirt half-buttoned, smoking another cigarette as he reads. He wanted me to sit with him, but I refused, unable to watch him reading anything I wrote. It was one thing when he was grading my papers in high school, but everything I’ve been writing over the past five years is too real and if he hates it, I don’t want to see that kind of disappointment on his face.

He’d told me to make myself at home and browse his library, so I’m rifling through his personal works. One title catches my eye, and I nearly let the manuscript fall to the floor. My breathing quickens and I can feel my heart beating in my ears. I flip through it, and I swear the room is spinning. This isn’t possible.

“Guilty as Sin.” His voice in my ear makes me jump and I knock several books off the shelf in the process as I spin around to face him. His smile is wolf-like, and he reaches out for the manuscript, and I slowly hand it over.

“How long,” I stumble out, “have you known?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, as if he doesn’t wield the power to completely destroy my life. “You came back for the one-year anniversary, and I debated talking to you, but I just watched you instead. And I’ve never seen anyone stand in front of someone’s grave with that much regret painted all over her pretty face.”

Four years. He’s known for four years. Here I thought I’d been doing a good job at playing the role of the innocent, grieving best friend, but this clever man in front of me saw right through my act. I’m so screwed.

“You really were my favourite, you know,” he tells me, slinking his arm around my waist and pulling me close enough that I can feel his breath. “I’d only taught for two years at that time, but no student had ever managed to captivate me with their writing like that.”

“Not even Bianca?”

He snorts. “Five years later, and you’re still jealous of Bianca Wheeler?”

My face heats and I glare at him, which just makes him laugh harder. “Well, if you liked my work so much, then why did Bianca always do better than me? I edited half of her stories, so I know they weren’t as good as mine!”

“Oh Cassie,” he says, “so young and naïve. Biance Wheeler was an excellent student, and her writing was technically worthy of an A. But I gave you Bs because I wanted to challenge you to write out of your comfort zone. Everything you handed in was fantastic, but I knew there was an even more outstanding writer hiding inside of you, and after reading the stories you just gave me, I can see that I was right.”

“So, what,” I mutter, “I had to go and kill a girl to become a better writer?”

He chuckles again and lifts my chin up so that I’m looking at him again. “I guess so. Isn’t it funny how life works?”

I push him away, coming to my senses about what exactly we’re discussing right now, but that sly grin still doesn’t leave his face. “What now? Are you going to tell everyone? Publish a book to clear your own name and drag mine through the mud?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe, just maybe, I just wanted your attention. You’ve been running away for so many years, and now I’ve finally got you where I want you.”

Everett steps toward me and instinctively, I step back. I should be more frightened by him, but I’m too intrigued to feel any real fear. After all, this was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? Sure, Bianca had annoyed me and been a shitty friend for years, but all that resentment at the end came down to him, didn’t it? I wanted him to see me and not Bianca, and he does.

“I won’t tell your secret, Cassie,” he says. “Besides, what would I tell people? A student made up a rumour about me and her so-called best friend because she was jealous, and I found out because I spent four years stalking her?”

I gasp and he chuckles again. “I knew you’d come study here, Cassie. It’s perfect for you. And I came here because I knew I’d find you. Read the book and you’ll see. I won’t make you stay if you don’t want to, so feel free to leave.”

I should run, right? I know the answer, but I also know what I’m actually going to do. If there’s anything that should be apparent about Cassie St. Clair by now, it’s that I’m not exactly known for making the right choices. And right now, the wrong choice is standing at about six foot two and might have me beat for the most disturbed person from our hometown.

My secret’s safe with him, and it’s not like I’m going to go tell anyone about him because that would mean outing myself. Everyone back home already talks about us anyway, so we might as well give them something to talk about, right? I can hear them now, talking about the dead girl’s best friend running off with the sicko ex-teacher who drove her to the brink… What a pair we’d make, huh?

“So, you’re staying, then?”

I shrug. “Let me finish this book and I’ll get back to you.”