The Goddess Goes to High School

Athena was rendered exhausted at the mere thought of her days on Olympus. Everywhere she looked, there was a hero who needed assistance. Some brute with oiled-up cords of muscle, its only purpose to compensate for the empty space taking up the inside of his skull, would get himself into some wholly-avoidable imperilment. 

And a hero in trouble only knew of one goddess to call upon. Athena was obligated to support whatever chauvinistic, elaborate quest or war or feud the hero would otherwise fail. 

It was all so dramatic. The Trojan war had come and gone in the blink of an eye for a deity like Athena; but for the mortals fighting it, their lives became entwined with the battle. Achilles had needed her support, and she hadn’t had much of a choice in giving it to him. 

He’d repaid her by dragging Hector’s body like a parade in front of the gates of Troy. She’d stood there watching, realization washing over her. She was so tired of being the goddess of War. 

Odysseus had needed Athena to sweet-talk Zeus and argue for his release, and she’d demonstrated the kind of logic and reason she was known for. Goddess of Wisdom. 

Helper of Heroes.

The goddess was tired.

About three thousand years had gone by, and heroes weren’t around anymore, at least not heroes like Heracles and Tydeus, the latter of which still made her sick to her stomach to recall.

Total immortality would have been his, if only Athena hadn’t caught him snacking on the brains of the enemy.

 The heroes of the modern world were different, and they didn’t burn offerings to the goddess. There were a few altars and shrines dedicated to her, sure, but those almost always belonged to spiritual hippies burning incense they purchased at a shopping mall and wearing drapey clothing made by underpaid sweatshop workers.

Heroes were firefighters, doctors, and nurses.

Teachers. Teachers were heroes, too. Athena had a millennia's worth of knowledge. She’d often observed the teachers of Ancient Greece.

Athena thought that perhaps it was time for her to give it a shot. Perhaps it was her turn to be the hero.

*

Her quest for a quieter, more meaningful existence began in Lockwood, Michigan. There wasn’t a particular reason for her choice, but a slight pull to the name when she’d been looking over a map of the U.S. trying to make her decision. Her grey eyes had kept trailing back to the state shaped like a mitten and the small type marking the small area of the small town of Lockwood.

Small. Quiet. Perfect. 

Luckily for her, Lockwood Community High School had a need for an eleventh-grade history teacher, and luckily for Lockwood Community High School, Athena had a very realistic resume and even a real reference. 

She wouldn’t owe Circe for the favor. The goddess had spared the life of the nymph's child, after all. 

Her first day was mid-way through the school year. 

“I won’t lie to you,” the superintendent, Ms. Branch, told her as she walked Athena to her classroom. It was after school hours, so the halls were empty. She beamed with excitement. Everything looked so dull. Simple and boring and so wonderfully dull. 

“I’d hope not,” Athena said, stopping next to the door the stout woman gestured to. 

“These students,” she shook her head, slid one of her many jingling keys into the doorknob, and pushed into the room, flipping the light on as she entered. “They’ve run off half a dozen substitutes this year. I had to petition the school board and the state to give them another chance at the standardized tests once we find a teacher.”

“Standardized tests,” Athena repeated, overwhelmed with everything around the room. There were crooked rows of graffitied desks. The floor was littered with paper and pencils. There was a single dry-erase marker on the little shelf beneath the whiteboard. Athena walked over to it as the superintendent drolled on.

Athena opened the marker and tested it on the dirty whiteboard. The marker was dead. She tossed it into the almost-full wastebasket sitting on the floor beneath what looked like the teacher’s desk. 

“They are disrespectful, loud. They feed off of each other’s mischief,” Ms. Branch wiped imaginary sweat from her brow, as if exhausted even thinking about Athena’s first class. “There are a few good ones in the bunch. The others, though…” Ms. Branch shuddered, shoving her hands into the pockets of her plaid blazer and staring wide-eyed at the goddess.

Athena thought she’d let her glamour slip and was accidentally blinding this very tired, hard-working superintendent with her divine form. She realized after a moment that the woman was waiting for her to respond.

“I’m certain I’ve handled worse,” she said sheepishly.

Relief flooded the superintendent’s face. She looked like she wanted to reach out and embrace the goddess. Athena hoped very deeply that she would not.

“So you’ll do it?” Ms. Branch asked, her tone expectant, like she was finally tasting hope after going too long without it. 

“Teach the class?” Athena asked, confused. “Of course. I already accepted the job.”

“And the testing?” she asked. “I know it’s rather unconventional, but it was the only option I had. Not to mention the parents. ‘How is my kid passing every class except history?’ they ask. ‘My taxes pay your salary,’ they tell me. Every day, a phone call. A disgruntled mother wondering what I’m going to do about her little crotch-gobblin’s GPA. Well, I’ll just tell you something-”

“Ms. Branch,” Athena interrupted. “Forgive me, but what part of this job is unconventional? It’s just history, right?”

“History, of course. And, more importantly, the testing. Without the testing, there’s no funding,” Ms. Branch explained. “At least 75 percent of these students must pass their make-up test at the end of the year. If they don’t succeed, the school board will assume you’ve failed. You’ll be out of a job, Ms. Apollo.”

She was startled by the use of her fake name. She didn’t have a particular affinity for the better half of the divine twins. It had just been the first name to come to mind.

Mostly, the goddess was startled by the superintendent’s explanation.

She’d thought that she had found her simple, boring quiet, but the work seemed like it would be far from simple and quiet. Even farther from boring. 

She got her keys to the classroom and the school before saying goodbye to the stout, jittery superintendent. Turning back to look at her classroom, she took a deep breath, set her keys down on the desk, and started working. 

*

She’d just made it back to the room from the supply closet down the hall with arms full of various supplies and a box of fresh dry-erase markers, when she felt a familiar presence.

“Zeus,” she said in greeting. She didn’t bother turning around. The King of the Gods was everywhere and nowhere all at once, usually being altogether inappropriate and cruel to mortals who made the mistake of catching his eye.

“You are allowed to call me ‘father,’ you know,” the god reminded her, as always.

“I have no desire to,” Athena replied. When she turned, she saw him draped in one of the desks, one arm thrown lazily behind his head. He was wearing a janitor’s uniform. Athena chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Not really.

Zeus clicked his tongue in disappointment. “What have you gotten yourself into, daughter?”

“What concern of yours is my current employment? My job is to support heroes,” she said, inching closer to him. “And heroes don’t look like they did a few centuries ago.”

“If that woman with the horrible jacket is to be believed,” he said, inspecting his nails, “your job isn’t really a sure thing, is it?”

He’d overheard. Of course. 

“That woman seems to have given you an ultimatum.”

Athena swallowed, anxiety bubbling up in her belly. Zeus loved ultimatums.

“So I figured I’d do the same.”

Shocking, Athena thought.

“Hades has a few heroes down in that decrepit underworld of his. No one well-known, but heroes nonetheless,” he drawled. “I figure it’d be quite thrilling to take them back. And to do that, I would need the Goddess of Heroes to assist me.”

“No thanks,” Athena said, maintaining a calm tone even as her heart beat so intensely it pounded in her ears. 

“That’s where the ultimatum comes in,” Zeus continued, ignoring her as usual. “If you are relieved of your position here…”

“I have to help you drag Odysseus’ lackeys out of Hell,” she finished. Zeus nodded, wearing a devious grin. 

“Teach well, Athena,” the god said with a wink.

*

The first student to arrive the next day was one of the good ones.

She’d arranged her mousy hair into a bun. There was a zip-up trapper keeper beneath her left arm. Her right was extended, just as eager as the look on her face.

“You’re a real teacher?” she asked expectantly. Athena nodded, shaking the girl’s hand. “I’m Emma. Excited to learn!”

Athena’s heart soared. As Emma sat down at a desk in the front row, a group of students entered behind her. Five boys, all dressed in the same uniform of jeans and a t-shirt with the logo of the school’s mascot. The Lockwood Ligers.

None of the boys greeted her. Instead, they each stuck a wad of gum to Athena’s desk and smirked as they took their seats in the back corner. More students flooded in, a few of them walking past Athena’s desk to stick their gum to it.

Athena supposed she should go shut the door and quiet the students’ chatter. But she could only stare at the disgusting pile of gum on her desk. 

She’d conquered heroes. Was high school really going to be the thing to finally do her in?

*

Any attempt at disciplining them had only ended in half the class being sent to the hall or the principal’s office. She’d given up on trying to figure out who choreographed the stunt with the gum. By the end of the day, she knew it had been Pete. 

He was the bringer of mischief. He would need to be dealt with if she had any hope of avoiding a trip to Hell. Her lesson on Mesopotamia was ignored. 

*

The first month passed in a blur. Pete and the boys sitting next to him threw wads of paper at her. They talked through every lesson she tried to teach. They even stole her lunch from under her desk when she slipped out to make copies of a worksheet about Central American architecture.

“How is it?” Ms. Branch asked, cornering Athena by the copier. 

“It’s…” Athena was at a loss for words. The superintendent nodded knowingly.

“Just keep trying,” she said. 

She’d been locked out of the classroom. A phallus was drawn on the board, and more gum was piled up on her desk.

By Friday, Athena was exhausted, “go to the hallway” no longer had any meaning, and Hell was starting to sound okay.

*

The first practice test two weeks later was a failure. 25 percent of the class passed. Surprisingly, Ms. Branch burst into her classroom after the students had gone home, looking exceedingly pleased with herself. 

“Twenty-five percent!” she squealed. 

“I know,” Athena said, ready to explain herself.

“It was only five percent when you got here,” Ms. Branch beamed.

For a second, Athena let herself beam, too.

*

“The ancient Greeks sound gay,” Pete shouted. 

She was so tired of hearing his barely-developed, pompous little voice. She was tired of trying to get him to care. 

“Actually,” she began, writing a few familiar names on the board. Names that would be familiar to anyone with knowledge of ancient Greece, even knowledge that came from a Disney movie. “It wasn’t uncommon in those days for two men to be lovers. There was more to ancient Greece than homosexuality, though.”

Much more, she thought.

“Can anyone tell me the names of three famous Greek teachers?” she asked. Emma and a few of the others raised their hands, but Athena’s eyes caught on another hand waving in the air. 

Brandon. One of Pete’s friends. He wasn’t known to contribute anything but shenanigans to the class, so Athena was intrigued. She hesitantly called on him.

“Socrates, Aristotle, and Plate,” he announced with confidence. Pete shot him a look, Brandon ignored him, beaming with pride.

“It’s actually Plato,” she said, turning to add the names he’d said to the board, “but yes, you’re exactly right.”

As she continued with the rest of the lesson, explaining what the ancient Greeks were all about and what the class could learn from them, she heard silence from the back corner of the room.

*

The next round of practice tests was handed out a few weeks later. Someone from the state came in to administer it. After the students finished, the thin, bespeckled administrator gathered his things and shook Athena’s hand.

“I only had to give ‘no credit’ to two students who were talking. It was eight last time,” he explained. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing, Ms. Apollo.”

*

Fifty-three percent of the class had passed the practice test. With four weeks left until the final practice and not much longer to prepare for the final, Athena had ancient history coming out of her ears. The only thing she hadn’t covered, which was proven by the questions her students missed on the practice tests, was the history of the Chinese Empire.

She had a little over a month to teach twenty-six sixteen-year-olds everything she could about  multiple decades-long dynasties. 

Instead, she asked her class a question.

“It’s not a secret that many of you are doing much better, and I’m very proud,” she said, leaning on her desk. “But I’d really like to know why. What is working? What is helping you learn?”

Her eyes found Pete, who had been maddeningly close to passing the last practice test. He showed no interest in sharing, but Brandon did. He raised his hand and Athena called on him.

“I think by not giving us any attention, we got bored of messing with you,” he admitted. “We were forced to learn because you actually taught. The rest of the substitutes just yelled at us all day.”

“If Ms. Branch is to be believed, I think a few of you deserved to be yelled at,” Athena said. A few students chuckled, even Pete. “Anything else?”

“You connect history to things in my life,” another student said. “Makes it easier to understand.”

“You have a nice voice,” a very large young man in a football jersey said. “It's nice to listen to you talk about, you know, old people and stuff. ‘Cuz you don’t have a shitty voice.”

“Thank you, Bradley,” Athena said with a small smile. “Please watch your language, though.”

One by one, the students raised their hands and told her what they liked about her class. A few of them had suggestions. She made a note to add more open discussions at their request. Her small smile was growing, and when she walked out of the school that evening, she was beaming again.

*

Sixty-eight percent of her class passed the last practice test. She didn’t have time to be excited because the real test was only a few weeks away. She tallied the most-missed questions on all three tests and created another test of her own. They worked through the hard questions together, had open discussions, and buckled down.

*

On the day of the test, the students shuffled into the gym and sat at tables that had been set up for them. The same test administrator stood at the front of the room. He walked the class through how to fill in the bubbles, started the timer, and the test began.

Athena waited outside the gym for what felt like an eternity, and she would know what that felt like. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been nervous.

It didn’t matter what peril and stress she’d persevered through as the Goddess of War and Wisdom. Being a high school history teacher was going to give her high blood pressure, if such a thing was even possible.

*

Emma was, unsurprisingly, the first one to filter out of the gym. As the others finished, they said goodbye to their teacher, gathered their things, and left to await the results.

*

Ms. Branch always knocked before entering Athena’s room, but the following Monday, she burst into the classroom in a flurry of plaid and excitement. She almost asked Ms. Branch to wait to give her the results until the students arrived. 

“Ninety-seven percent!” she squealed before Athena could get a word in. “Ms. Apollo! I don’t know how, but you’ve done it!” 

Athena could have cried. 

When she gave the class the good news, they were equally as thrilled. Even Pete cracked a smile. She treated them to a movie instead of a lesson that day, and when class was over, she held Pete back to tell him he’d passed with flying colors.

He just shrugged. “You broke me, Ms. A.”

*

On the last day of school, there were small gift bags and flowers on her desk instead of wads of gum. She was a little teary as they left that afternoon. A few of them hugged her on their way out. Emma told her that she was the best teacher she’d ever had. Brandon asked her if she was going to come back next year.

“I’m not sure yet,” she admitted.

As she walked through the dark, empty halls of the school and out the front door, her arms full of the gifts of her thankful students, she felt fulfilled. 

But she was so tired. Perhaps the next year, she’d give preschool a shot. For now, high school had drained her, proved her wrong, and enriched her life like no hero ever had.