Teacher of the Century Read Free

earlier affability. “Maybe you’ll have a change of heart by then.”
    â€œI won’t,” Cilla said softly, turning to leave.
    â€œHope springs eternal,” said the principal with a chuckle, hurrying around to get the door for her.
    As he ushered her out, Cilla noticed that he had a new tattoo. It showed up best now that he was aroused from victoriously exercising his authority: the name “Ludwig” was printed in gothic-style letters along the length of his male organ.
    *****
    The next day, though the death sentence hanging over her head clouded her thoughts, Cilla experienced a welcome change in Period Five.
    At first, Five went the way it always did. Half the godlings slept through her lecture, and none of the others paid attention to a word she said. A male and female had actually squeezed into the same hammock together and engaged in heavy petting while she talked. A godling boy loudly passed gas at least a dozen times. Cilla knew better than to correct any of them; their pet principal would veto any disciplinary action and turn it around into negative consequences for her. If she ever did manage to administer any form of punishment, the parental A.I.s would squeal in protest, followed by the parents themselves.
    In spite of the usual Period Five headaches, however, there was one consolation in the wasteland that day. Byron Spencer, the new boy, had miraculously survived his first day of school--even though he had dared to interrupt Cilla’s execution--and sat at the head of the class, listening and taking notes. He even sat at a desk , believe it or not; he had asked for one, and the maintenance crew had found one buried in storage and brought it to the room.
    As class wore on, Byron did something even more surprising than asking for a desk or taking notes.
    It happened as Cilla was being chewed out by one of the A.I. drones for looking at a student while posing a question. The gleaming eight-ball hovered at eye level, less than a foot from her face, and protested in the voice of Daughter Raper XL’s mother, presumably reacting in the same way that the mother would have reacted if she herself had been there.
    â€œIs my son the only student in this classroom?” the A.I. said shrilly. “Is he?”
    â€œNo,” said Cilla, glaring at the floating orb. It was at least the twentieth A.I. interruption in the past half-hour, which was par for the course but still disruptive. As always, she spent her time talking to the orbs while the so-called students snored or masturbated or surfed the hivenet.
    â€œNo, what ?” said the drone in Daughter Raper XL’s mother’s voice.
    Cilla grated her teeth. “No, ma’am,” she said coldly.
    â€œThen don’t look in his direction every time you have a question !” said the A.I., bobbing closer to Cilla’s face. “Try one of these other children you’re supposedly teaching! Stop singling out Daughter Raper like he’s some kind of second class citizen!”
    Cilla wished she had a baseball bat so she could take a swing at the eight-ball. Once she got started, she would like to make the rounds of the classroom and then the building, not stopping until every single sphere was a shattered pile of ebony shards and sparking circuits.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Cilla, and then the drone zipped away, resuming its post above Daughter Raper XL’s left shoulder. Daughter Raper himself was fast asleep, completely oblivious to what had just happened.
    For a moment, Cilla stood before the class and tried to recall what her train of thought had been before the drone’s interruption. Pressing fingertips against her cheek, she stared off into space, searching her memory...and coming up empty. She had been talking about Animal Farm , she knew that much, but where exactly she had left off remained a mystery.
    Then, something miraculous happened. Cilla heard a voice other than her own or a