Advanced English

Ellen stared at the list until the letters began to blur and swirl. She was faintly aware of the others around her giggling excitedly and those who cursed under their breath. But no one, save her, was frozen in place, on the verge of collapsing into sobs. Her last year of high school and she had been relegated to study Shakespeare and Steinbeck alongside future mechanics and dishwashers. But it wasn’t the thought of hearing Atticus Finch’s courtroom speech read aloud in a faltering monotone that made her want to rip her heart out and stamp it out of its misery. It was that he hadn’t chosen her. Despite her impressive grades and impassioned essay on how Lady Chatterley and Elizabeth Bennett were the worst anti-feminists.

Mr. Shipley, or as the entire female student body referred to him--Mr. Shapely--was the senior Advanced English and Journalism teacher. After school, he traded his khakis and blazer for tight shorts and a polo to coach girls’ tennis. He had the intellect of a Greek philosopher and the body of a Greek god. Girls swooned during his mythology unit, each imagining themselves as Mnemosyne as their teacher narrated the role of Zeus.

Mr. Shipley chose 15 students based on grades and feedback from previous teachers, a writing sample, and an interview. He was known to be strict but fair and only gave two A’s per semester. Students who graduated often said they learned more in his class than any English course at a university. Though Ellen knew how students were chosen, she couldn’t help but feel there was other criteria when she saw the names of the girls who were chosen. Cindy and Sarah were varsity cheerleaders and National Honor Society members and probably had 27 other undiscovered talents. Eva and Marcy were artists and looked like fashion models rather than the grunged-out druggies the other artists were. Cora was a cellist and though she rarely spoke, her pale white skin and white blonde hair gave her an angelic and mysterious quality. And then there were Jenna and Gemma, the inseparable twins who managed to get away with still dressing alike because their clothes highlighted their spectacular bosoms.

Ellen had no athletic, musical, or artistic accolades and would most likely be described as pleasant, but mousy. Whenever she complained about not being pretty to her mother, her mother replied, “Better to be a Plain Jane than an Igit Bridgette. Or Icky Vicky or Spotty Dotty. And my lovely girl, you’ve got your words. You’re the best writer I know!”

As Ellen continued to stare at the paper on the wall, she wondered why God had given those girls beauty as well as talent and gave her nothing. Why did some people get double and triple helpings and others none? She knew this truth existed in the real world where homeless slept on pavement blocks away from mansions and great kids got cancer while bullies got free rides into college. But at that moment the fact that Mr. Shipley would choose girls based on their looks seemed like the gravest injustice in history. Ellen realised that the only way to not let this kill her was to get revenge.

Since it was 1990 before mobile phones and social media, she had to be creative. The anonymous letter she sent to the principal, superintendent, and PTA contained a detailed account of a series of lurid acts between a teacher and his star students. The accusation was simple: to be granted entrance into Mr. Shipley’s class, a girl had to be willing to grant something in return. The letter was concise, with just the right balance of diplomacy and outrage. It seemed to be drafted by a lawyer of a parent. Ellen thought it her best piece to date.

What Ellen didn’t know and couldn’t have known was that Mr. Shipley did indeed have an inappropriate relationship. But with only one student—a feisty girl in her last semester who’d already been accepted into a journalism program on the west coast. When Mr. Shipley was confronted quietly in a room full of the school district’s VIPs and lawyers, he assumed, “the inappropriate behaviour” he was being questioned about referred to Tonya and he quickly confessed to everything. The committee, now believing he was seducing the pupils in multiple classes, asked incredulously, “How can you live with yourself knowing you’ve sullied so many young girls’ lives?”

Mr. Shipley, thoroughly confused and exhausted from the unburdening, stammered, “What do you mean? There’s only Tonya.” And adding as the reality of her impending departure surfaced yet again, “There will ever only be Tonya.”

As he became more aware of the actual accusations being brought against him, he became both terrified and indignant. The more he protested, the guiltier he sounded and he was put on unpaid leave until a full investigation could be carried out.

The girls, of course, denied everything. A buzz spread throughout the school as to why Mr. Shipley was suddenly absent. At first, theories ranged from suicide, to murder, and some even believed he was having an affair with the principal himself.

The girls on the list and those in his current journalism class created an unauthorized “special edition” of the school newspaper. Included were poems and essays detailing the merits of Mr. Shipley’s teaching and the injustice of the accusations. The best articles were from the seven females who were profoundly insulted that the school officials would so quickly believe that the only way they would be eligible for an advanced class was by getting on their knees in front of a man.

Ellen quietly watched the event blossom into chaos, marvelling at how she could set something so big into motion. Yet, as she sat on her bed one night reading a copy of the newspaper, she realised something that would colour every decision and moment for the rest of her life.

“I really wasn’t good enough to be in that class.”