The drive to Ashbourne High School is short. I probably spent more time waiting for the engine to warm up than I did on the road.

I could've walked from home—I actually do that sometimes—but I have a bunch of stuff to bring with me this morning. With my bag on my shoulder and a thick stack of paper on both my hands, I struggle out of my old beat-up Toyota and step into the school hallway, passing the rows of red lockers.

“Morning, Miss Lake,” a student says as she walks past.

“Morning.” I nod and smile back at her.

I read somewhere that smiling even if you don’t feel like it can make you feel better, and I find that to be true this morning. By the time I reach my classroom, my anxiety has simmered down a little.

I drop the stack of papers onto my big wooden desk with a loud thump and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s pretty heavy and my arms were getting tired.

I take a seat and cast a quick glance around the classroom.

On my first day here, I came to work and saw a dreary, uninspiring space. Grey linoleum floor, yellowish cinderblock walls, and off-white drop ceiling tiles. It looked depressing, which wasn’t too different from the way I was feeling then.

It was funny. Not in a ha-ha way, but in an ironic way. I’d always wanted to be a teacher. Every night when I was taking my clothes off on stage, I’d dreamed about having my own class of young minds to inspire.

Then on the first day my dream came true, I was at the lowest point of my life—which is saying a lot, considering all the the messed up things I’ve gone through in my twenty-five years of existence.

It was pretty underwhelming. So my life-long dream of being a teacher came true… Yay, I guess?

I had to put up some colorful boards and posters to make the classroom look more lively. It looks a lot better now, which makes me feel better in the mornings. But then, I also feel a lot better these days, in general. I don’t constantly look over my shoulder to check if anybody’s following me, for starters.

Ever since I moved to Ashbourne, I never talk much about me. My big mouth has gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past, and I’m here to start anew.

It’s probably stupid or downright suicidal of me to choose Ashbourne as the the place to build a new life for myself, but it wasn’t even a choice. The decision was made for me that night I walked into the dressing room and saw Stan’s hands wrapped around Nancy’s neck.

* * *

“Hey! What are you doing?” I screamed.

Sure, Stan was my boss and I could’ve lost my job. But I couldn’t watch a friend being strangled without saying anything, just because I’d lose a shitty stripping job. There were a bunch of other strip joints in town, and stripping was supposed to be a temporary job in the first place.

Stan snapped his head around to see me. Anger flared in his eyes. He let go of Nancy and she crumpled onto the floor like a piece of paper trash. Turning his attention to me, Stan marched toward the door, where I stood with one hand on the doorknob.

“Bitch.” Stan grabbed my shoulders and pushed me against the wall.

The impact hit my back, hard. I winced from the pain. Despite my initial display of bravery, I was shaking. Stan was so much bigger and stronger than I was, and nobody could hear anything that happened here, not when the loud music was drowning every other sound.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he barked, his spit landing on my face. He snarled as he watched the fear in my eyes. Satisfied, he took his hands off me. He opened the door to leave, but not before giving me one final warning. “If you say one word to anybody, you’re going to be in a world of pain.”

The door slammed and I jumped from the noise. I breathed a sigh of relief from having narrowly escaped Stan’s wrath. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breathing shallow and irregular.

Nancy was still sitting on the floor with a dazed look on her face. I rushed to her side. I felt so bad for Nance. This was a one-off terrifying occurrence for me, but she probably lived with this fear every day.

“Are you okay?” This wasn’t the first time I asked her this question, having walked into their arguments too many times before. But this was by far the worst one I’d seen.

Nancy nodded weakly, her head still lowered with her gaze stuck on the floor.

“Are you sure? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you want to go see a doctor?”

She quickly turned her head toward me. Our eyes met. “No. No doctor. I’m fine. Please. No doctor,” she pleaded.

My chest tightened. I could see she needed help, but what could I do? I had a host of problems myself.

I loved Nancy, but I knew there was nothing I could do if she didn’t want my help. I could tell the authorities about what he was doing to her, but if she were to deny my story then it would be my safety on the line.

“Okay, Nance,” I said in a soft voice. I pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back.

“No doctor, Scarlett. I’m fine.” Her voice was shaking.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I promise you. No doctor.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“I know.” I paused while I thought of a good way to say what was on my mind. I say, “If you’re ever not fine, you can call me any time, okay? Day or night.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah. You’re fine now. I know. But just in case something ever happens, something bad, and you’re not fine, I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I have a nice little apartment. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s all mine. It’s close to the bus stops and train stations. I can go anywhere I want, it’s so convenient. There’s a sofa bed in the living room. My mom used to lie down there and watch the TV. It’s a nice big-screen TV and nobody ever watches it anymore. It’s all sad and lonely now, that poor TV,” I said, making a lame joke.

It was stupid, but I felt like I had to fill the silence or else terror was going to expand and fill the room, permeate every corner and seep into us both. So I just said whatever came first to my mind.

“My mom,” Nancy said after a long pause. She never mentioned any of her family members before, and I never asked. It was an unspoken rule in the club. No personal questions asked.

“What’s with your mom?” I speak in a soft, soothing voice.

“Stan knows where she lives.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Has Stan ever said anything about your mom, Nance?”

She stayed silent, like she regretted opening her mouth.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. You can talk to me,” I said.

“I know, but…” Her voice trailed off, the incomplete sentence hanging in the air, preventing me from going on about something stupid like my high-definition TV.

“Hey, you can’t start saying something and not finish it. You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“He’s going to hurt you if he knows that you know,” she said.

“Don’t worry about me.” I hugged Nancy tighter and stroked her hair. I couldn’t believe she was concerned about me when she was in way more danger than I was. “I’m not scared of Stan,” I lied. “I’m already planning to quit anyway. I’m going to leave and be a teacher. I don’t need him.”

“He said… He said if I left, he was going to go after my mom.”

Damn it. I’d guessed right. I put my hands on Nancy’s shoulders and pulled away just far enough to look straight into her eyes. “Nance, you need to stop worrying about other people and start looking after yourself.” I took a deep breath. “Look. If you ever decide to leave, I’ll help you make sure your mom is safe. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded.

I had no idea what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do at all. But even without ever talking to Nancy’s mom, I knew she’d want Nancy to be safe and happy, above all else. And that was all that mattered in that moment: making Nancy feel safe enough to do what she had to do.

Only I had no idea what it was going to cost for Nancy to leave her abuser.

* * *

The school bell rings, dragging me back to the present. As freshmen start to file into the classroom and take their seats, I force myself to forget about the past and put on my teaching hat.

The circumstances are less than ideal, but I’m going to appreciate the hell out of my dream job. After all, I don’t know when it will be snatched away from me.