Read Online The Unseemly Education of Anne Merchant by Joanna Wiebe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joanna Wiebe
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is you have in mind, then tell me, dear Teddy, how would you grade me on that?”
He flinches. “You can’t be suggesting…”
“Having your way with me here? Nightly stripteases in your bedroom, Teddy? Is that close to what you were thinking?”
“That would be an abuse of power! I would never!”
“I’ll have you know that my uniform is as tight as it is because someone got my measurements wrong!” I get to my feet, wincing at the pain, and stride to the top of the stairs, gesturing for him to leave the attic. “I won’t sign anything that says that’s my PT. In fact, maybe I’m not interested in the Big V after all. Maybe I’ll be just like Pilot and turn my back on this idiotic race.”
“Wait!” Teddy cries, coming after me. “You need to do this, Anne.” His expression is softer—almost kind—as he looks at me now. “There was something else in your aura.”
“Surprise, surprise. What is it?”
“I would encourage you to choose the one I mentioned, though. It is your greatest strength. There are many ways to use your sexuality to your advantage. It doesn’t have to be as obvious as you might think.”
“That’s BS. What was the other one? Tell me.”
Reluctantly, Teddy nods. “It is because you are an artist that this is in you at all,” he stammers, which, in combination with his thick accent, makes him that much harder to understand. “But I warn you that, although you are an artist in this life, you may not have been in other lives. Your soul has spent much longer in the role of the seductress than the artist.”
“Teddy! Just tell me.”
“Your alternative PT, Miss Merchant, is that you will succeed in life by looking closer. Beyond the surface. By asking questions and never accepting things at face value.”
“Looking closer?”
I can’t help but smile a little. It’s exactly right. I feel it immediately, and knowing that Teddy was able to land on this assessment of my strength—a strength that one art curator once commented on—makes me wonder, for the briefest moment, if he was actually somehow in my soul, reading it.
“This might only cause you trouble, Miss Merchant,” Teddy warns.
“It’s perfect. Let’s do it. What do I sign?”
“Very well.” Teddy’s voice shakes as he lifts the form to me. I scribble it down and turn to let him go.
“Not so fast,” he says. Turning back, I find him lifting a long, silvery needle from his case and holding it out to me.
I stare at it. “What’s that?”
“To seal the deal.”
“To what?”
“We seal our official forms with blood at Cania Christy. It’s in my guide.”
“You’re really funny tonight. But you should probably leave now.”
Teddy just holds the needle out to me.
“So we’re in the Middle Ages now?”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Teddy says. “Signing in blood is a tradition of this school, a tradition that goes back generations.” He thrusts the needle at me.
If I was alone, I might actually pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming because, so far, life at Cania Christy feels like life in a bad dream, like life on some planet filled with probing aliens.
“Everyone does it,” Teddy states crossly. Classic that he would use the line teachers and parents have condemned for years.
“My signature isn’t enough?”
“Thou must bequeath it solemnly!” he cries finally. With his hands trembling, with a hysteric gleam in his eye, he stomps on the spot.
“Teddy, come on! I mean, aren’t I supposed to be questioning stuff? That’s my PT, right? If I just gave in, wouldn’t I be, like, in violation or something?”
Settling down, though his chest still heaves, he agrees. “I understand. Well done. But now that you’ve questioned it and learned that it is what you must do, you must do it.”
Mental note: my Guardian will make up the rules as we go.
“What we have here is a learning opportunity,” Teddy declares, taking my hand and pressing the soft pad of my
He flinches. “You can’t be suggesting…”
“Having your way with me here? Nightly stripteases in your bedroom, Teddy? Is that close to what you were thinking?”
“That would be an abuse of power! I would never!”
“I’ll have you know that my uniform is as tight as it is because someone got my measurements wrong!” I get to my feet, wincing at the pain, and stride to the top of the stairs, gesturing for him to leave the attic. “I won’t sign anything that says that’s my PT. In fact, maybe I’m not interested in the Big V after all. Maybe I’ll be just like Pilot and turn my back on this idiotic race.”
“Wait!” Teddy cries, coming after me. “You need to do this, Anne.” His expression is softer—almost kind—as he looks at me now. “There was something else in your aura.”
“Surprise, surprise. What is it?”
“I would encourage you to choose the one I mentioned, though. It is your greatest strength. There are many ways to use your sexuality to your advantage. It doesn’t have to be as obvious as you might think.”
“That’s BS. What was the other one? Tell me.”
Reluctantly, Teddy nods. “It is because you are an artist that this is in you at all,” he stammers, which, in combination with his thick accent, makes him that much harder to understand. “But I warn you that, although you are an artist in this life, you may not have been in other lives. Your soul has spent much longer in the role of the seductress than the artist.”
“Teddy! Just tell me.”
“Your alternative PT, Miss Merchant, is that you will succeed in life by looking closer. Beyond the surface. By asking questions and never accepting things at face value.”
“Looking closer?”
I can’t help but smile a little. It’s exactly right. I feel it immediately, and knowing that Teddy was able to land on this assessment of my strength—a strength that one art curator once commented on—makes me wonder, for the briefest moment, if he was actually somehow in my soul, reading it.
“This might only cause you trouble, Miss Merchant,” Teddy warns.
“It’s perfect. Let’s do it. What do I sign?”
“Very well.” Teddy’s voice shakes as he lifts the form to me. I scribble it down and turn to let him go.
“Not so fast,” he says. Turning back, I find him lifting a long, silvery needle from his case and holding it out to me.
I stare at it. “What’s that?”
“To seal the deal.”
“To what?”
“We seal our official forms with blood at Cania Christy. It’s in my guide.”
“You’re really funny tonight. But you should probably leave now.”
Teddy just holds the needle out to me.
“So we’re in the Middle Ages now?”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Teddy says. “Signing in blood is a tradition of this school, a tradition that goes back generations.” He thrusts the needle at me.
If I was alone, I might actually pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming because, so far, life at Cania Christy feels like life in a bad dream, like life on some planet filled with probing aliens.
“Everyone does it,” Teddy states crossly. Classic that he would use the line teachers and parents have condemned for years.
“My signature isn’t enough?”
“Thou must bequeath it solemnly!” he cries finally. With his hands trembling, with a hysteric gleam in his eye, he stomps on the spot.
“Teddy, come on! I mean, aren’t I supposed to be questioning stuff? That’s my PT, right? If I just gave in, wouldn’t I be, like, in violation or something?”
Settling down, though his chest still heaves, he agrees. “I understand. Well done. But now that you’ve questioned it and learned that it is what you must do, you must do it.”
Mental note: my Guardian will make up the rules as we go.
“What we have here is a learning opportunity,” Teddy declares, taking my hand and pressing the soft pad of my
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