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“Ms. Threadneedle, we are familiar with your academic history, there’s no need–” Joel’s abrasive voice pulled her out of her musings in an abrupt and infuriating way. He had, after all, just asked Sam to enumerate her damn credentials.
Magdalene was about to raise her hand and set Joel straight, when Timothy’s slightly bored baritone sounded from her right, proving yet again that—despite being a nuisance, rather useless, and motivated by all the wrong things—he was a necessity.
As a trustee, and the internal politics of the entire ordeal being what they were, he had the freedom to voice things Magdalene simply couldn’t, even if she agreed with them. And on top of that, Timothy was able to do something else that, no matter how much she wanted to, the Headmistress couldn’t dream of, because she had to remain professional. He could piss off Joel just for sport.
“Now, Joel. Since Ms. Threadneedle is Three Dragons’ most decorated teacher, I think it merits focusing our attention on those accomplishments—especially since you yourself asked about them just minutes ago…” Timothy trailed off, polishing his nails on the front of his suit jacket. Joel bristled, while Sam attempted to hide a smile behind a cough. “However, I would like to hear Ms. Threadneedle’s ideas about the Math Department and any possible structural changes the new school management might furnish to improve and optimize it.”
Yes, Timothy, of polished nails and bespoke suits, was definitely a necessity. He’d asked a good question. It stopped Joel from a certain tirade. It got Sam focused on the long term instead of the obvious conflict she had about applying for a job with management that she didn’t approve of.
That last part in particular rankled Magdalene. Sam knew nothing about her plans. Granted, Magdalene had only a rather vague idea at the moment what those might be, other than to give in to the impulse to let the entire heap fall in on itself. And Sam knew little about what the school was going through. Yet she looked at her as if Magdalene Nox was the greatest foe to walk this earth.
Sam wasn’t the first person to harbor such resentment. Ever since Magdalene had become a rather notorious school reformer, people tended to hate her on sight. She had fired plenty of them in her lifetime, for no reason other than decimated budgets or to streamline the educational process.
So why did this make Magdalene's heart clench? She wanted to touch her sternum, where the ache that had been plaguing her lately throbbed with particular vigor every time she saw Sam’s eyes cloud with animosity.
Her visceral reaction felt even more out of place, since Sam appeared to get along great with everyone else, including George, who seemed to have become a confidant of sorts. Magdalene frequently saw her huddled with Sam over breakfast these days, casting shady glances in Timothy’s direction and undoubtedly gossiping.
She wanted to shake her head. Mostly at herself for being as torn as she was. And she wanted to roll her eyes at the childish drama surrounding her.
At least the breathy phone calls had stopped. The new number was holding.
Magdalene allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. She wished all these people gone so she could speak to Sam. But she dared not approach her. Not yet.
The rest of the interview went well. Better than well, since she herself signed the contract half an hour after Sam left the meeting room. So well, in fact, that the ever-responsible and by-the-book Magdalene Nox had decided to shelve a couple of formalities until she had time to spare. So smoothly indeed, that she’d invited the newly re-appointed Math Chair to the Transition Committee.
But Magdalene nonetheless felt weak through the course of the day. Raw.
She was more open and more vulnerable to this woman than she thought was wise, and so after their initial ill-advised exchange of honesties in the Headmistress’ office, Magdalene knew she should keep her distance, especially now that Sam had been rehired.
* * *
A week passed,and as she took careful steps up the winding, gravel-filled path, Magdalene tried to chase thoughts of Sam away. She passed the jasmine bushes, shaking her head at her younger self, who’d chosen a signature scent with such an obvious nod to this place.
When she finally reached the precipice and felt the ocean’s salt on her face, she inhaled deeply, her lungs filling with the evening air tinged with tumult and revolt. She flexed her arms and her watch jingled, cold titanium and platinum sliding down her wrist.
But even amid the jasmine scent and the weight on her hand, her shoulders sagged in relief, the Amber Cliff doing what it had done years ago as well as these past few days. It brought peace. A peace she cherished and a peace she never quite wanted to leave.
The ache in her chest that was becoming a constant companion, pushed at the bone, as if wanting to escape, and she didn’t know if setting it free would tear her open or heal her. But Magdalene wasn’t about to chance it, the indulgence in pain, a dangerous illusion. So she cradled her arms around herself to keep it in.
A sudden sound from behind made her whip around, her stance defensive. At the sight of Sam, who stood stock-still for a moment before mimicking Magdalene’s position, the tension eased by a fraction. Yet she could still feel the tightness of her jaw and her clenched teeth as she watched Sam’s face lighten up degree by degree, and finally Magdalene exhaled.
She tried not to be obvious about it, but after the week they’d had, the relief that washed over her at seeing Sam relax in her presence was honeysuckle-sweet. Maybe they wouldn’t need to be enemies after all.
“You’ve found my little hidey-hole, Professor Threadneedle.”
Ever since Magdalene had signed the paperwork for Sam’s rehiring, she had not called her anything but ‘Professor Threadneedle’. She told herself she was doing it to underscore Sam’s now fully affirmed position, especially since she could tell that Sam was not out of the closet to her colleagues and perhaps not even to the previous leadership.
After Joel’s summons to return to the school’s Christian roots, the pompous ass might as well have been calling for another crusade from atop his soapbox instead of introducing the new administration. In that moment, it must have felt awful to hear that and be queer and without a permanent contract. Goddess knew her own ironclad one had given her plenty of peace. So Magdalene made a point to emphasize the title often.
Yet she knew that, as much as she did it for Sam, it was not entirely altruistic. She was the Headmistress. And in front of her stood a subordinate. An employee. And hence…
And hence…
In spite of everything, it felt strange to walk around the school and have another person on the grounds know her secret. Strange, yet freeing, despite the dangers of not being completely out herself. She was certain Sam viewed their history as a weapon of mutually assured destruction. But to Magdalene, who had held this one piece of herself away from everyone’s eyes, the fact that Sam knew gave her a tantalizing rush. It felt daring and absolutely unsafe, but also exciting and, in the moments when she allowed herself the freedom to think in those terms, arousing.
Magdalene turned and took another step, her move sudden enough that she heard Sam’s breath catch as the jagged edge of the cliff loomed closer. She inhaled deeply, the salt from the ocean carried by the nascent storm, once more suffusing her lungs, the elation just as overwhelming as the thick, electrified air. Was Sam concerned for her? The thought warmed her unexpectedly, loosening something around her heart which, once freed, sped up and Magdalene turned her back to the foaming ocean. If her eyes stung, she blamed it on the elements.
In front of her, just a few steps away—certainly closer than she thought she’d be—Sam shuffled her feet, giving Magdalene a look of hope mixed with caution.
