The girl with the phone turned it toward me, playing to her audience. "Family, look at this! This is Ms. Matthews, supposed to be a role model! She used her charity program to pimp for her own husband! Georgia is so pitiful—she studied her way out of the countryside only to be pushed from the frying pan into the fire!"
Comments scrolled across the screen in a frenzy:
*"Is this real? That teacher looks so quiet, who knew she was a monster?"*
*"The girl looks barely eighteen. Her whole life is over!"*
A crowd of students had gathered at the door, their whispers rising into a low roar. Phones appeared. More cameras. More witnesses.
I stood up, walked to the water cooler, and poured myself a cup. The water was lukewarm. I took a slow, deliberate sip.
"Are you finished?"
Alex's face reddened. "What kind of attitude is that? That's your husband's seed in her belly!"
"Impossible." The paper cup hit the trash bin with a dull thud. "The child she's carrying is absolutely not my husband's."