Satsuma
‘Fuck!’ My finger turns the same colour as the Red Planet. Josh appears above me, sweaty from his workout.
‘I got it,’ he says, and pulls the elastic across the ball in one motion. He stands back and stares at it for a long time.
‘What? What is it?’ I say, sensing his judgment.
‘We won’t be late,’ he says. His relaxed tone makes me more nervous. There are many upsides to teaching in the same school as Josh, but a downside is trying to leave the house together at the same time every morning. Our problem lies in the fact that he’s a time optimist and I am not.
‘Twenty minutes and we need to be gone!’
‘It’s fine . . .’
‘You’re not even showered yet!’
‘Amy, if it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you.
’ He rubs my hair affectionately and runs inside.
I am left staring at my YouTube project strapped up in its trailer.
Eight hours . . . and I made a giant piece of fruit.
Great. When I chose to be a physics teacher, I had visions of myself in a sparkly white lab coat, surrounded by wide-eyed teenagers fascinated by the wonders of science. It hasn’t quite worked out like that.
Surprise, surprise . . . we are going to be late.
Josh couldn’t find his Year 9 workbooks, so we both had to turn the house upside down to search for them.
Well, I say both. Josh walked into each room and immediately concluded that the books were not there.
I eventually found them by the sofa under a Men’s Health magazine.
We get on our bikes, and he reassures me again that we won’t be late, then cycles off, leaving me wobbling behind with my planet.
‘Wha’ the fuck is that?’ I’m stuck behind a red light, and a group of teenage boys are pointing at my trailer.
‘Is it an infected bollock? Lady? Oi, Lady?’ The lights turn green, and I pedal as fast as I can, leaving them laughing behind.
After receiving a middle finger from a tradesman who thought I was going too slow and upsetting a collie dog on The Common, I finally see the white sign for Clapham High for Girls.
It’s known for being one of the more friendly independent girls schools in Southwest London.
History, Drama and English are the top subjects.
Science still has a way to go, but we’re slowly getting there.
Yvonne Thompson got accepted into Cambridge last year.
She was the first pupil at Clapham High ever to do a science at Oxbridge, and guess whose pupil she was?
Mine. Not that this was acknowledged by the headmistress, Dr Therone.
This would be almost bearable if she hadn’t made such a song and dance about Josh’s volcano display.
She even gave him a book voucher as an award.
Did I get a book voucher when Yvonne got into Cambridge?
Did I hell. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good display, and Josh deserved his book voucher (I spent it in the end), but the favouritism is shocking.
I wheel my bike to the shed, where Josh is hopping from one foot to another.
‘What happened to you?’ he asks. I stop and give him daggers. ‘Oh,’ he says, only just realising he left me behind. ‘Here, let me . . .’ He unclips Mars from the trailer and hands it over.
We open the staffroom door and Dr Therone is in mid-speech. Nina, my work bestie, waves at the back and points to the seats she has saved for us.
‘Miss Elman, what do you think?’ Dr Therone says. I freeze halfway between the door and the safety of my chair.
Josh begins to speak. ‘Sorry, Dr Therone . . .’
‘Mr Butters, please sit. I was asking Miss Elman,’ she says in a sweeter voice, then tilts her head at me like an unhinged doll. After a moment of hesitation, Josh does as he’s told and goes to sit next to Nina. This is the favouritism I am talking about. I’m sure it can’t be legal. ‘Miss Elman?’
‘Sorry. I don’t know,’ I say sheepishly.
‘You don’t know because you were three minutes late. Why?’
I hold up Mars. ‘I had to cycle with this, and it slowed me down.’
Dr Therone glares at Mars like it’s a bag of manure.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s Mars.’
‘It’s like something I’ve seen in my fruit bowl.’
‘It’s for my space display. It’s—’
‘Just sit down, Miss Elman.’
I stumble over the feet of other staff members to get to the chair in-between Josh and Nina. Nina squeezes my arm, and Josh mouths an apology.
Dr Therone is pacing up and down with a deep frown.
There is nothing soft about her. Her dyed black hair is sliced into a sharp pixie cut, and her eyeliner shapes her eyes to make them look almost cat-like.
Every day, she wears a different-coloured suit tailored to her toned 6ft frame.
Today, it’s lemon sherbet-coloured, designed to make you think she’s a happy-go-lucky woman.
She is not. She came fresh out of the Ministry of Defence, goodness knows why she decided to teach at an all-girls school, considering she doesn’t seem to like women very much.
She begins to speak again. ‘My goal is to improve the performance of this school, and I am determined to achieve it. We need higher grades, and we need to win. Mrs Redson, could you tell me why we didn’t win a single netball game last term?’
‘B-bad luck?’ Mrs Redson, the PE teacher, says.
‘Bad luck or a bad coach?’ Dr Therone says and walks away. Mrs Redson shrinks in her chair. ‘Miss Elman, maybe you’ll have better chances in science. Your job is to win this competition.’ She drops a flyer onto my lap.
Imperial College and Science for Teens
Presents:
The Great Science Awareness Contest 2025
WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE WORLD?
Come and present your topic to a panel of Imperial College researchers.
7th February 2025.
The winning school will receive:
￡5,000 for their science department.
￡5,000 fund towards researching the winning topic.
Year 10 Only.
Please visit for more information.
My heart sinks. I sense Nina reading it over my shoulder.
She makes an excited squeak in my ear. She loves extracurricular activities like this, but that’s because the pupils enjoy history and adore her as a teacher.
Whereas, I discovered early on in my career, that teenage girls rarely get excited about physics and firmly believe that I’m a bitch for trying to teach it to them.
I swear my Year 10 class want to cut me up and stuff me into a test tube. This is going to be torturous.
‘Speaking of competition,’ Dr Therone continues, ‘Our Head of Humanities, Mr Grim, and our Head of Science, Mrs Lector, are leaving us at the end of the academic year, which means there will be an internal promotion opportunity for both departments. If you would like to be considered for the role, book in your interview by the end of the week.’ A promotion?
I could almost dance. Almost. Mrs Lector, nice lady, but it’s time for her to go.
She has been sitting as head of science like a goose guarding the golden egg since the early 2000s.
I already know how I could instantly improve the department, and let’s not forget the money, a ￡10,000 pay rise at least. That will go straight into the deposit pot, which means our countryside life can begin even sooner, especially now we don’t have to fork out a load for our wedding.
I look at Nina, who is buzzing just as much as I am. She will definitely get the promotion to Head of Humanities, so we will be heads of departments together. #HeadofDepartmentGirls.
Josh whispers in my ear. ‘Can you imagine if we both get it?’
I smile and pat his leg.
Obviously, it would be ideal if Josh were promoted to Head of Humanities, as this would mean more money, but he’s up against Nina, who lives and breathes her job.
Josh has great rapport with the pupils because he makes geography fun and, let’s face it, he’s the only good-looking man around.
But he does what he needs to do and goes home, and that’s fine, but it’s never going to get him a promotion.
I’m surprised he’s even going to give it a shot.
‘Any announcements?’ Dr Therone asks the room. Nina shoots up her hand, and Dr Therone acknowledges her with a groan. ‘Miss Pascoe?’
Nina opens her notebook. ‘As always, I will be taking my sixth formers to the Million Women Rise march on Saturday 8th March, where we will be protesting against men’s violence towards women.
I look forward to seeing many of you there.
What else? Oh, Harriett Boldman, the sweet redhead in Year 9, is having some issues at home, so please be kind to her, and .
. .’ She flips over the page. ‘I’m still collecting clothes for the homeless women’s shelter.
Keep donating! You do not need all the clothes you have in your wardrobe.
And . . . that’s it.’ Nina closes her notebook and smiles at the room. Dr Therone rolls her eyes.
‘Anyone else? No? Good. I look forward to seeing your applications in my inbox.’ She heads towards the door.
‘Dr Therone,’ I say, catching up with her. She turns, reluctantly. ‘I need to, if you wouldn’t mind, I need to talk about this science contest.’
‘Yes?’ she says.
‘Well, I noticed that the presentation is only four weeks away.’ I wait for her to realise how ridiculous this deadline is.
‘And?’ she says.
‘And this gives me no time to organise my Year 10 class. They are already behind on their grades, so I would love to use the time to focus on that. And although my private life shouldn’t interfere with my career, I have a wedding to organise in seven weeks’ time.’
‘Whose wedding?’
‘Mine and Josh’s.’
She stares at me for a long second and then snaps back, ‘You’re right, Miss Elman. Your personal life shouldn’t interfere with your career. I’ll be checking in to see how the science contest is progressing.’ And she’s off down the hallway.