Chapter 1
James
As I sit at the front of the sweaty, noisy classroom, I look at the familiar dirty blue walls covered in theatre posters and sheet music.
I take in the faces of the students filling the room.
Some aren’t technically children anymore—half the class are now over eighteen.
The chatter is loud and excitable, friends catching up on gossip and news from the half-term break.
The past couple of weeks away from teaching start to fade into the background, not that much happened during that time anyway.
I flip through the class register, the pen scratching against the paper as I tick off each name, my mind wandering over the future lives of these kids. They’re all in their final year of sixth form, on the brink of university or whatever else they’ve got planned.
Charlie May Baxter—she’s the one who’s likely to end up pregnant first. Some things just seem to align that way.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
She’s always brimming with sexual confidence, yet it’s clear to any adult that she’s just a lost little soul, craving affection and love, but going about it in all the wrong ways.
Scarlett Jackson—sharp as a tack and quick on her feet. I easily picture her in politics someday, running circles around her peers. She doesn’t miss a thing. Her ‘Daddy’ is a local councillor, so she’s got her career mapped out. She’s heading to uni to study politics and business, apparently.
David Lowry—of course, he’s the one destined for prison. It’s almost predictable, sadly. He’s already had a few brushes with the law and barely shows up anymore. It’s a shame; he’s so intelligent, but he just won’t direct his talent to his education.
Lastly, there’s Isabelle Matthews. She’s a nice girl.
Always a bit awkward, which I find endearing.
She carries a touch of geekiness, but beneath that surface is a sweetness I struggle to ignore.
Her sapphire blue eyes hold a maturity I often wonder about—especially for someone her age.
It’s like her gentle, naive appearance is just a mask, and something much more forceful and determined churns underneath.
She’s striking and stands out in a crowd. Naturally, the teenage girls around her—and some of the boys—mock her and call her chubby. She wears her curves well, but it's
Yes, Miss
pure jealousy on those girls’ parts. That's teenage girls for you, masking their own insecurities with cruelty to others.
I’ve taught her piano in one-to-one sessions for the last year.
She shows beautiful form and talent. She’s so quick-witted, too, never hesitating to crack a joke to break the tension and stress of a lesson as her exams near.
She's been dating a lad from another college. Before the holidays, she seemed to have lost her sparkle. She was distant and distracted. Looking at her now, she appears a little happier. Hopefully, she has ditched that asshole she was dating. Some of the other teachers have heard of him, and what they say isn’t at all good.
None of this should bother me, and it certainly isn’t any of my business, but she is one of my favourite students and so full of promise. I would hate to see that go to waste over some scrote who didn't deserve her.
I glance up from the register, trying to shake off the creeping dissatisfaction that lingers over me like a dark cloud.
I’m the head of Performing Arts and Music, but I’ve lost any drive to move further up career-wise.
I feel stalled, stuck in some sort of limbo.
I have no inspiration anymore. Workplace politics, lesson planning, and education department inspections will do that to any teacher.
It’s not just work, though; my marriage feels stuck in neutral.
Boredom greets me every morning over breakfast, just the same as it does my wife.
The same routine, the same kiss goodbye, the same commute. A
Alexandra Ravensbrook
constant reminder that life isn’t turning out the way I want it to. It feels like a weary cycle, and I can’t help but think that the beginning of this school term won’t change a thing.
With a heavy sigh, I push onward with the register to start the term once again.