Twerk
SISSY!
Beanie Coffee. Redchurch Street.
Tiny, brunette, STUNNING, Impossible to miss.
HAVE FUN!!!!!!!
Geez. The last time I went to Shoreditch was when Nina invited us to an art show called Blobs, where artists had created their interpretations of boobs.
Josh and I went around the gallery in lightning speed.
There were clay boobies, watercolour boobies, red boobies, striped boobies.
I tried to be a good sport and mimic the behaviour of people in galleries.
I’d go close to the art, step back and tilt my head to the side, but really, I had no clue what I was supposed to be taking from the abstract boobs.
Unlike Dad with his landscape paintings, I am aware of my limitations when it comes to art.
After 15 minutes of pretending, Josh and I left and got a burger with a shiny bun, which cost ￡18 each because they were ‘gourmet’. That’s Shoreditch for you.
‘Miss Elman, what do you think about microplastics?’ Beatrice says, bringing me back into the room. I have no idea what I think about microplastics.
‘Where is everyone?’ I stand up.
Beatrice shrinks on her stool. She reminds me of how I was when I was her age; sensitive as a baby hamster. ‘They’re doing a dance session in the classroom,’ she stutters. She’s also a good snitch. Great to have on side.
‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ I say and march out of the lab.
Sabrina Carpenter is blasting out from the Year 10 classroom and can be heard from down the hallway.
I burst through the door to show the class that I mean business, but they’re too busy cheering Arabella dancing.
Ashwini is filming her, no doubt for another TikTok.
Arabella bends down in front of the phone.
‘YEAR 10,’ I shout above the music. ‘YEAR 10.’ Someone finally notices me, and the music is cut off. Arabella straightens up from a bent-over position.
‘Oh gosh, is your little science thing today?’ she says.
‘To my lab, now,’ I demand.
They grudgingly follow me back down the hallway as if I’m leading them to their deaths.
Josh comes towards us in his tiny nylon shorts and with his sixth-form football team bouncing around him.
We nod at each other. I like to keep things professional during work hours.
(The first week he started at Clapham High, he came into my lab and tried it on.
I told him not to be an idiot and sent him on his way.
He never tried it again. Not to be a bore, but work is work.)
‘I’d save his balls,’ I hear Arabella whisper from behind.
‘Quickly,’ I shout.
We get to the lab, and the girls flop onto their stools. We only have 10 minutes left, so I spend it dictating the roles of each student as they stare on like they want my blood. Ophelia raises her hand.
‘Miss Elman?’
‘Yes, Ophelia.’
‘Do we have to do plastic in the ocean?’
‘Yes.’
‘But we want to do something that we give a shit about.’
‘Language!’
‘Care about . . .’ She corrects herself and continues.
‘Plastic in the ocean is so abstract to us, whereas contraception is something we all have to think about in this room. Apparently, the Pill can change who you are attracted to. Isn’t that crazy?
Wouldn’t it be so much more relevant for us girls to talk about?
’ The class backs her up with a chorus of ‘Yeah’ and ‘Please’.
‘Like I said before, it’s inappropriate for us to talk about contraception.
’ They begin protesting why it’s not inappropriate, that we should stop making women topics so taboo.
‘Do you want me to lose my job?’ I ask. Their silence tells me everything.
The 2 p.m. bell goes, and they shoot up. ‘Next week, be on time, please.’
The class leaves, and I have an urge to run out of work and hide in a wine bar all afternoon.
Instead, I reach for some motivation by scrolling through the countryside homes I have saved recently.
My favourite is a cottage called Pebble Corner.
Adorable name. It has a kitchen island, a thatched roof and a herb garden, and is far away from Southwest London.
I never understood why people in my generation are so obsessed with living here.
I would never have moved here if I hadn’t got this job.
At least when this promotion happens, I can escape to the country.
I can already see myself sipping a drink at that kitchen island.
‘Do you think I’ll get that promotion?’ I ask the neon tetras. They dart around the tank as if they are cheering me on.
‘Yes, Amy! You’re the best, Amy!’
Josh and Amy’s Wedding 2025
To Do:
Visit The Chipping Barn.
Ask Josh how he’s getting on with the band.
Taste wedding cakes at Clapcake.
Tell Mum you’re not going to be wearing her wedding dress.
Meet Lace.