Chapter 10
Masterclass in Feelings
Geoff
I’m early.
Too early.
The classroom is already set up, the projector light blinking like it’s daring me to touch it and my notes stacked neatly in front of me. I’ve run out of things to check, which means all that’s left is to sit here marinating in first-day nerves.
I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers.
It’s been two weeks since Christa has dropped the baby bomb on me.
We have been texting. Daily. To be fair, initiated by me, because I want to make sure I find out if she needs something.
.. but still. Texting Christa steadies me.
That’s probably something I should unpack at some point, but not today.
Me
How are you feeling?
Her reply comes almost immediately.
Christa
Fine. Apart from the fact I left a tub of strawberries and cream ice cream at the checkout and didn’t notice until I got home. Still furious with myself.
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. I want to know more even if it is just silly stuff.
Sod it. I hit call.
“Hello?” she answers, suspicious already.
“Didn’t trust you to convey the full tragedy by text,” I say. “Felt like this deserved a live retelling.”
Her sigh is dramatic. “It was limited edition, Geoff.”
“Right...”
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this betrayed by dairy.”
That loosens something in my chest. I lean back in the old chair, which squeaks loudly.
“You know,” she says lightly, “you don’t need to check in with me every day.”
I straighten. “Does it annoy you?”
“No,” she says immediately. “Not at all. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to.”
I glance around the empty classroom. The desks. The quiet. The waiting.
“I don’t,” I say. “I want to.”
There’s a beat.
“I’ve got a lot going on,” she adds carefully. “And so do you.”
“I know. But there are always a few minutes in a day to say hi,” I reply. Then, without really thinking about it, because thinking would only ruin it, I add, “And if you need anything… anything at all, you tell me. I’ll get it. I’ll sort it. Whatever it is.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a pregnant woman,” she says finally.
I smile. “I’m serious.”
Another pause. Softer this time.
“Alright,” she says. “In that case… carry on with your daily check ins.”
Movement at the doorway catches my eye. Three lads have wandered in early and have very clearly heard enough.
“Sirrr,” one of them drawls, stretching the word to within an inch of its life. “That sounded well romantic.”
Another presses his hands to his chest. “‘Anything at all.’ Wow.”
The third whistles. “Didn’t know old people still do romance.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“Fantastic,” I mutter. “Glad my personal life is providing enrichment.”
“Should’ve kept it professional, sir,” one of them says cheerfully.
Before I can respond, Declan appears behind them, arms folded.
“Enough,” he says. “Sit down and stop hovering like you’re auditioning for something.”
They shuffle to desks, still grinning.
On the phone, Christa laughs. Warm. Familiar. “You alright there?”
“Apparently I’m running a masterclass in feelings,” I say.
“Very on brand,” she replies.
“I’ll call you later,” I say.
“Go be good,” she says. “Or at least interesting.”
I hang up, shove the phone in my pocket, and face the room. If nothing else, I’ve made an impression.
The rest of them drift in over the next few minutes. Eight in total. Eight pairs of eyes giving me that universal teenage look that says go on, then; prove yourself.
Declan positions himself at the back, arms folded, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I clap my hands together. “Right. I’m Geoff—”
“Mr Corbin,” Declan corrects smoothly.
A ripple of laughter runs through the room.
I sigh. “Fine. Mr Corbin.”
That earns me a few smirks, but the edge softens.
“Let’s start with introductions,” I say. “Name and one interesting fact. Doesn’t matter what it is. Who’s first?”
A girl with neat braids rolls her eyes. “Lola. I can name every winner of Love Island.”
“Useless but impressive,” I say. “I respect it.”
The blonde beside her flicks her hair. “Chloe. I plan to be famous. Don’t know for what yet.”
“Confidence is important,” I say. “You’ve got plenty.”
“Nathan.” A lad at the back grins. “I once ate forty chicken nuggets in under ten minutes.”
Groans echo around the room.
“Your arteries must be thrilled,” I say.
The boy next to him mutters, “Amir. I can solve a Rubik’s Cube in under a minute.”
“Proper skill! I envy you.”
A girl with purple streaks flashes a peace sign. “Lacey. I play bass in a band. We’re rubbish but loud.”
“Volume often wins.” I nod.
“Aiden,” says a boy with messy curls. “I fell off a stage during a school play, and everyone thought it was part of it, so I stayed down.”
“Outstanding commitment,” I say, and they laugh.
“Hayley,” says a girl with glasses. “I collect puzzles.”
“Excellent,” I say. “You’ll enjoy surviving this class.”
At the end, half-hidden behind her fringe, a girl murmurs, “Mia. I don’t really like talking.”
“That’s fine,” I say gently. “You can let your photos do it.”
They’re watching me now.
I launch into apertures, shutter speed, composition. Within minutes, I can feel the energy drain from the room. Chloe inspects her nails. Nathan yawns theatrically.
I glance at Declan. He raises an eyebrow.
Right. Time to pivot.
“Okay,” I say. “Everyone get your phones out.”
That wakes them up.
“In class?” Hayley says, scandalised.
“First and possibly last time,” I reply. “Enjoy it.”
Phones appear instantly.
“Pick the most boring object on your desk,” I say. “You’ve got three minutes to make it interesting.”
Chaos erupts.
By the time I call time, the room is buzzing.
I lean against the desk, grinning.
“See?” I say. “It’s not about fancy gear. It’s about how you look at things.”
For the first time today, I stop feeling like an imposter.
For the first time, I think I might actually be good at this.
And that feeling sticks with me long after the bell goes.