“You should take up comedy. Sensitivity is definitely not your strong point. Aren’t you tired of being one of the only two in our year who’ve never had boyfriends?”
“Nope.” Rebecca dug her hands deep into her front pockets and slouched against the lockers.
“Sometimes I just don’t get you. You know most of the lads in our year think you’re hot stuff.”
“I’m flattered, I’m sure.”
“Well, you should be. There’s more to life than strapping yourself to the hull of a Greenpeace vessel.”
“‘
Et tu, Brute’
?” The memory of her failed mission rose up to haunt her. “I still can’t believe my parents wouldn’t let me do that.”
Emma folded her arms. “You were only eight. You couldn’t even swim.”
“So? I would have worn armbands. I was a very responsible child. Besides, it was a cause worth dying for.”
“So is losing your virginity.”
“Your ambition astounds me. Tell me, are you planning on achieving your goal in the foreseeable future? If so, do let me know so I can sell tickets.”
“Well…” Emma patted the mousy-brown curls Rebecca knew were the bane of her life. “Maybe not quite yet…but I do plan to before I’m an old maid.”
“I won’t hold my breath. Anyway, enough about your fantasy world. Pray tell, who is Mr. Adams’s replacement, and more to the point, will he be teaching us?”
“No one has actually seen him yet, but the word is he’s an old uni pal of Mr. Black, so he’s probably as boring as hell.” Emma screwed up her nose. “Oh, I hope he’s not gay. You know what these public schoolboy types are like.”
“No, and neither do you. Anyway Mr. Black went to state school, and he isn’t gay. He’s married…What?” She wasn’t certain, but she’d swear Emma mumbled, “Now who’s being naïve?” It wouldn’t do to have mutiny in the ranks. She got back to the replacement. “Mmm…” She rubbed at her chin. “Methinks the old schoolboy network, gay or straight, strikes again. Typical bourgeois twaddle.”
“Still on your ‘Save the World’ soapbox, Harding? And what, dare I ask, is bourgeois?”
Mr. Clemmons towered over them, his hamster jowls hanging down under a cold frown.
“Well, just about everything, sir.” Rebecca wildly improvised. “Life. School. The state education system. Third world debt…em…fast food outlets?”
The form head sucked in air between clenched teeth, momentarily distracting her with the sight of his breakfast remnants.
“It really is too early on in the day, even for you. While I admire your integrity and dedication to easing the plight of others, wouldn’t it be more beneficial to apply equal dedication to your school work?”
“Is that a rhetorical question, sir?” Rebecca stared him down.
Mr. Clemmons’ Lord Kitchener style moustache quivered. “Assembly in five minutes!” He stormed off, black gown billowing behind.
“Pompous arse.” Emma muttered. “I’m so glad my brother’s got him for physics this year. The little bugger needs slaughtering.”
“Shades of
Harry Potter
. Come on, Em, time for a rousing chorus of the school song. We get to sit up on stage this year and reign over the lesser mortals, particularly my pain in the derrière sister and her Paris Hilton wannabees entourage.”
“Forget about them.” Emma pushed her toward the entrance. “I want to check out this new teacher. You never know. Maybe he’s under fifty and ready for some illicit, teenage sex.”
“Emma Brown, your mind is permanently wedged between your legs.”
“Yes, and at this rate, that’s all that’s ever likely to be. Eighteen and still a virgin. How sad is that?”
* * * *
“Well, Max…” Colin Aitkin closed his file, “I think we’ve covered just about everything. On the whole, they are good kids. I am sure you’re more than able to handle them.”
“Don’t worry.” Max tugged at the unfamiliar tie around his neck. “I’ll whip them into shape.”
“Oh, no. We’re not allowed to hit the children. We’d be sued.” Pure horror registered behind Colin’s Larry King specs.
“It
was
a figure of speech.” Max grinned.
“Mmm…quite.” Colin sniffed. “Anyway, back to business. Your first class of the day is year seven. At this stage, they’ll be so overwhelmed by their move to big school, they’ll be putty in your hands.”
“I can’t wait.” Max tried to keep a straight face. Clearly his new department head eyed him with grave reservations. The dark grey suit wasn’t working any magic. Kate said it didn’t matter what he wore; he always gave off an air of rakishness, as if he’d just got back from a night on the tiles.
“Em…” Colin cleared his throat. “Do you, by any chance, play football? Only…well, you are young, and you seem extremely fit. We desperately need someone to help with the after-school football club. No one ever offers their services voluntarily.”
Max nodded. “No worries there, mate. Aussie rules though. So much more scope for a punch-up, don’t you think?” Delivering a cool wink, he set off to do battle with the eleven-year-olds.
“I could get so used to this.” Chewing the straw in her empty can of cola, Emma rolled onto her back. “I think this year is going to be fun. Bloody typical though. It’s rained all blimmin summer, and now school’s started, it’s lovely.”
They lay on the still-damp grass behind the gym, soaking up the rays of the warm September sun. Rebecca rested her head on her friend’s lap. “Don’t get all maudlin yet. It won’t last, and free periods are
supposed
to be for study purposes, remember?”
“Yer right—for you maybe.” Emma pushed her off and raised herself up onto her elbows, eyeing Rebecca’s fudge bar. “How can you possibly eat so much and stay so bloody skinny?”
“By not caring and don’t you start. I get enough of it at home from Vicky. Anyway, you are far from fat. What size are you—a twelve or a ten—or have you managed to achieve your lifetime’s ambition and obtain the elusive eight?”
Emma ran her hands over her thighs. “Jest all you want, but it’s taken me years of sacrifice to get this gorgeous, svelte body.”
Emma was not fat, but her short curvy frame could hardly be called svelte. Not that Rebecca was about to impart this information. Not if she wanted to live.
“It’s not fair,” Emma continued. “You don’t know how lucky you are not having to diet. You’re so skinny you make Kate Moss look fat.”
“I wouldn’t diet even if I had to.” Rebecca snorted. “Careful, Emma. You are in serious danger of giving in to fashion industry pressure. You are exhibiting classic signs of degenerative bimboism.”
“That’s not even a word, and don’t start on me again! I said I was
thinking
of dyeing my hair. Right. Comments. What do you think of it so far? History is going to be insane. How are we supposed to memorize all those facts?
Facts, facts, facts
!” she mimicked Mr. Horley’s Wolverhampton drawl.
“You should try reading. It’s amazing what you can learn from a book.”
“Who cares about the French Revolution?” Emma pulled at a handful of daisies.
Rebecca sat up and slapped her hand. “The French, I suppose. Go and take your frustrations out somewhere else. Flowers feel, you know.”
“But they’re weeds.” Emma shook her head. “You know, sometimes your ‘Protect the Environment’ crusade is too boring. Don’t look at me like that. It’s not as if I’ve bashed a seal on the head.”
“It’s the beginning.”
Emma yanked up a clump of grass and threw it at her.
About to retaliate, Rebecca’s animal rescue super-vision zeroed in on the ground beneath an oak tree. “Oh, look. The poor little thing’s fallen out of his nest.”
She stood and tiptoed up to the bewildered baby sparrow. Gently scooping it up in her hands, she made for the gate.
“And just where do you think you going? We’ve got English in ten minutes.”
Rebecca ignored Emma’s frantic plea. She didn’t care about English. She was on a mission of mercy. Cradling the frightened buddle of tattered feathers in her hand, she empathized with the distressed creature. She understood blind terror. She knew what is was to feel helpless…alone
* * * *
Max walked into his A Level English class not in a good mood. Year seven had been a nightmarish sea of frightened faces. That, he could have handled. However, their nerves soon forgotten, they’d got stuck in with the Kylie questions. Now, mentally crossing his fingers, he prayed this class of ‘young adults’ would show a little more sophistication. His confidence had taken a swift nose-dive.
“Good morning.” He hit the nine expectant faces with his don’t-mess-with-me stance. “My name is Mr. Jackson. Yes…I am Australian, and no, I do not know Miss Minogue. I do not hunt kangaroo, nor do I play the didgeridoo.”
The class grinned at each other, telling him he’d astutely anticipated their planned delaying tactics.
“What about Delta Goodrem, sir?” A youth with an unfortunate haircut raised his hand.
“She is out of my league, mate.” Max crushed his hopes. “So, let’s begin by going over the syllabus for this year. I’ve—”
“How about Nicole Kidman?”
Max counted to ten; could his day get any worse? “Your name, please?” “Simon, sir.” The boy beamed back at him, his freckles joining together.
Max leaned against his desk and folded his arms tight lest he give in to impulse and strangle this red-haired gnome kid with his hated tie. “Well, Simon, may I remind you, I am here to attempt to drum some knowledge of English literature into what is, obviously, a pea-sized brain and not to cater to your adolescent fantasies?”
Amid a chorus of muffled titters, Simon turned a bright crimson. A girl with a mass of riotous curls, turned to flash him a sympathetic smile. Max guessed she had a thing for him. Oh well, love was blind.
“Right, now to business.” Picking up a stick of chalk, he crossed to the blackboard. “As I was saying—” The door opened and then slammed shut again, shredding his already frayed nerves into tatters. Without so much as an “I’m sorry I’m late,” a cloud of tangled hair breezed by and sprawled in the chair next to the girl with the curls.
“I need to exercise more.” The latecomer dumped her bag on the desk. “I am so out of breath. Do you know how many strays they have there now…”
Her confident attitude wafted over the heads of his pupils and bruised his ego. Something about that haughty tone struck a chord. Max drew in his breath. It was the tramp from the corner shop. Well, well, well. There was a god after all.
Movements deliberate, Max cleared his throat and put down the chalk. “Excuse me, and you are?”
She looked up at him. “Rebecca,” she said, with a hint of annoyance. “Rebecca Harding.”
Max couldn’t believe her arrogance. His temper held by a tenuous thread, he smiled. “So, we meet again.”
The chocolate eyes stared, confusion masking her too-perfect features. “I’m sorry?”
She oozed deference, but he wasn’t fooled and not in the mood to have the wool pulled over his eyes. “Oh, indeed you should be.” He matched her tone for politeness. “Would you please be so good as to stand up?”
He caught the momentary flutter of panic as she got to her feet. The penny had dropped. “Oh yes, Miss Harding. The
bloody colonial.
Isn’t it your lucky day? I know it’s mine. Now where were we?” He pretended to deliberate. “Ah yes. Lesson one in manners. Please walk to the door.”
“This is ridiculous.” Rebecca expelled an embellished sigh. “It was only five min—”
“The door, Miss Harding.”
Max watched her stand. Her gaze locked on to his. He could almost see fire breathing from her nostrils. Her anger wafted across the small space between them. Ramrod straight, she walked with exaggerated slowness. Max hid a smile. Miss Harding wasn’t so tough. He’d caught the slight tremble of hand. He ought to quit while ahead but self-preservation told him he couldn’t give in now. It was important his pupils didn’t see him as a soft touch.
“Excellent. Now open it, go outside, close it, and then knock. Do you think you can manage that?’
More muffled giggles. He sensed her discomfort. Her classmates seemed to find her demise very entertaining. From the petulance etched across her forehead, he wasn’t surprised she made a last ditch attempt to regain the upper hand.
“Really, sir, isn’t it too early in the term for such intensity?”
“Are you having trouble understanding my instructions?”
Rebecca opened the door and left the room. From her defiant stare, Max knew she itched to slam the door but decided it wouldn’t help her case. Wise. After ten seconds, she knocked.
Max waited for her to sweat a little. “Do come in. Ah, Miss Harding. How kind of you to join us. Now do you have anything to say to me?”
Her fists, he noted, were clenched. A forced smile wavered on her lips. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Mr.— Oh,
do
excuse me,
sir
. I didn’t quite catch the name.”
Max couldn’t help it; her courage impressed him. Back to deuce.
“Didn’t you? Not to worry.” Time to serve for the match. “My name is Mr. Jackson, and just so it doesn’t slip your mind, as well as with your ability to tell the time, you can copy it out five hundred times—along with ‘I must not be late for his class
ever.’
Is that all right with you?”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh, please, you cannot be serious. Lines are so…so…archaic.”
“Shall I make it a thousand? Go and sit down. You’ve wasted enough of our time already. Perhaps by my next lesson, you will have acquired some manners.”
Mouth gaping, she did as she was told.
“So, the books for this year.” Trying to regain his cool, Max picked up the chalk. “Shakespeare.
Romeo and Juliet
and
As You Like It
.”
“Oh, God, please no.”
Max groaned. He began to wish he hadn’t entered into this battle of wills. This girl wasn’t going down without a fight. “Miss Harding, do you have anything of value to add?”
She rewarded him with a nonchalant shoulder lift. “Only that, in my opinion,
Romeo and Juliet
is completely unrealistic. Who’d kill themselves after a one-night love affair?”
“I would if it was with you.” The boy sitting in front of her leaned back and grinned.